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as on all former such occasions. The bout had lasted a much shorter time, too. Mere hours, instead of long days. For the first time in more than a year, he had hope that its ravagements would someday abate.
    He dressed fully and made his way down the stairs. Ahmad served his breakfast, content to act the manservant for want of other employment. As grateful as he was for this man's friendship, Matthew found himself wishing for an English servant this morning. His appetite, long missing, had returned with a vengeance, and he would have relished a large plate of bacon. Ahmad naturally could not be requested to overlook his religious objections to pork.
    "The saab is better this morning." The Pathan's dark gaze looked him over approvingly.
    "Yes, I am."
    "Did you dream the dreams of the holy?"
    A smirk tugged at Matthew's scarred lip. "I'm afraid Miss Meriwether would not have said so."
    Never obtuse, Ahmad raised his thick brows, and his eyes sparkled. "If such is the case, Matthew saab, then you must indeed be well."
    "Not completely cured, but well enough that I have given some thought to a morning outing."
    His announcement brought an unmistakable look of delight to Ahmad's face, such a great delight that Matthew suffered a pang of remorse. In his illness and bitter disappointment, he had not considered how his friend might feel, cooped up in a London house with a man not fit even to make good company. Yet, Ahmad had tended him without complaint these many months with no diversions. This realization determined Matthew to go out, much more than his faint new restlessness for activity for himself. And it overcame the niggling fear that he had proposed such an outing in the hope of seeing Miss Meriwether again.
    Trudy's reminder last night, that it was the Yuletide, had done nothing to inspire him to charitable deeds. But Ahmad's needs were altogether a different matter. Matthew remembered it was the custom at Christmas to turn all relationships topsy-turvy. At his school, the boys had become masters, serving none but the Lord of Misrule, who had been elected from among them and directed their games. In some households, the owners served their servants on Christmas Eve.
    Matthew decided that in the spirit of the Yule he should turn the tables on his friend, at least enough to provide him with some exercise.
    "We shall hire a carriage," he said. "Where would you like to go?"
    Ahmad opened his mouth to speak before confusion bathed his features. "I do not know, saab. I am still a stranger in your land."
    Once again, Matthew felt the sting of shame. "Well, it is time you saw something of it besides the market at Covent Garden." He searched his mind for some diversion that would interest his companion without offending his Mohammedan sensibilities. In truth, when he had first thought of going out, Trudy's admonition that he should visit the almshouse had seemed the logical choice. Without any better aim, such a visit would have satisfied his need for a destination, but now, with Ahmad's needs foremost . . .
    All at once, the suitability of his intended outing struck him. What Ahmad undoubtedly missed most were people of his own kind. Even though he was Afghan by birth, his travels had taken him all over the Mohameddan lands. He was fluent in both Arabic and Ki-Swahili, and legend claimed his people to be of Persian descent. Surely, in this almshouse of Africans he would find men of his own religion at least.
    "I have just the place in mind," Matthew said. "Now, all we have to do is find it."
    He finished his meal, trying to remember whether Faye had given him the direction of the almshouse, but no such memory came to him. As he rose from the table, he wondered how difficult it would be to track it down. No matter how much better he felt this morning, he knew his strength would not last through a day-long search.
    As he left the small dining room, his eye was caught by the sight of a salver lying on a table in the passageway. A card