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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Condensed Novels: New Burlesques"

The Princess, however, was quite white as she eagerly
rejoined the doctor.
"And this means--?" she hissed in a low whisper.
"That he is the real 'Arry Axes! Hush, not a word now! We join
the dahabiyeh to-night. At daybreak you will meet him at the
fourth angle of the pyramid, first turning from the Nile!"

VIII

The crescent moon hung again over the apex of the Great Pyramid,
like a silver cutting from the rosy nail of a houri. The Sphinx--
mighty guesser of riddles, reader of rebuses and universal solver
of missing words--looked over the unfathomable desert and these few
pages, with the worried, hopeless expression of one who is obliged
at last to give it up. And then the wailing voice of a woman,
toiling up the steep steps of the pyramid, was heard above the
creaking of the Ibis: "'Arry Axes! Where are you? Wait for me."
"J'y suis," said a voice from the very summit of the stupendous
granite bulk, "yet I cannot reach it."
And in that faint light the figure of a man was seen, lifting his
arms wildly toward the moon.
"'Arry Axes," persisted the voice, drifting higher, "wait for me;
we are pursued."
And indeed it was true. A band of Nubians, headed by the doctor,
was already swarming like ants up the pyramid, and the unhappy pair
were secured. And when the sun rose, it was upon the white sails
of the dahabiyeh, the vacant pyramid, and the slumbering Sphinx.


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