A GOOD SAMARITAN

When Helmar woke again to consciousness, it was with no idea either of the lapse of time or any recollections of what had occurred to him in the meantime. Beyond being able to turn his head slowly from side to side, he was unable to move, and a terrible feeling of lassitude and weakness nipped all inclination in that direction.

The room in which he found himself was squalid and gloomy, and, as his dull, inquiring gaze wandered over his surroundings, he endeavoured to realize where he was. The effort was more than he was equal to, and, closing his eyes, he relapsed into a calm, dreamless sleep.

In that first dawn of consciousness he had failed to see the silent figure at his bedside—a figure which, had his gaze rested upon it, would probably have troubled his weakened mind and stayed his peaceful slumber.

The moment his eyes closed, the figure silently rose and glided noiselessly from the room. Presently it returned with a glass containing a steaming potion. Setting it down, it bent over the bed and gazed long and earnestly at the sleeper. A look of satisfaction came over its grim and wrinkled face as it resumed its vigil at the bedside.

When next the sick man awoke, a tiny lamp was shedding its dim rays over the dingy apartment. This time the figure at once approached the sufferer and held the glass to his lips. Too weak to resist or even care what was happening, he silently drank. The blood instantly coursed more rapidly through his body, and he felt refreshed and stronger. Watching the look of intelligence come into his eyes, the figure put the glass down and spoke to him in excellent French.

"You feel better now?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied in a faint voice, as though trying to recollect something. "I have been ill, haven't I?"

"Very ill," was the response.

"Who are you?" he asked, after a pause, "and where am I?"

"I am Mariam Abagi," she answered quickly, "and you are in a house at Gizeh. I am what you call a Syrian Arab. But do not worry—you are too ill yet to think or talk; wait until you are better," and she silently left the room.

For a moment or two Helmar tried to understand and recall something of what had happened, but all seemed so dim and misty that he had to give it up, and at last, becoming drowsy again, fell asleep.

Mariam Abagi was a woman of unusual character for her caste. She was married to a German who was disliked and suspected by the natives. They looked upon him as a spy, a traitor come from Europe for some evil purpose, and eventually did away with him. Mariam was a really good woman, and resented the deed bitterly. Naoum, her son, never saw his father, but inherited some of his good business qualities, and all his mother's kindness of heart. So when he had found Helmar in distress after the affair with the inspector, he instinctively went to his aid, and, finding him still alive, did not hesitate to take him to Mariam at once. On discovering Helmar's nationality, and learning how he too had fallen foul of the treacherous natives, she showed great regard for him, which gradually developed into strong affection, and her kindness knew no bounds. Her son shared the feelings of his mother, and the two, as will be seen, proved to be great benefactors to Helmar.

During the next few days he made more rapid progress toward recovery. Each time he saw the patient nurse, he endeavoured to extract from her the meaning of the position in which he found himself, but without success—she would tell him nothing. He began to get a hazy recollection of a fight, but how it came about, and with whom, he could not recall.

What puzzled him most was this old woman. She was tall and gaunt, of the Arab type, and her face was lined and wrinkled to such an extent that it was impossible to tell whether its expression was kindly or otherwise. When his strength grew and things became clearer to his mental vision, he determined to have an explanation.

Late one evening as the woman came in with the lamp, he broached the subject.

"Mariam," he said abruptly, as she was about to leave the room, "come here. I am strong now, and I want to talk to you. Now tell me all about it. How did I get into this plight? And how came I into this house?"

She eyed him keenly for a moment, then walking over to the bed sat down beside it.

"My son brought you here; you were wounded in a fight with Arabs in Cairo."

"Ah, yes," he said thoughtfully. "There was a meeting and we went to stop it. I remember something of it now. Where is the police inspector?"

"Dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes, dead," she repeated.

George did not answer. He was thinking hard. At last he spoke again.

"Am I not in Cairo, then?" he asked in astonishment.

"No, you are in Gizeh, a little distance from the city. Cairo is in such a state of tumult at the present time, it would be impossible to keep you in hiding there after the part you took with the police. So my son brought you here to me for safety."

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"Since that affair with the police officer," Mariam answered.

"Yes," said George, after another long pause, "I can see it all now; we were set upon. But how did your son find me?"

"He was with the crowd who went round at the noise of the fighting. The people thought you were killed, and so left you. But my son, Naoum, he loves not people of this country, and he saw you were not of them, so he stayed and discovered you were still alive. He is a good man is Naoum, and a dutiful son; he knows my feelings towards your countrymen, and he brought you to me here. I love the men of Europe, therefore I help you. Mariam Abagi does not love all and would not help many, but you are young to die."

As she finished speaking, a troubled expression passed over her parchment-like face, and she sat munching her lips, blinking at the flickering light. Helmar sighed and shifted his position uneasily. The keen black eyes were turned on him at once.

"But I can never repay you," he said. "You don't understand; I am a stranger—I have no money."

The old woman's eyes flashed in a moment, but fortunately she was in such a position that he could not see them.

"I require no money," she said, sharply. "I have enough for my wants. I do not this for gain," and her jaws shut with a snap.

George saw that he had made a mistake and endeavoured to remedy it, but only plunged the further into the mire.

"Yes, yes, I know, you are very good, but I cannot let you do this for me without——"

"Peace! You mean well, I know, but I will not listen. Your troubles are not yet over. It will be sufficient reward to me that you get away from this place without being killed."

"How do you mean?" he asked, failing to grasp the woman's meaning.

"Ah, I forgot, you do not know. The country is now in a critical position, and Arabi Pasha is at the head of the army. The excited and corrupted citizens are stirring up strife, and menacing all the Europeans and any one else who had, or is supposed to have had, any connection with the hated government, and Arabi has nearly lost power over the mob. It is kept secret that you are here, and so you are safe for the present! But I do not know how long this safety will last. I have some power, and my son is powerful too, but that may not avail us long, and then you will have to fly. Have no fear, however, I shall watch, and, at the first warning of danger, will provide for you."

After this Mariam would answer no more questions, and left him to ponder over what she had said. He could hardly realize the full purport of all she had told him. This then was the danger Inspector Childs had spoken of; this then was the result of those meetings the police had been watching, the one they had endeavoured to spy upon. In his weakened state the idea of it all set his brain in a whirl, and his thoughts became confused. The one thing that seemed to strike him more forcibly than the rest was, how on earth was he to escape?

The days dragged slowly by, and he soon reached the convalescent stage. The wound he had received in his shoulder quickly healed under Mariam's treatment, and it became only a question of time for the recovery of his strength. He saw no one but the old woman who personally attended to all his wants. The son she spoke of did not show himself, although on several occasions he had heard a man's voice in another room.

Once or twice Mariam had spoken of her power, and gave him to understand that she did not require money; the squalor of her room made this seem rather enigmatical to the sick man, but he knew such people were sometimes eccentric in their mode of living, and this might possibly account for his surroundings. However, it was no affair of his, she had been an angel of goodness to him, and he had no right to pry into her private affairs.

Helmar was young, and his great vitality stood him in good stead; the moment his wound healed his strength began to come back rapidly, and with returning health he felt it incumbent upon him to suggest that he should relieve the faithful Mariam of the trouble he was causing her. Knowing the old woman's peculiarities, he was a little afraid to broach the subject, but his duty lay so plainly before him that, despite his feelings, he decided to speak his mind.

One evening, after a day of chafing at his inactivity, the opportunity came. She had brought in some food, and their conversation soon turned upon the terrible state of the country.

"I don't want you to think me ungrateful for your kindness, Mariam," he said, hesitatingly, "but I am now so far recovered and so strong that I feel I must no longer trespass on your goodness."

A grim smile played over her withered old face.

"And whither would you go? Death may await you outside these doors."

"Perhaps that is so," said George, doubtfully, "but I must take my chance."

"I like the young man for his spirit," said the old woman more to herself than her companion. "It is right, but he is a good youth and must not die—life is dear to me, then how much more so to him. Listen," she went on in unmistakable tones of command, "my son does big trade on the river. He owns many nuggars and dahabÎehs which carry wheat and produce down to Alexandria. If you could reach that city in safety, you would find means of leaving the country in a ship."

"But I don't understand; how am I to reach Alexandria?"

"My son will hide you on board one of his boats, and in that way you can escape. Your danger will be great, for although my son is known all along the river, your life will surely pay the forfeit if by any chance you should be discovered."

It was a case of "Hobson's choice." Helmar was glad to accept any means of escape, and eagerly fell in with all the old woman had to say. Bearing out her character for beneficence, Mariam was as good as her word, and arranged all the details for his departure.

The first time Helmar put on his clothes he discovered, to his great delight, the money he had earned at the bookseller's was still in his pocket. This was a surprise, for he had naturally concluded it had been stolen. He now pressed Mariam to take it. But she would have none.

"You'll require that, and more, yourself," she said. So Helmar let the matter drop.

He was unfeignedly sorry to part with his protectress. A sort of filial affection had grown up in him for this woman, and when she came in for the last time, bringing her son with her, George felt that he was about to leave his best friend. On her part, the old woman seemed no less affected, and but for the presence of her son, she would undoubtedly have broken down altogether.

The man in whose guardianship Mariam was about to trust her patient was a powerfully-built fellow of forty. He possessed a strong, honest face of a similar cast to his mother's, although perhaps a shade paler. He was dressed in the ordinary Egyptian garb, and, as his mother presented him, he advanced with outstretched hand and gripped Helmar's in a manner as hearty as it was honest.

"The night is dark, Mussiu," he said, "we must not delay. For the moment the place is quiet, but the riotousness of the people is liable to break out at any moment, and, unless the greatest caution is used, we may be discovered and challenged. Come, let us start, for it is some distance to the river!"

Helmar turned to his nurse. He was deeply affected at parting with the old soul.

"Good-bye, Mariam," he exclaimed. "I can never thank you for all you have done for me. I shall never forget it. Some day perhaps you will allow me to repay you."

"Do not talk of thanks. I like it not. You will be a second son to me. Take these," she went on, handing him his revolver and a long knife of Egyptian make, "they may be of use to you. I shall watch for you always, and some day we shall meet again. Farewell!"

Without another word she turned and left the room.

Naoum stood looking on with a stolid face, and, as his mother departed, led the way to another door, and the two men left the house.

To anybody of a less courageous spirit the position Helmar found himself placed in would have been appalling. With little money, with hardly recovered health, only these two people whom he could count his friends in a now hostile country—all these things combined to make his position one of the greatest insecurity and danger. Instead of doubting the outcome of it all, however, he rather gloried in the situation, and did not trouble himself in the least as to the future. He felt more than ever the keen enjoyment of the roving, happy-go-lucky existence he had elected to follow. The simple effect of stretching his legs as he walked beside his companion inspired in him a keen feeling of appreciation of life, and a grim determination to follow to the end his adventurous career.

"How far is it now?" he asked, as they swung along through the slummy quarters.

"Quarter of a mile," was the laconic reply.

"Wish it was more," said George, "it's a treat to be walking again."

"I dare say it is, but we may find it's all too long before we reach the quay. Come along down here," he went on, turning into what looked like a blind court, "we must take all the most deserted streets and listen well, and look well ahead for sounds of trouble. The last two weeks have been terrible times."

"And what does Arabi hope to gain by all this?" asked George.

"The country and his own glorification. He hopes to destroy the Khedive's power and rule, and has adopted 'Egypt for the Egyptians' as his war-cry."

"He must be foolish. The European powers will never allow it. It can only end in one way, and he will be the one to pay for it."

"Yes, I know he will be punished, but there it is, and in the meantime the country is in a fearful state of alarm."

They were nearing the river, and Helmar relapsed into silence as they wound their way through the narrow streets. On every side the tumble-down appearance of the buildings made their walk more solitary and dismal. The smell, as they approached the river, became more pronounced, and made him wonder how any one could live there at all.

His guide seemed heedless of everything but his anxiety to reach their destination. At every corner and turning he paused to listen for any danger signal. Helmar, on the contrary, seemed quite to ignore his danger, and walked along indifferently, observing everything and comparing all with his recollections of the night when he had traversed a similar part in Cairo before he was wounded.

At last the quay was reached. The river was covered with all sorts of odd craft, and George gazed with astonished eyes at the scene before him. The moon was just rising, and the great golden globe shone over the river, causing the boats of varying build to cast weird and fantastic shadows on the water.

The guide pointed to two great cumbersome vessels near the other side of the river. They were built on the barge principle, with sail booms fore and aft like the Chinese river boats. These were the dahabÎehs, one of which was to carry them down to Alexandria. As they reached the water's edge, Naoum gave a peculiar low whistle, and a boat suddenly shot out from the vessel's side, propelled by a solitary occupant.

The boat had hardly appeared when four men dashed out from the shadow and ran on to the shore towards the fugitives. They were dressed in uniform of the Khedive's army. As the fellows caught sight of Helmar's white face, they set up a shout which was immediately answered in various directions. The boat was rapidly nearing their side of the river. Naoum drew his pistol, and Helmar his revolver.

As soon as the men saw this they drew back, and two of them ran off, shouting as they went.

"The moment the boat reaches us," said Naoum in agitated tones, "you must jump in instantly. They have gone for assistance, and if they return before we get off, it means—murder."

The two Arabs left to watch our friends were evidently afraid to attack, and drew back to a respectful distance, eyeing the fugitives furtively. As they caught sight of the boat, now rapidly approaching, they set up another warning howl, and crept forward as though about to attack.

Their cry was answered by the sound of hurrying feet, and just as the boat touched the shore and Helmar and his guide had jumped in, about a dozen men rushed towards them. The sight of their escaping prey so enraged the Arabs that they opened fire at once.

Naoum and the waterman plied vigorously at the oars, and the boat skimmed over the water, while a hail of bullets struck the water around them.

They were not a moment too soon, and even then the chances were largely against them.

"Down with you," cried Naoum, addressing Helmar, "or they'll hit you! I'll pull the boat!"

"Not I," replied George, scornfully. "Do you think I'm going to take shelter while you are exposed to their fire? No, no, pull away, and I'll look after the tiller."

The distance that separated them from the shore was rapidly widening, and the danger lessened.

"I don't think, so long as they aim at us, that they can do much damage," said Naoum, smiling calmly. "Egyptians are not noted for their accurate marksmanship."

Helmar laughed a boyish, ringing laugh, as he listened to his companion's words. The spirit of adventure was upon him, and he was in a seventh heaven of delight as the whizzing bullets sped harmlessly by.

When in mid-stream, the current rapidly took them down to the silent vessel, and a few moments later they reached it and climbed aboard, while the baffled rebels slunk off into the shadow of the quay. The boat was quickly hauled up, moorings cast off, and the dahabÎeh began to glide down the sluggish river.