"The question is foolish--have ye no brains ?" he said impatiently.
A look of malignant triumph flashed from Achmet to High, and he said, scarce above a whisper: "May thy footsteps be as the wings of the eagle, Effendina.

The heart of the pomegranate is not redder than our hearts are red for thee.

Cut deep into our hearts, and thou shalt find the last beat is for thee--and for the Jehad!" "The Jehad--ay, the Jehad! The time is at hand," answered Harrik, glowering at the two.

"The sword shall not be sheathed till we have redeemed Egypt.

Go your ways, effendis, and peace be on you and on all the righteous worshippers of God!" As High and Achmet left the palace, the voice of a holy man--admitted everywhere and treated with reverence--chanting the Koran, came somnolently through the court-yard: "Bismillah hirrahmah, nirraheem.
Elhamdu lillahi sabbila!" Rocking his body backwards and forwards and dwelling sonorously on each vowel, the holy man seemed the incarnation of Muslim piety; but as the two conspirators passed him with scarce a glance, and made their way to a small gate leading into the great garden bordering on the Nile, his eyes watched them sharply.