The Last Egyptian

On the afternoon of the second day he dressed himself carefully and ordered his chauffeur to be ready to drive him to the Savoy; but as he was about to leave his room, a note was brought to him from Aneth. He tore it open and eagerly read the message —

Dear Prince Kāra: – I am not going to risk another unpleasant interview, because I am anxious we should remain in the future, as in the past, good friends and comrades. But please do not again ask me to marry you, for such a thing is utterly impossible. While I am glad to enjoy your friendship, I can never return the love you profess to bear me, and without love a true woman will not marry. So I beg you will forget that such a thing has ever been discussed between us, and forbear to refer to it again.

Your friend,Aneth Consinor.

As he read the note Kāra’s face grew set and stern and his dark eyes flashed ominously. He read it a second time, with more care, trying to find some word of hope or compromise in the frankly written epistle. But there was none.

He experienced a sensation of disappointment and chagrin, tinged with considerable astonishment. Strange as it may seem, he had never for a moment anticipated such a positive refusal. But his nature was impetuous and capricious, and presently anger drove all other feelings from his heart; and the anger grew and expanded until it was hot and furious and took full possession of him.

Perhaps it was the blow to his self-esteem that was most effective in destroying the passion he had mistaken for love. Anyway, the love dissolved with startling rapidity, and in a half hour there was little tenderness remaining for the English girl who had repulsed him. He accepted her answer as conclusive, and began at once to revive his former plans of vengeance. One transport was liable to prove as sweet and exciting as another to him, and he began to revel in the consciousness that he was the supreme master of the fate of all the Consinors. Hatatcha was right after all. These English were cold and faithless, and unworthy the consideration of one of his noble race. He had been incautious and weak for a time, but now he resolved to fulfil his oath to the dead woman to the very letter.

He tore the offending paper into fragments, and left the room with a resumption of his old inscrutable demeanor. It was the look that Tadros had learned to fear.

“Drive me to the Savoy,” he said to his chauffeur.

Lord Roane had reserved one small room on the first floor of the hotel as an office, and here he transacted such business matters as came under his jurisdiction. Kāra found him unoccupied, and Roane, who knew his visitor but slightly, greeted the man with cordial politeness.

“Pray be seated, Prince,” said he, offering a chair; “I am entirely at your service.”

The other bowed coldly.

“I fear my mission may prove somewhat disagreeable to you, my lord,” he began, in quiet, even tones.

Roane gave him a shrewd glance.

“Ah, I hear that my son is largely indebted to you for losses in gambling,” he returned, thinking that he understood Kāra’s errand. “So far, it is merely a rumor that has reached me; but if you come to me to plead that case, I beg to assure you that I am in no way responsible for Consinor’s debts of honor.”

The Egyptian shrugged his shoulders as a Frenchman might have done.

“That is another matter, sir, which I do not care to discuss at this time,” he answered. “My present business is to obtain your consent to marry your granddaughter.”

Roane was startled with amazement.

“Aneth! You wish to marry Aneth?” he asked, as if he could not have heard aright.

“Yes, my lord.”

So confident was the prince’s tone that Lord Roane, although much unnerved by its suddenness, began involuntarily to consider the proposition. The fellow was handsome and dignified and reputed to be as rich as Crœsus; but the Englishman had a natural antipathy to foreigners, especially the dark-skinned ones. The idea of giving Aneth to an Egyptian was revolting.

“Ahem! This is indeed a surprise, Prince,” he said, haltingly. “The child is hardly old enough yet to think of marriage.”

Kāra did not reply to this observation.

“Have you – ah – approached her with this proposal as yet?” inquired Roane, after a few moments’ reflection.

“I have, sir.”

“And what did she say?”

“She refused to marry me, giving as her reason the fact that she does not love me,” was the calm reply.

Roane stared at him.

“Then why the devil do you come to me?” he demanded, angrily.

“Because the girl must not be allowed to choose for herself,” said Kāra.

“Must not, sir?”

“Decidedly not, Lord Roane. Too much depends upon her refusal. At present your granddaughter stands disgraced in the eyes of all the world, because of that dishonest father, who, as you remarked a moment ago, owes me ten thousand pounds.”

“Aneth disgraced!” cried Roane, indignantly; “by no means, sir! Even your vile insinuations cannot injure that pure and innocent girl. But Consinor has gone away, and his daughter is now under my personal protection. I will see that she is accorded the respect and consideration to which she is entitled, despite her father’s misdeeds.”

“Such an assertion, my lord, is, under the circumstances, ridiculous,” replied Kāra, with a composure equal to the other’s irritation. “In the near future, when you are yourself disgraced and imprisoned, who will then be left to protect your granddaughter’s good name?”

Roane uttered a roar of exasperation.

“You infernal scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “how dare you come here to browbeat and insult me! Leave my presence, sir!”

“I think you will be glad to hear more,” remarked Kāra, without changing his position. “Perhaps you are not aware that your robbery of the Government through the contractor, McFarland, is fully known to me.”

Roane fell back in his chair, white and trembling.

“It’s a lie!” he muttered.

“It is not a lie,” said the imperturbable Egyptian. “The proofs are all in my hands. I hold your receipt to McFarland for the stolen money.”

Roane glared at him, but had not a word to reply. He felt like a rat in a trap. From the most unexpected source this blow had fallen upon him when least expected, and already he bitterly regretted his lapse from honesty.

“The Egyptian Government, when it learns the facts,” continued Kāra, “will show you no mercy. Even Lord Cromer will insist upon your punishment, for he will resent any embezzlement in office that would bring the English colony here into disrepute. You must be aware of your danger without the necessity of my calling your attention to the fact; so that you have, absolutely, no hope of escape except through my clemency.”

“What do you mean?” asked the old nobleman, hoarsely.

“That at present the secret is in my sole possession. It need never be disclosed. Give me Aneth in marriage, and you will not only secure your safety, but I will see that you want for nothing in the future. I am wealthy enough to promise this.”

“The girl has refused you.”

“Never mind. You will force her to accept me.”

“No, by God, I will not!” cried Roane, springing to his feet. “Hell and all its imps shall not induce me to drag that innocent child to my own level. I am a felon because I am an ass, and an ass because I have no moral stamina; but even then, my heart is not as black as yours, Prince Kāra!”

The Egyptian listened unmoved.

“The matter deserves more careful consideration,” said he. “Sentiment is very pretty when it does not conflict with personal safety. An examination of your case reveals comfort and prosperity on the one hand, disgrace and prison on the other.”

“They weigh nothing against Aneth’s happiness,” returned the old man, promptly. “Expose me as soon as you like, sir, for nothing will ever induce me to save myself from the fruits of my folly at the expense of that poor girl. And now, go!”

Kāra smiled with quiet scorn.

“It is quite refreshing to witness your indignation,” said he. “If it were equaled by your honesty, you would have no reason to fear me.”

“Nor do I fear you now,” retorted Lord Roane, defiantly. “Do your worst, you infamous nigger, for you cannot bribe me in any way to abet your shameful proposals.”

Kāra reddened at the epithet, but did not reply until he had risen and started to move toward the door. Then he half turned and said:

“It will enable you to appreciate your danger better, Lord Roane, if I tell you that I am but the instrument of an Egyptian woman named Hatatcha, whose life and happiness you once carelessly ruined. She did not forget, and her vengeance against you and yours will be terrible, believe me, unless you engage me to defeat it instead of accomplishing it. My personal interest induces me to bargain with you. What do you say, my lord? Shall we discuss this subject more fully, or do you wish me to go?”

Roane was staring at him with affrighted eyes. A thousand recollections flashed through his mind at the mention of Hatatcha’s name, attended by a thousand terrors as he remembered his treatment of her. So lost was he in fear and wonder that Kāra had to speak again.

“Shall I go, my lord?”

“Yes,” was the answer. It seemed to be wrenched from the old man’s throbbing breast by a generosity that conquered his cowardice.

Kāra frowned. He was disappointed. But further argument was useless, and he went away, leaving Roane fairly stunned by the disclosures of the interview.

CHAPTER XVII

ANETH SURRENDERS

Kāra went straight to Aneth’s apartments, insisting that he must see her.

The girl was much distressed by this sudden visit, and, thinking that the Egyptian wished merely to renew his protestations and appeals, tried hard to evade the ordeal of an interview. Mrs. Everingham was with her at the time, and in her perplexity Aneth confided to her in a few brief words Kāra’s infatuation, and asked her advice how to act under such trying circumstances.

Mrs. Everingham was a woman of strong character and shrewd judgment. She was tall and admirably formed, with undoubted claims to beauty and a carriage queenly and dignified. The wife of a prominent engineer, she had lived much in the Orient and was accustomed to its unconventionalities as well as to its most representative social life. Although so much older than Aneth, the lady had manifested a fondness for the lonely girl from their first meeting, and had gladly taken her, as she expressed it, “under her wing,” as well as to her sympathetic heart; so that Aneth had come to rely upon her friend in many ways, and now turned to her in this emergency.

“I think it will be best for you to see him,” advised Mrs. Everingham, after a thoughtful consideration of the case. “If you evade the explanation he doubtless wishes to force upon you, he is the sort of man to annoy you persistently until you grant him an interview. Better have it over at once; and be positive with him, my dear, as well as gentle, so that you leave no hope alive to warrant his renewing his suit.”

“Won’t you stay with me, Lola?” begged Aneth.

“That would hardly be fair to Prince Kāra,” smiled Mrs. Everingham, “for my presence would embarrass and humiliate him unnecessarily. No; I will withdraw into the next room, where I shall be within call, but invisible. Be brave, Aneth dear. These disagreeable duties are often thrust upon women who, like yourself, have a faculty of unconsciously winning men’s hearts, and are exacted as inevitable penalties. I am sorry for the poor prince, but he is not of our race and had no business to fall in love with an English girl.”

Then she kissed her protégé and retired to the adjoining room, taking pains to leave the door ajar. Aneth sighed, and called her Arab to admit Kāra.

When the Egyptian entered, his manner in no way indicated the despair of a rejected lover, or even the eagerness of one who hoped to successfully appeal his case. Instead, he bowed coldly, but with profound deference, and said:

“You must pardon me, Miss Aneth, for forcing this interview upon you; but it was necessary.”

“Forgive me, also, Prince Kāra,” faltered the girl. “I am sorry you came, for my answer was final. I can never – ”

He waved his hand with a gesture of insolent indifference that arrested her words.

“You will not be called upon to repeat the dismissal conveyed in your letter,” said he. “I may ask you to reverse your decision, but it will be a matter of business between us, in which inclination will have no part.”

“Sir,” she replied, shrinking back before his stern look, “I – I fear I do not understand you!”

“Be seated,” he requested, “and I will explain.”

She obeyed silently, with a partial recovery of her self-control. Strange as the Egyptian’s words proved, they were, after all, more bearable than his endearing protestations would have been, and in her ignorance she welcomed any topic but love.

Kāra spoke with brutal frankness.

“The scandal caused by your father’s dishonesty is too recent for you to have yet escaped its contamination,” he began. “Lord Consinor has left Cairo owing me money, a matter of some ten thousand pounds. That you may have no cause to doubt my word, please to examine this note of hand. It is witnessed by two respectable gentlemen residing in this city.”

He handed her the paper and she took it mechanically, wondering what it meant.

“According to our laws,” he resumed, “I can bring an action to recover this money against any member of Consinor’s family. I am assured such an action would ruin Lord Roane completely.”

She was afraid of him now, but drew herself up proudly.

“That will not matter in the least, sir,” she replied. “Lord Roane will gladly meet any just obligation, even though it may leave him penniless to do so.”

“My lord does not express himself quite so honorably as that,” replied Kāra, with an open sneer. “But this note of hand is really unimportant. I merely mentioned it to emphasize the debt that you and your grandfather already owe me. Your father has cleverly escaped the result of his misdeeds by absconding. Unfortunately, Lord Roane is unable to do the same thing.”

“No one will blame Lord Roane for his son’s faults,” she protested, greatly distressed by the cruelty of Kāra’s remarks.

“That is not my meaning,” he replied. “Roane’s own misdeeds are so much more serious than those of his son that, when they are discovered, he cannot escape a prison cell.”

Aneth gasped in horror. The accusation was at first beyond belief; but Kāra’s tone was positive and a sudden recollection of her grandfather’s doubtful life flashed over her and made her dread to question further.

It was not needful. The man continued calmly to enlighten her concerning McFarland’s crime and her grandfather’s participation in it, while the girl sat with wide-open eyes and a look of despair upon her white face.

Finally Kāra produced a second paper.

“This, Miss Aneth,” he said, more gently, “is the receipt signed by Lord Roane for his share of the stolen money. It is proof positive against him, and you will, of course, recognize his signature. Besides, I can produce two witnesses to the crime – a crime for which the penalty is, as I have hinted, a long term of imprisonment as well as dishonor through all the ages to come. But this is only for discovery. There is no penalty exacted for an undiscovered crime. Personally, I do not wish to see Lord Roane disgraced and sent to prison, or your invalid mother impoverished, and you, yourself, left to the mercies of a reproachful world; so I have come here to-day to save you all from these consequences of Roane’s folly, if you will let me.”

Aneth tried to control her bewilderment. She wanted to think calmly. So vividly had Kāra described Lord Roane’s offense, that she saw it all before her as in a dream, and knew that the old man’s feet were stumbling at the edge of a bottomless pit. But the last words of the Egyptian, if she heard them aright, seemed to promise a chance of her awakening and exorcising the nightmare.

“How can you save us?” she asked, wearily.

“By making you my wife,” he answered. “It all rests with you, Miss Aneth. I alone can protect Lord Roane from any possibility of discovery, and I will do so if you now promise to marry me. More than that, I will pay off all the mortgages on your grandfather’s estates, so that he may live in comfort during the remainder of his life, honored and respected by all. And you shall have your father’s note of hand for the ten thousand pounds as soon as I receive your promise, as an earnest of my good faith.”

“And if I refuse?” she suggested, trembling.

“Then you render me powerless to aid, and plunge your aged grandfather into prison, disgraced and humiliated beyond any hope of redemption.”

“No, no! I cannot do that,” she wailed, miserably. “He has been so good to me and loved me so fondly that I dare not – I will not – sacrifice him to secure my own happiness!”

“It is as I hoped,” said Kāra, a note of triumph in his voice. “Do you promise, sacredly and on your honor, that you will marry me in return for my shielding your grandfather from the consequences of his crime?”

“Yes,” she answered, clasping her hands with a shudder.

“And you will come to me any day and hour that I may appoint?”

“Yes.”

“Aneth! Aneth! what have you said? What have you done?” cried Mrs. Everingham, running from her hiding-place to clasp the terrified girl in her arms.

“What have I done?” repeated Aneth, vacantly. “Why, Lola, I have saved my dear grandfather from disgrace and ruin.”

“You shall not keep that promise!” declared the woman, turning fiercely to confront Kāra. “It was wrung from you by threats – by blackmail – and this scoundrel is playing upon your generous and loving heart. You shall never keep so absurd a promise.”

“Yes,” returned Aneth, bravely; “I have given my word, and I shall keep it.”

Kāra laid a paper upon the table.

“There is your father’s note, Miss Aneth. You may destroy it.” He hesitated an instant, and then added the second paper. “And here is your grandfather’s receipt for the stolen money. So fully do I trust to your good faith that I leave the incriminating evidence all in your own hands. Good afternoon, Miss Aneth.”

With a bow, grave and courteous, he passed from the room, and Mrs. Everingham lifted the girl in her strong arms and carried her into the adjoining chamber to lay her tenderly upon her bed. The strain had been severe, and Aneth had fainted.

CHAPTER XVIII

FINDING A WAY

Gerald Winston endured several miserable, uneasy days following that of Lord Consinor’s public disgrace. He longed to call upon Aneth, but dared not intrude, and so compromised by sending her a daily gift of flowers. At last, however, he decided to see Mrs. Everingham and endeavor to ascertain Aneth’s condition, and whether her father’s fault was making her as sorrowful as he feared.

He found Mrs. Everingham at her rooms in the Savoy, and was admitted at once.

“I want to ask you about Miss Consinor,” he said, after he had been warmly greeted, for they were good friends and she was glad he had come.

“Aneth is very unhappy,” was the sober reply.

“I can understand her humiliation, of course,” he continued, with a sigh; “although I hoped she would be brave, and not take the unfortunate circumstance too much to heart.”

“She is young,” answered Mrs. Everingham, evasively, “and cannot view these things as composedly as we do. Moreover, you must remember that Lord Consinor’s trouble touches her more deeply than anyone else.”

“Unless it is the viscountess,” he suggested.

“Oh, the poor viscountess knows nothing of it! She passes her time in an exclusive consideration of her own ailments, and will scarcely see her own daughter at all. Do you know, Gerald, I sometimes wonder how the child can be so sweet and womanly when her surroundings are so dreadful.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “Consinor has always borne a doubtful reputation at home, and in past years Roane’s life has also been more or less disgraceful. But the old fellow seems to be conducting himself very properly since he came to Egypt, and it is possible he has reformed his ways.”

She did not reply at once, but sat musing until she asked, with startling abruptness:

“Gerald, do you love Aneth?”

He flushed and stammered in his endeavor to find words to reply. Since his interview with Kāra he had confessed to himself that he did love Aneth; but that another should discover his secret filled the big fellow with confusion.

“Why do you ask?” he faltered, to gain time.

“Because the girl needs true and loving friends more at this moment than in all her life to come,” said she, earnestly.

“I will be her true friend in any event,” he returned.

“But I must know more than that,” persisted Mrs. Everingham. “Tell me frankly, Gerald, do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Well enough to wish to make her your wife, in spite of her family’s shady history?”

“Yes,” he said again, looking at her inquiringly.

“Then I shall confide to you a great secret; for it is right that you should be apprised of what is going on; and only you – with my assistance, to be sure – can hope to defeat the cunning plot that threatens to separate Aneth from you forever.”

Thereupon she related to him the details of the interview she had overheard between Kāra and the girl, and told of the promise Aneth had made to save her grandfather from disgrace by marrying the Egyptian.

“But this is nonsense!” he exclaimed, angrily. “The man is a fool to wish to force any woman to marry him, and a scoundrel to use such means to accomplish his purpose.”

“I know; I have discussed this matter with Aneth long and earnestly, but all in vain. She is determined to sacrifice herself to save Lord Roane from this disgrace; and Prince Kāra is inflexible. For some unknown reason he has determined to make this girl his wife, although he did not talk like a lover, and she told him frankly she could never love or even esteem him. Really, it seems incomprehensible.”

“I know his reason well enough,” answered Winston, moodily. “He is acting under the influence of the strongest and most evil human passion – revenge. If you will kindly listen, my friend, I will relate a bit of romance that should enable you to understand the Egyptian’s purpose.”

He proceeded to recount the story of Hatatcha and Lord Roane, adding his grounds for believing that Kāra had from the first contemplated the ruin of the entire Consinor family.

“This is horrible!” cried Mrs. Everingham, indignantly. “If what you say is true, this native prince is himself a grandson of Roane, and therefore Aneth’s cousin.”

“I have called his attention to that fact, and he declares it is no bar to his marrying her. I imagine his real meaning is that the relationship is no bar to his prosecuting his nefarious plans. Does Lord Roane know of this proposed sacrifice of his granddaughter for his sake?”

“No; and Aneth has made me promise to keep the secret from him. I cannot see that he would be able to assist us in any way, if he knew all that we know.”

“Perhaps not. Is the story true? Has Roane actually embezzled this money?”

“I do not know.”

“It seems to me,” said the young man, thoughtfully, “that our first action should be to discover the truth of Kāra’s assertion. He may have trumped up the charge to work upon Aneth’s feelings, and lead her to consent to marry him against her will.”

“That is true,” she said. “How can we investigate the matter?”

“Very easily. I will go to-morrow to the Rosetta Barrage and examine the embankment. Afterward I can look up the records and discover what sort of contract this man McFarland had, and how much money he collected for its execution. That will give us the truth of the matter, and I can accomplish it all in two days’ time.”

“Then go; but make haste, for every day is precious. We do not know when the prince may call upon Aneth to fulfil her promise.”

They discussed the situation a while longer, and then Winston withdrew to prepare for taking the early morning train.

The second evening after, he again called upon Mrs. Everingham.

“Well,” she inquired, eagerly, “what did you discover?”

“It is all true,” he answered, despondently. “The swindle has been cleverly consummated, and in just the way Kāra explained it to Aneth. There is no doubt of Lord Roane’s guilt; neither can we doubt that Kāra has both the power and the will to expose and imprison him if it suits his purpose to do so.”