The cushions among which he sat had come from Constantinople, the rug at his feet from Tiflis, the prayer-rug on the wall from Mecca.
All that he saw was as unlike what he had known in past years as though he had come to Mars or Jupiter.

All that he had heard recalled to him his first readings in the Old Testament--the story of Nebuchadnezzar, of Belshazzar, of Ahasuerus--of Ahasuerus! He suddenly remembered the face he had seen looking down at the Prince's table from the panel of mooshrabieh.

That English face--where was it?
Why was it there?
Who was the man with her?
Whose the dark face peering scornfully over her shoulder?
The face of an English girl in that place dedicated to sombre intrigue, to the dark effacement of women, to the darker effacement of life, as he well knew, all too often! In looking at this prospect for good work in the cause of civilisation, he was not deceived, he was not allured.

He knew into what subterranean ways he must walk, through what mazes of treachery and falsehood he must find his way; and though he did not know to the full the corruption which it was his duty to Kaid to turn to incorruption, he knew enough to give his spirit pause.

What would be--what could be--the end?
Would he not prove to be as much out of place as was the face of that English girl?
The English girl! England rushed back upon him--the love of those at home; of his father, the only father he had ever known; of Faith, the only mother or sister he had ever known; of old John Fairley; the love of the woods and the hills where he had wandered came upon him.