"About my illness?"
"Yes."
"Of course I do."
"I said then that I wouldn't accept the usual money compensation for anything I had been able to do for you."
"Yes, but--"
"And I told you you could compensate me in another way."
"What way?"
"That's what I'm going to try and tell you now. But--but it's not easy. I want you to understand--I want you to understand."
There was a moment of silence. Then Nigel said: "But what? Understand what?"
"Armine, do you believe thoroughly in my friendship for you?"
"Yes."
"You believe, you know, it's a friendship that is quite disinterested?"
"I'm sure it is."
"And yet you have treated me all this time with almost as much reserve as if I had been a mere acquaintance."
Nigel looked uncomfortable.
"I didn't mean--I am deeply grateful to you," he said; "deeply grateful. You have saved my life."
"I have, indeed," Isaacson said, solemnly. "If I had not followed you up the river, you would certainly have died."
"Are you--you said you would tell me what was the matter with me."
"I'm going to."
"What was it?"
"The bath at Kous had nothing to do with it. As to sunstroke, you never had it. You began to feel unwell--didn't you?--soon after you started for your voyage?"
"Yes."
"Hasn't it ever struck you as very strange that you, a young man in magnificent health, living an outdoor life in one of the finest climates in the world, should be struck down by this mysterious illness?"
"Mysterious?"
"Well, wasn't it?"
"It was very odd. I always thought that, of course."
He leaned forward a little in his chair, fixing his eyes on Isaacson.
"What was my illness?"
"You've been suffering from lead-poisoning," said Isaacson, slowly, and with an effort.
"Lead?"--Nigel leaned farther forward, moving his hands along the arms of his reclining chair--"lead-poisoning?"
"Yes."
"I've been--you say I've been poisoned?"
"Poisoned from day to day, gradually poisoned through a considerable period of time."
"Poisoned!"
Nigel repeated the word heavily, almost dully. For a moment he seemed dazed.
"If I had not arrived in time, you would have been killed, undoubtedly."
"Killed! But--but who, in the name of God, should want to kill me?"
Isaacson was silent.
"I say, who should want to kill me?" reiterated Nigel.
And this time there was a sound of violence in his voice.
"There was somebody on board of the Loulia who must have wished for your death."
"But who--who? The Nubians? Ibrahim? Hamza?"
Isaacson did not answer. He could not answer at that moment.
"I treated them well, I paid them well, they had everything they could possibly want. They had an easy time. They all seemed fond of us. They were fond of us. I know they were."