Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
—for the night breeze from off the desert held a nipping quality at times—to keep the tables from being crowded; at the same time, there were enough loitering guests and a sufficiency of light to insure against a stealthy attack.
O'Rourke ordered a drink and sought a secluded table, which he discovered in the shadow of a palm. Here he sat him down to soothe his soul with a smoke. Hardly had he settled comfortably, however, ere he had cause to regret his choice.
The night was yet young: as much as to say that it wanted little of midnight. But Cairo was alive; and momentarily carriages were driving up in front of the hotel, bearing returning pleasure seekers or taking guests to their homes.
From one presently alighted a man and a woman. O'Rourke, deep in thought of the Russian plot, gave them a transient inspection, noted something familiar in their aspect, and paid them no more attention until they took possession of the table immediately adjoining his own.
Thereupon, "Oh, the divvle!" exclaimed the Irishman. "Must I move to escape their infernal chatter? Faith, 'tis meself that may as well get me to bed."
He would have done wisely had he acted upon the impulse. Instead, the man lingered, reluctant to abandon his smoke; and a ray of light, sifting through the fronds of a waving palm, fell full upon the face of the woman.
The Irishman gripped the edges of his chair suddenly, feeling the blood hammering madly through his pulses. "Me goddess!" he said, under his breath. "Faith, but the beauty of her, each time, is like a blow in me face!"
For it was his divinity of the Egyptian night; and she was staring at him, frankly and without reserve, for the moment.
"Can it be that she knows me?" he asked himself. "Sure,
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