And that chance is—I tell you openly and plainly
—confession!"

He was speechless with terror and astonishment.

"Take care, take care," she went on, quickly.
"You don't know what is hanging over you.
The net is drawing closer every day. There is
danger and ruin coming, and coming fast. You
can save yourself by helping me. I know more
than you think I know. Do you refuse or hesitate?
If you dare to tell your son when he
returns, I shall go away at once, and let
everything take its course. Shall I go now?"

She took up her light, and stayed a moment
with her hand on the door.

At last he found speech. "But I have done
nothing. I know nothing. I am so old. I
have——"

"No, no," said she, coming back with a
reassuring smile. "Who thinks so? No one. But
still you know much, and know much that you
can tell. Shall I sit down, or——" And again
she laid her hand on the candle.

"But—but—my son—my son," said he, shaking
his hands despairingly; "what will he
say?"

"What will he say when I go away—when
the whole becomes public—when you are both
dragged away as accomplices—when this town,
and this principality, and this kingdom are ringing
with the news of the cruel business that was
done down here?"

"Who are you?" he said, full of terror.
"What do you want with me? I am a poor
miserable old man, and must die soon. It is
cruel. I have no strength. My son would
protect me if he were here. I am a miserable
creature that would not hurt a fly, and must die
soon."

Pauline started up, and stood before him like
a destroying angel. "You are old," she said,
"and miserable, and have the long long days of
a long life to count up. You must die soon.
Yes, but how?  There are other ways than that
dying in your bed you are so anxious for. For
all your years and all your misery, you may yet
be dragged to a shameful end. He who looks on
is as guilty as he who does the work."

The old doctor shrank away from her, and
tried to hide himself behind his hands. "Don't,
don't speak so awfully," he said, trembling. "I
am an old miserable creature who would harm
no one."

Pauline looked down on him for a moment.
"Very well," she said. "Be miserable, then; I
have done. On your own head be it. Do as you
like; and I leave you now——"

She turned to go. At that moment the wind
came with a fresh howl and fresh fury down the
street: a crash only a few houses away, as of a
chimney hurled down into ruins. Then silence;
and the old man crouched and cowered into his
arm-chair, as if it were a cave where he could
hide his head. She had her hand on the door,
and it opened noisily.

"Don't—don't leave me," he said, piteously.
"I shall be destroyed if I am left alone. There,
I will tell you all—that is, all I know."

         EGYPTIAN REMINISCENCES.

I WAS travelling in that strange land which
separates Nubia from Upper Egypt, and had
for a guide, from the beautiful ruins of Philœ
into the sandy waste which lies between the
green banks of the Nile and the Red Sea, a
black man, a native of the locality, his name
Mohammed Hassan, who had many a tale to
tell of the Djins who visited that mysterious
district, and he recounted their doings with as
strong and confident a faith as prophet or martyr
ever exhibited. He was a zealous Mahomedan,
and prided himself on the superiority of Islamism
to every other creed; he was rather eager for,
than disinclined to, religious controversy; and
if he failed to convince his European opponents
that the Koran was a better book than the
Bible, he would shrug his shoulders and say,
"Tahib!—tahib—well! well! so the Khowajah
(Christian gentleman) has been taught, and of
course he knows no better. Inshallah! If Allah
so will, he may be wiser by-and-by."

Next to the wild and wondrous region, the
wilderness which is spread out from the northeast
of Akaba, and which terminates in the
heights of Mount Sinai, there are few spots in
the desert invested with more solemn charms
than that of which I am speaking. There stand
towering over the arid waste immense boulders of
granite, of varied and grotesque shapes, upon the
sides of which are engraved huge letters, whose
date, undoubtedly of very high antiquity, has
not yet been determined by antiquarian
philologists. It is said to be the old country of the
Essenes, and the capital city is still called
Essouan, or Assouan. Out of these boulders
the pillars of Thebes and On and Memphis and
Alexandria were quarried. Some of the
monoliths still remain unmoved in their native beds,
the holes prepared to receive the chisels which
were to separate them from the rock still
remaining.

This was one of the stories of Mohammed
Hassan:

A caravan was on its progress to the holy
cities. Its course was through the road which
passes between the granite rocks of the Nubian
frontier, and it was composed, as usual, of
hundreds of camels, some horses belonging to the
opulent pilgrims, asses of the humbler, while
many, the lowliest of all, made their way on
foot, glad to avail themselves of the protection,
and often dependent on the charity, of their
more privileged companions. Among them was
a rich man, a native of Kordofan. He wore a
handsome green turban, evidence of his belonging
to the family of the prophet, and it obtained
for him the respect of the multitudinous, many-
conditioned company. At the first stage from
Assouan he descended from his horse, which