y with us. Old Ebn Ezra doesn't say much himself, doesn't say
anything about that; but he's guessing the same as me. And the
Saadat looks as though he was ready for his grave, but keeps going,
going, going. He never seems to sleep. What keeps him alive I
don't know. Sometimes I feel clean knocked out myself with the
little I do, but he's a travelling hospital all by his lonesome.

Later.--I had to stop writing, for things have been going on--
several. I can see that Ebn Ezra has told the Saadat things that
make him want to get away to Cairo as soon as possible. That it's
Nahoum Pasha and others--oh, plenty of others, of course--I'm
certain; but what the particular game is I don't know. Perhaps you
know over in England, for you're nearer Cairo than we are by a few
miles, and you've got the telegraph. Perhaps there's a revolution,
perhaps there's been a massacre of Europeans, perhaps Turkey is
kicking up a dust, perhaps Europe is interfering--all of it, all at
once.

Later still.--I've found out it's a little of all, and the Saadat is
ready to go. I guess he can go now pretty soon, for the worst of
the fever is over. But something has happened that's upset him--
knocked him stony for a minute. Halim Bey was killed last night--by
order of the sheikhs, I'm told; but the sheikhs won't give it away.
When the Saadat went to them, his eyes blazing, his face pale as a
sheet, and as good as swore at them, and treated them as though he'd
string them up the next minute, they only put their hands on their
heads, and said they were "the fallen leaves for his foot to
scatter," the "snow on the hill for his breath to melt"; but they
wouldn't give him any satisfaction. So he came back and shut
himself up in his tent, and he sits there like a ghost all
shrivelled up for want of sleep, and his eyes like a lime-kiln
burning; for now he knows this at least, that Halim Bey had brought
some word from Kaid's Palace that set these Arabs against him, and
nearly stopped my correspondence. You see, there's a widow in
Cairo--she's a sister of the American consul, and I've promised to
take her with a party camping in the Fayoum--cute as she can be, and
plays the guitar. But it's all right now, except that the Saadat is
running too close and fine. If he has any real friends in England
among the Government people, or among those who can make th