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OR
THE CHILD OF THE PYRAMID
BY THE
HON. CHARLES A. MURRAY, C.B.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MCMI
OR,
THE CHILD OF THE PYRAMID.
More than thirty years have elapsed since, on a summer evening, the tents of an Arab encampment might have been seen dotting the plain which forms the western boundary of the Egyptian province of Bahyrah, a district bordering on the great Libyan desert, and extending northward as far as the shore of the Mediterranean.
The western portion of this province has been for many years, and probably still is, the camping-ground of the powerful and warlike tribe of the "Sons of Ali"; a branch of which tribe, acknowledging as its chief Sheik S?leh el-Ghazy, occupied the encampment above referred to.
The evening was calm and still, and lovely as childhood's sleep: no sound of rolling wheel, or distant anvil, or busy mill, or of the thousand other accessories of human labour, intruded harshly on the ear. Within the encampment there was indeed the "watch-dog's honest bark," the voices of women and children, mingled with the deeper tones of the evening prayer uttered by many a robed figure worshipping towards the east, but beyond it nought was to be heard save the tinkling of the bells of the home-coming flocks, and the soft western breeze whispering among the branches of the graceful palms its joy at having passed the regions of dreary sand. It seemed as if Nature herself were about to slumber, and were inviting man to share her rest.
In front of his tent sat Sheik S?leh, on a Turkish carpet, smoking his pipe in apparent forgetfulness that his left arm was bandaged and supported by a sling.
The Sheik sat listlessly, allowing his eyes to wander over these familiar objects, and to rest on the golden clouds beyond, which crowned the distant sandhills of the Libyan desert. The neglected pipe was thrown across his knee, and he was insensibly yielding to the slumberous influence of the hour, when his repose was suddenly disturbed by the sound of voices in high altercation, and a few minutes afterwards his son Hassan, a lad nearly sixteen years of age, stood before him, his countenance bearing the traces of recent and still unsubdued passion, while the blood trickled down his cheek.
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