Upon the following morning, before eleven o’clock, Muriel installed herself in a hammock slung from the lower branches of a shady sycamore, some yards distant from the rose-bushes and shrubs which screened her favourite alcove, now appropriated by Daniel. She had brought with her from the house a handful of fashion-papers and illustrated journals, but these she did not read as, with one foot touching the ground, she swung herself gently to and fro. She looked up through the tracery of the foliage to the brilliant blue of the sky, and her mind was too occupied with her thoughts to give its attention to the latest manner in which the women of Paris, London, and New York were adorning their nakedness.

Little shafts of sunlight, like fiery rods, pierced through the cool blue shadow wherein she lay; and beyond the protection of the heavy foliage the lawn of newly-sown grass gleamed in the radiance of the morning. The faithful northwest wind, which almost daily blows over the desert from the Mediterranean, was gently rustling the greenery overhead, and rattling the hard leaves of the palms; and she could hear the cry of the circling kites above her, though she could only see these scavengers of the air when they swooped and tumbled down, as though in play, to snatch at any edible fragments floating upon the surface of the Nile.

All around her she was aware of the joy of existence, flashing out like laughter and vibrating like song. The water sprinkled upon the lawn by the garden hose seemed to be making merry in the sunshine; a black and grey cow lurching across the grass seemed to be overcome with hilarity; the palm-leaves swaying in the breeze might have been shaking with mirth; and the babbling of the river as it swirled past the terrace was like an endless lyric of well-being.

Muriel was too happily content to indulge in any profound self-analysis; but vaguely she was conscious that her life had entered upon a new phase, and shamelessly she asked herself whether the guiding hand were love. She had realized for some time that Rupert Helsingham had made a spurious impression upon her heart, and during the recent weeks of amusement she had come to wonder how it was that he had aroused any emotion in her, except that caused by his tragic death.

Now, however, she was aglow with buoyant happiness, and she had a persistent feeling that all was well with her. Yesterday, on her return from Daniel’s camp, she had spoken to Kate Bindane of this sense of well-being, and her friend’s reply had set her laughing.

“My dear,” Kate had said, “I’m sure I don’t want to mess up your bright picture of things; but in my opinion, look at it as you will, the joy of life is always some sort of an itch and the scratching of it.”

But today Muriel felt that the definition was false. Her happiness was intangible, and all that she could say with certainty was that it was the result of her little time of silence yesterday in the desert.

It had been so quiet and gentle, so entirely opposite to the prehistoric rough-and-tumble which might have been expected. Her thoughts went back to the incident of the curate at Eastbourne, who had banged her about on the sofa, and would have rolled her on the floor, had not the ten commandments suddenly affrighted him. She thought, too, of Rupert and his impassioned kisses: he had left red marks on her shoulder.

But Daniel had been so silent, so tender, and withal so genuine. He had seemed to be part of the vast sky and desert around him, enfolding her, and harming her not. Yet with a twist of his hand he could have killed her.

In the distance she heard the murmur of his voice as he talked to his native visitors in the alcove; and she had a curious feeling that his proximity was protective. She was no longer afraid, or even shy of him.

Presently, across the lawn, she saw him dismissing three silk-robed Egyptians; and, when they had taken their departure, he waved his hand to her before returning once more behind the screen of roses and trees. The signal was like the caress of an old friend, and by it her happiness was enhanced.

A few minutes later she watched another caller being piloted by a native servant across the lawn to the alcove. He was a young effendi wearing European clothes and the usual red tarboush or fez—an unhealthy little man, who paused once to cough and to spit unpleasantly.

Lazily she watched the servant return to the house, and she hoped that Daniel was finding his new visitor interesting.

She closed her eyes, and sleep was stealing upon her when suddenly she was startled into full consciousness by the sharp crack of a pistol-shot. She sprang out of the hammock and stood for a moment staring about her, her heart beating.

The sound had come from the direction of the alcove, but now all was silent once more. Evidently nobody in the house had heard the shot; and she might have thought it to have been an illusion of sleep, had it not been for the manifest excitement of the birds which had risen from the branches of the trees around.

Almost without definite thought she hastened across the lawn, and paused, listening, near the rose bushes. A whimpering sound of moaning came to her ears; and at this she ran forward impulsively, and, a moment later, came to a sudden halt upon the secluded terrace.

Before her, upon the flagstones, crouched the figure of the young Egyptian. He was holding his right wrist in his left hand, and was staring up, with open mouth, at Daniel who stood over him, fingering a revolver which now he slipped quietly into his pocket as he caught sight of her.

“Go away, Muriel!” he exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The Egyptian struggled to his feet, but Daniel caught him by the arm and half dragged him to the marble bench.

“What’s happened?” she cried. “I heard a shot.”

“Did anybody else hear it?” he asked, so sharply that his voice startled her.

“I don’t think so,” she answered.

“Good,” he said. “This young man’s revolver went off by mistake: that’s all. Please go away.”

“O Daniel!” she cried, realizing the truth. “He tried to kill you!”

“Hush!” he whispered, impatiently. “Here, help me to tie up his wrist: I’ve broken it, I think.”

The Egyptian rocked himself to and fro, making no resistance as Daniel took hold of his injured arm, talking to him the while in Arabic, as though bidding him have no fear. With the would-be assassin’s handkerchief he bound up the injured wrist, while Muriel gave all the assistance of which her trembling fingers were capable; and then, with his own large handkerchief he improvised a sling, never ceasing meanwhile to soothe the man with soft words of sympathetic consideration, as though he had been a doctor called in to attend the victim of an accident.

When the bandaging had been accomplished, he turned to Muriel. “Now please go away, Muriel dear,” he said, “and thanks very much for your help. Remember, not a word about this to anybody at all.”

He smiled at her reassuringly, and obliged her to take her departure, again cautioning her to keep the incident secret. She walked across the lawn to the house, dazed and anxious; and thus she went up to her room, where, looking into the mirror, she was surprised to observe the paleness of her face.

Meanwhile Daniel sat upon the bench beside the Egyptian, smoking his pipe, and waiting for him to recover his composure. The incident had been so foolish, and the attempt upon his life so bungled, that he felt nothing but pity for the wretched man who, he presumed, had believed himself to be performing a patriotic act.

The Secret Service Agents had fully warned him of possible danger, and he had spotted this youth as a suspicious character as soon as he had entered the alcove. The man had been trembling visibly, and when his unsteady hand had fumbled in his pocket, Daniel had gripped his wrist on the instant that the revolver came into sight. The bullet had struck the balustrade and had gone singing into the river, while the weapon had fallen with a clatter upon the pavement.

Daniel had experienced no alarm, and now he felt no anger. He was determined, however, to get to the root of the plot; and it seemed to him far wiser to take action here and now, than to await a judicial enquiry.

As soon, therefore, as his assailant had ceased his moaning and his monotonous rocking to and fro, Daniel took him by his left arm, and led him across the lawn and round to the front gates of the Residency. Here he hailed one of the little open carriages from the stand at the other side of the square, and, helping the Egyptian into it, told the coachman to drive to the nearest hospital.

In the consulting room he explained to the doctor that the man was a friend of his who had injured his wrist by a fall; and soon the mischief was rectified and the arm put into splints.

Daniel then announced his intention of seeing him back to his house; but at this the man aroused himself from the silent stupor into which he had fallen, and vehemently protested.

“You cannot come with me,” he declared. “By God, I shall give no address.”

Daniel had been told by his agents an address at which a certain group of malcontents were known to meet; and, chancing the man’s connection with this fraternity, he now named the house to the driver. The effendi immediately sank back into the corner of the carriage with a look of terror upon his face which indicated clearly enough that the surmise had been correct.

“Do not fear,” said Daniel to him, “I mean you no harm. If God is willing I shall meet some of your friends, and we shall be able to talk over this matter.”

Once during the journey, when their carriage had come to a momentary standstill, in the crowded Mousky, Daniel observed a certain tension in his companion’s attitude which indicated that he was contemplating flight; and he was prepared, therefore, when the man made a sudden leap forward.

“Ass!” he exclaimed, pulling him down on to the seat. The meaning of the expression in Arabic is much the same as it is in English.

For the rest of the way Daniel kept an eye upon the injured man; but the sharp twinge of pain consequent upon his attempted flight had led him once more to prefer a condition of fatalistic apathy, and he made no second effort to escape.

A turning off the Mousky brought them into a winding native street, where a few low-class Greeks were the only European pedestrians to be observed in the crowd of Orientals; and at last the driver steered his carriage into a quiet alley, and pulled up before the arched doorway of a whitewashed house, the upper storeys of which projected outwards until they abutted those of the buildings on the opposite side.

Daniel assisted the Egyptian to alight, and, as they passed through the archway into the stone-flagged hall beyond, where the light was dim, warned him against treachery.

“I still have your loaded revolver in my pocket,” he reminded him. “I have come to speak to your friends, and if they are here you must lead me to them.”

For a moment the man hesitated, but Daniel accelerated matters by clapping his hands loudly, which is the Egyptian method of summoning a servant; and thereupon a door was opened at the head of the crazy flight of wooden stairs, and an untidy figure of a man in a blue-cotton shirt appeared before them.

“Are the others here?” asked Daniel, seeing that his companion was recognized.

“Upstairs,” the man answered, shortly, pointing to the gallery above him, and therewith returned whence he came, his slouching attitude displaying all the indifference of which the untrained Egyptian servant is so eminently capable.

“Lead the way,” said Daniel to his companion, who, recognizing the Kismet al Allah, the destiny of God, obeyed without protest, mounting the stairs in silence.

As they neared the shut door which had been indicated to them, the Egyptian was overcome with a fit of coughing, the rasping sound of which echoed through the house; and, as though the sound had been recognized, the door before them was immediately opened, and the pock-marked face and red tarboush of another young native effendi appeared.

“What’s this?” he exclaimed in astonishment, pointing to his friend’s injured arm. Then, seeing the Englishman, he checked himself warily.

Daniel took a step forward. “I have brought him back to you,” he said, affably. “He is hurt.”

A moment later they were inside the room, and Daniel was fingering the trigger of the revolver in his pocket, as he glanced from one to another of the five men confronting him. They had risen to their feet, and were standing in attitudes of manifest nervousness. They had evidently been disturbed at their midday meal, for it was now a little past noon: three or four dishes of food stood upon the floor, and the mouths of at least two of the men were full. The smell of garlic and stale tobacco smoke pervaded the room; and a shaft of sunlight striking through the window revealed a mass of flies hovering and buzzing around a plate of something which appeared to be cold minced meat.

“Peace be unto you!” said Daniel, using the Islamic salutation; and the men muttered the customary response, as though by force of habit.

Daniel stood with his back to the door which he had closed behind. “I ask your forgiveness for my intrusion,” he said, still speaking in Arabic, “but I thought the matter urgent. This morning this gentleman came to the Residency, where I have the honour of being employed, and fired the revolver at me which I am now holding in my pocket. But it pleased God to spare my life, and I immediately came to ask you why you wished my death. You know the words of the Prophet: ‘Man is a building erected by God, and he who destroys the building of God shall himself be destroyed.’”

The injured man had collapsed upon a stiff bench which stood against the wall, and was now rocking himself to and fro once more, the tears of pain and exasperation streaming down his face.

“He is in great pain,” said Daniel, “for I am sorry to say I have broken his wrist. I took him to the hospital, and the bones are set; but he will require much care. I think you would do well to give him something to eat.”

One of the Egyptians, less concerned with his own interests than the others, fetched a cup of water, and held it to the sufferer’s lips; but his companions still stood like startled sheep, eyeing their muscular visitor with undisguised dismay. They were all young men—students, perhaps, or clerks in minor employ; and it was evident that they were entirely nonplussed, for they answered not a word.

“My object in coming here,” Daniel continued, “is simply to learn from you the cause of your anger. You must be feeling something very deeply to resort to assassination; but why should you desire to murder me? I am the only person who can help you.”

He assured them of his desire to understand their point of view, and gradually he was able to break down their anxious reserve, so that presently they spoke to him with a certain amount of freedom, and they heard, probably for the first time, the English attitude expounded in terms of idealism. They were fanatical young men whose patriotism was nothing more than dislike of the foreigner, which, indeed, is a large part of all patriotism; and though Daniel made little attempt to argue with them he was able very soon to establish more or less sympathetic relations with his would-be murderers, and perhaps to convince them that bloodshed is foolish.

The situation had a piquancy which amused him vastly; and when, presently, he unloaded the revolver and handed it back to the melancholy figure upon the divan, he could not refrain from laughter, in which, to his surprise, the others joined.

“Cheer up, O son of complaint!” he said. “You ought to be praising God that you are not about to be hanged.” Then, turning to the others, he told them how glad he was that they found cause for mirth in the situation. “Are we not all like the pieces upon a chessboard?” he asked. “But do we realize that God is playing both sides of the game? Remember the words of the Koran: ‘They plotted, and God plotted; and God is the best of plotters.’ Now let us laugh and give thanks that no blood has been spilt, for it is precious stuff; and finally let us agree to forget the incident. So far as I am concerned it is khalÂs khÂlas—absolutely closed; and on your part, if you have further cause for hostility, come to the Residency and ask for me, but do not bring your revolvers with you or I shall give you no coffee.”

He arrived back at the Residency somewhat late for luncheon, and his high spirits were such that Muriel stared at him in amazement. When the meal was finished she took him aside, as the others left the room, and asked where he had been.

“I took my murderer home,” he explained, “and made friends with his fellow-assassins, and we all had a good laugh together. It seemed to be the best way of settling the matter.”

“O Daniel,” she whispered, “you’re either a hero or else you’re crazy.”

“No,” he answered, “I’m just a philosopher—that is to say, one who sees the comic side of life.”

“There’s not much comedy about the attempted murder of one’s best friend,” she answered.

His face became serious and his eyes sought hers. “Am I your best friend?” he asked.

She turned from him and stared out of the window. They were alone in the room, and he put his hand upon her shoulder, as she nodded her head in silence.

Suddenly he observed that her eyes were full of tears, and at this his heart seemed for a moment to stop beating.

“Muriel,” he whispered, but his voice failed him.

She looked round at him, and smiled; and that which was destined to happen happened all in a moment. His arms enfolded her, and, bending down, he kissed her with the passion of revelation—fervently, exultantly, joyously.