After a while the pretty boy became better and recovered consciousness, and his poor father, who had been helping me with trembling hands and swimming eyes, cried for joy, and said, ’By God the most high, if ever I find any of the English, poor or sick or afflicted up in Fazoghlou, I will make them know that I Abu Mahommed never saw a face like the pale face of the English lady bent over my sick boy.’  And then El-Bedrawee and his fellah kinsman, and all the crew blessed me and the Captain, and the cawass said it was time to sail.  So I gave directions and medicine to Abu Mahommed, and kissed the pretty boy and went out.  El-Bedrawee followed me up the bank, and said he had a request to make—­would I pray for him in his distress.  I said, ‘I am not of the Muslimeen,’ but both he and Mustapha said, Maleysh (never mind), for that it was quite certain I was not of the Mushkireen, as they hate the Muslimeen and their deeds are evil—­but blessed be God, many of the English begin to repent of their evil, and to love the Muslims and abound in kind actions.  So we parted in much kindness.  It was a strange feeling to me to stand on the bank and see the queer savage-looking boat glide away up the stream, bound to such far more savage lands, and to be exchanging kind farewells quite in a homely manner with such utter ’aliens in blood and faith.’  ‘God keep thee Lady, God keep thee Mustapha.’  Mustapha and I walked home very sad about poor El-Bedrawee.

Friday, July 7.—­It has been so ‘awfully’ hot that I have not had pluck to go on with my letter, or indeed to do anything but lie on a mat in the passage with a minimum of clothes quite indescribable in English. Alhamdulilah! laughs Omar, ’that I see the clever English people do just like the lazy Arabs.’  The worst is not the positive heat, which has not been above 104 degrees and as low as 96 degrees at night, but the horrible storms of hot wind and dust which are apt to come on at night and prevent one’s even lying down till twelve or one o’clock.  Thebes is bad in the height of summer on account of its expanse of desert, and sand and dust.  The Nile is pouring down now gloriously, and really red as blood—­more crimson than a Herefordshire lane—­and in the distance the reflection of the pure blue sky makes it deep violet.  It had risen five cubits a week ago; we shall soon have it all over the land here.  It is a beautiful and inspiriting sight to see the noble old stream as young and vigorous as ever.  No wonder the Egyptians worshipped the Nile:  there is nothing like it.  We have had all the plagues of Egypt this year, only the lice are commuted for bugs, and the frogs for mice; the former have eaten me and the latter have eaten my clothes.  We are so ragged!  Omar has one shirt left, and has to sleep without and wash it every night.  The dust, the drenching perspiration, and the hard-fisted washing of Mahommed’s slave-women destroys everything.