"No," I heard myself say with decision, "we mustn't leave the temple. They're superstitious about it. Few, if any, will venture in. What they want is to lure us into the open. And there must be no panic. Certainly my friend, unless he's been hurt, is working for us—somewhere. It's only a question of minutes. He borrowed my Browning to-day. I wish—" I glanced toward Brigit and Monny. They stood at a little distance, with Mrs. Bronson and Mabel, but the faces of both were turned toward us. I saw that they guessed the meaning of the uproar outside. Biddy's great soft eyes spoke to mine, spoke, and told me all the truth about myself. How I loved her, Biddy O'Brien, and no one else on earth! How I would die for her, and let all the rest die, if need be, yes, even Monny Gilder, to whom I had been idiot enough to write that letter! If I could save Biddy, what did anything beside matter? But—yes, it did matter. I must save them all. And the light that had lit up my dim soul gave me inspiration. Because I loved Biddy, I knew what to do.

"I've got a little surprise for every one!" I yelled, to be heard over the noise outside, where Rechid Bey's mob was now probably trying to make our donkey-boys and arabeah-men join in the fight or the siege. "Mr. Neill Sheridan will kindly lead the whole party to the sanctuary, which his knowledge of architecture will enable him to find, on the axis of the temple. Down that passage, please! In fifteen minutes the surprise will be ready, and you will receive the signal to return, from Mr. Bronson, American Consul at Asiut—no time for introductions now."

Sheridan, amazed, but perhaps not displeased, emerged from the dark corner where, until the row began, he had been examining a half-erased wall-carving. "Come along, then, everybody!" he shouted good-naturedly; and as the procession formed—discussing the "surprise" and the noise, now mysteriously linked together in the minds of my charges—I saw the veiled and hooded Mabel shyly try to pull Mrs. Bronson into place with her, as near as possible to Sheridan. She must have suspected that there was trouble brewing, and guessed the cause. Her timid, self-centred little soul instinctively sought shelter in the neighbourhood of a friend, who would perhaps have been more than a friend, if he could. So she followed him, he not knowing what eyes the gray veil hid: but Mrs. Bronson broke away from the small hand and hurried back to her husband.

"What am I to do?" she asked.

"Go with the others," he said, quietly. "Take care of the girl. Lord Ernest has some plan."

She went reluctantly; but Brigit and Monny and Mrs. East lingered at the tail of the procession, returning to us as the others vanished down the passage that led toward the sanctuary. I motioned them away, but Monny ran forward, while Biddy kept Cleopatra from following. They talked together and argued, Biddy's arm round the taller woman's waist, as Monny came straight to me, and put into my hand Anthony Fenton's pistol.

"I didn't have to use it," she said. "It's all loaded and ready. And I'm going to stay here with you and Mr. Bronson, to help. What are you planning to do?"

"Please run away," I said, "and take Biddy and your aunt. You must. That's the only help we want—"

"Not till you tell me what you mean to do."

"Oh, only to try a trick to frighten those Arab sheep out there. They funk this temple at night anyhow. And I've just remembered that I brought some Bengal fire to light the place up and amuse the crowd. I thought if a red blaze suddenly burst out it would give those fellows a scare—and the police are on the way—"

"But the Arabs will see that you're only two!"

"They shan't see us at all. We'll hide behind those statues and pot at them if they do come in, which I doubt. Now, off with the three of you!" And I was getting my illumination ready.

To my surprise and relief, Monny obeyed without further argument. Dimly it passed through my mind that she had been profiting by her lessons lately. I threw one glance over my shoulder, more, I'm afraid, to see whether my dear Brigit were on her way to safety than through anxiety for Miss Gilder. The three figures had already disappeared in the darkness, and Bronson and I gave ourselves to the work of lighting up.

An ocean-roar of voices surged round the temple entrance now; but the red light flamed like the fires of hell, and I, peeping from behind a statue, revolver in hand, saw that the temple itself had not been invaded. The flare lit the foreground of the darkness outside, and the columns of the front court. I could see a moving throng of white and black clad figures, gesticulating, running to and fro, seeming to urge each other to some action, yet none coming forward. I sprinkled on more powder, and up blazed the Bengal fire again. Now somebody was taking the lead. A tall man was pushing through the crowd. Would they follow this brave one? My fingers closed round the Browning. He was between the columns at last, but the light was dying down. I threw on all I had of the powder, and stared through the red dazzle to make certain what was happening—since this might decide our fate. The tall man's back was turned to us. He seemed to be motioning the crowd away instead of urging them on. How to make sure, in the blood-coloured glare, whether a man's turban was white or green or crimson? But that gesture—that lift of the head! No mistaking that. The man was Antoun—Ahmed Antoun, the worshipful Hadji, haranguing the mob.

Hardly would they let him speak at first. Those on the outskirts tried to yell him down. I heard the word "traitor!" and before the light ebbed I thought I caught sight of Rechid's pale face under the red tarboosh, Rechid's broad shoulders in European coat, edging past jebbahs and galabeahs, toward the columns. Then, just as the light died, from behind us in the temple came a cry. Above the shouting of the Hadji, who was beginning to make himself heard by the crowd, it rang out shrill and clear—a woman's voice: Monny Gilder's. She called on the name of Antoun, and then was silent.

I lifted my candle-lantern—all that was left to illumine the darkness, and saw at the far end of the court shadowy figures struggling together. It seemed to me that there were not two, but four or five. I ran toward them, and Bronson ran, but some one bounded past us both—a tall man in a green turban. A shot was fired after him, and hit a statue. I heard subconsciously a miniature crash of chipped granite, but I don't think Anthony heard, or had heard anything since that call for "Antoun!"

He had dashed ahead, though we had had the start and were running fast. Rounding a group of statues, erect and fallen, I saw a candle-lantern on the floor, and knew that Monny—and perhaps Biddy—had not obediently followed the procession to the sanctuary, after all. They had waited to watch and listen, hiding behind the black statues of Sekhet, and men who had crept in by another way—doubtless by the small Ptolemaic gate opening on the lake—had taken them by surprise.

Anthony had got to the shadowy mass, which, moved like black, wind-blown clouds, vague and shapeless, before Bronson and I were near enough to distinguish one form from another. As for our eyes, his tall figure blended with the waving shadows; two revolver shots exploded with thunderous reverberations. We did not know if he, or another, had fired; but almost simultaneously with the second shot two black shapes separated themselves from the rest, fleeing into darkness. They took the way by which they must have come, the way leading toward the gate on the lake.

Three seconds later we were on the spot; and the only shadows left resolved themselves under my candle light into the forms of Brigit O'Neill, Monny Gilder, Anthony Fenton, and Mrs. East somewhat in the background.

Monny's hat was off, and Biddy's was apparently hanging by a hatpin. Their hair was in disorder, a rope of Biddy's falling over one shoulder, a shining braid of Monny's hanging down her back. Monny seemed to be more or less in the arms of Antoun, but only vaguely and by accident. Dimly I gathered that she had stumbled, and he had saved her from falling. Biddy was fastening up the front of her gray chiffon blouse, which was open, and torn. Her hands trembled and I could see that her breast rose and fell convulsively; for, though the light was dim, I was looking at her, while I merely glanced at the others. Mrs. East was crying. But Brigit and Monny had smiles for Bronson and me as we came blundering along, stumbling over unseen obstacles.

"Some one stole up behind with an electric torch, and tried to drag me away," said Monny, in a weak little voice, scarcely at all like her own. It sounded as if a ventriloquist were imitating her. "Some one called me Esme O'Brien—whispered right in my ear. And I screamed, and fought, and Antoun came. I think then the man pushed me down as he ran away. Anyhow I fell, and Antoun picked me up. Oh, Biddy, are you safe? Why, your dress is torn!"

"Yes, but I'm safe," answered another small, weak voice. "I fought, too. I—I think they wanted to rob me. Thank goodness, I didn't have it on."

"The bag, dearest?"

"Yes, darling, the bag. I thought I wouldn't wear it to-day."

Out in the night the yells had subsided since the Hadji's harangue, if not wholly because of it.

"The police have come," said Anthony. "It occurred to me that Rechid and some friends of his were cooking up a plan, and while I was getting into my clothes in the village it jumped into my head what it might be. So on my way out to the temple I stopped and left a warning. We're all right now. And I don't think the Arab lot would have dared venture in anyhow. These chaps who sneaked in at the back and attacked the ladies were dressed like the rest, but I doubt they were Arabs."

He would have doubted still more, if he had known all that I knew. But the one secret I'd kept from him was Biddy's secret. The words "Esme O'Brien" whispered to Monny, as yet meant nothing save bewilderment to Fenton.

"The fifteen minutes are up, and no signal yet for your famous surprise," called out Sir John Biddell's complaining voice, from the end of a dark passage. "Has anything gone wrong?"

"Oh, I was going to give you a Bengal fire illumination of the temple, for a climax," I explained, coming suavely forward to meet him with my candle. "But the beastly stuff—er—sort of went off by itself, and it's all used up. I was—er—just going to call you."

"Well, not much harm done," said Sir John. "We've seen the sanctuary, such as it is. A little disappointing, perhaps, especially as Mr. Sheridan found a friend with Mrs. Bronson, the Consul's wife, and preferred talking with her to giving out information to us, from his stores of knowledge. But luckily not more than twenty minutes wasted. By the way, what's become of the row outside? Seems to have fizzled down while we were away, like your red fire."

"Yes, a great man of some sort was addressing the crowd. But the police came along and made it move on. There's been a bit of native grumbling in these Nile towns lately—you may have read some paragraph about it in the Cairo papers? So the police are rather quick to break up meetings."

"Why should men meet near the Temple of Mut?" inquired Sir John. "I shouldn't think of doing it."

"Perhaps in the beginning they hoped to get something out of the Europeans," said I lightly. "But they've given that up, evidently."

"I hope they haven't seduced our donkey-boys and arabeah drivers!" exclaimed Sir John. "I'm hungry. And I'm in a hurry to get home."

"Not they. Donkey-boys and arabeah-men aren't easily seduced when there's a question of baksheesh. They're all right! I'm only sorry about the Bengal fire."

"Well, it was a good idea, anyhow," Sir John patronized me.

"C'est vrai," I heard murmur in his chosen language, the Hadji, who had saved the situation. "C'etait une idee tres bien pour un—duffer."



CHAPTER XXIV

PLAYING HEAVY FATHER TO RACHEL

Never had the Enchantress Isis looked so enchanting to my eyes as she looked that night. I felt, as the Set trooped on board, like an anxious hen-mother who, contrary to her fears, has safely returned a brood of ducklings to the home chicken-coop after a swim out to sea. I valued each duckling, even the least downy, far more than I had dreamed it would be possible. But there was one duckling valued so much more than all the rest (how much more I had realized only when, cackling on the bank, I saw it on the wave)—that knowing it was safe made me hysterical with joy. I could have kissed its napkin when it slid off its lap and I picked it up—the napkin, not the duck—at dinner. The drawback was that I had not saved it, as Anthony had saved Monny. It had no reason to be grateful to me, or care more than it had always cared, for a friend. And still another drawback presented itself when the confusion of dressing in haste and dining, as the Enchantress Isis steamed out of Luxor, gave me time to think. The duckling was not my duckling: and considering that it had calmly laid plans for me to capture an heiress, considering also that it had not yet abandoned these plans, I saw little reason to hope that, now I had come to a few —just a few—of my senses—it would ever take the idea seriously, of becoming mine.

To abandon once and forever the duckling simile, the first thing I did on board the boat, after recovering from the excitement of seeing Mabel off by train with the Bronsons, was to wonder how I could make up for all this hideous waste of time when I might have been making love to Biddy. But there was no chance to say anything personal to her that night. I had to hear—and wanted to hear—the story of all that had happened from the moment she and Monny entered Rechid Bey's gate, to the moment they came out. Then there was Antoun's story to follow; and after that we had to compare notes: how everybody had felt, what everybody had thought, what everybody had done. This subject was inexhaustible, and kept cropping up in the midst of others; but that of Mabella Hanem, her escape from bondage and from "conversion" to Islam, and what revenge Rechid was likely to take, was almost as engrossing.

When at last, late that evening, I managed to get Biddy alone for a moment, she could no more be induced to talk of herself than if she had been a ghost without visible existence, a mere voice, to speak of others, Monny by preference. What a heroine Monny had been from first to last! And what did I think now about the foolishness of that theory—the theory that Bedr was a spy, and had led his employers to believe that "Mrs. Jones" was travelling with her stepdaughter concealed under an impeccably important nom de guerre?

What I thought was, that we must get hold of Miss Rachel Guest, and question her as to her whole acquaintance with the Armenian learning how, by all that was incredible, the double mystery of mixed names had originated. "Monny knows only that Rachel was supposed to be the heiress, testing her personal attractions by pretending to be the poor school teacher," said Brigit. "The child's been wildly enjoying the situation, for she was tired of young men. Rachel wasn't! And Rachel's been profiting by it—far more wickedly. As for Esme, I'm sure no thought of her name coming into this business, ever entered Monny's head. We must try to find out what Bedr said to Rachel at the beginning, as you advise, Duffer—and all about it. After what I told you that I heard from Esme about an exciting love romance, any mistake of this sort might be particularly dangerous. The Organization might think it had more right than ever to be bitter against us. And now, I don't mind your confiding in your friend Captain Fenton. I think I'd like him to know my story."

What Biddy had told me about Esme was, that the girl had confessed, in a letter, having been made love to (during a summer holiday in the mountains with friends) by the son of a man her father had deeply injured. The accidental meeting had been a real romance: the girl and the young man thought that no one, save themselves, shared their secret. But who could tell, when Fate itself stood between them with a drawn sword? The love of Romeo for Juliet was a safe and simple affair compared with the merest flirtation between the daughter of Richard O'Brien and the son of John Halloran, whom O'Brien's testimony had sent to prison for life.

Sometimes I thought, as the days went on, that Biddy guessed—not my change of heart, but my new understanding of it: and that she wanted quietly and gently to show me, according to Bill Bailey's pet expression, there was "nothing doing." Her expressed wish that Fenton should hear her story, looked to my suddenly suspicious mind as if his strong personality and his extremely picturesque position had made an appeal to the romance in her, as it had in the case of Mrs. East and perhaps Monny Gilder. Always interested in "Mrs. Jones," from first sight, when he had laughingly said that the "little sprite of a woman" would be almost too alluring if surrounded by an atmosphere of mystery and intrigue, Anthony was now frankly preoccupied with her affairs. He was not even annoyed that, unaided by me, her quick mind had grasped the secret of his identity. "It was like her to spring on to it by instinct," he said, smiling that thoughtful smile of his, which was more than ever effective in his Arab get up. "And like her not to give anybody else a hint, except you, of course—though she must have been tempted sometimes. I suppose"—and he looked up quickly—"she hasn't given any one else a hint?"

"I'd swear she hasn't."

"Miss Gilder—you're sure she hasn't the slightest suspicion?"

"As sure as a man can be of anything about a woman."

"You aren't trying to evade the question, Duffer?"

"On my word, I'm not. I feel morally certain Miss Gilder labours under the impression that you're as brown as you're painted. That somehow or other you can't be Moslem because she's seen you without a turban, and you've got the hair of a Christian. Maybe she thinks you're a Copt. I heard her learnedly arguing the other day that the Copts are the only real Egyptians. She has the air of studying you, sometimes: but with all her study, she sees you only as an Egyptian of high birth and attainments, with a few drops of European blood in your veins, perhaps just enough to make things aggravating, and a vague right to a princely position if you chose to overlook something or other, and claim it. There you have her conception of you, in a nutshell."

There would still have been room in that nutshell for Cleopatra's ideas concerning her niece's feelings. But if she were right, it was Anthony's business to discover those feelings for himself, provided he cared to do so. And of this I was not sure. There was the doubt that it might be Biddy, even though he appeared to attach some unexplained importance to Miss Gilder's continued ignorance about himself.

The day after leaving Luxor, there was no time for the heart to heart talk I planned with Rachel Guest. Each hour, each minute almost, was taken up with my duties as Conductor, which I was obliged to regard seriously, whether I liked them or not. If I did not, the Set growled, snapped or clamoured; which gave me even more trouble than doing my duty.

For some reason best known to herself (but suspected by me) Mrs. East kept to her suite, nursing a grievance and the Siberian lap-dog from Asiut. This saved me a certain amount of brain strain, for among other places of interest we had to pass near was ancient Hermonthis, where in her Cleopatra incarnation she had built a temple with a portrait of herself adoring the patron Bull of the city. If she had known how easy it would be to visit the ruins, she would have been capable of desiring the boat to stop, or telegraphing complaints to Sir Marcus if it hadn't.

The two excitements of the day were passing through a huge lock (with sides like those of a canyon, and scarlet doors such as might adorn the house of an ogre) in which we nearly stuck, and were saved by Antoun seizing the pole from the inferior hands of a Nubian boatman; also a visit to Esneh, a very Coptic town, starred with convents built by the ever-present Saint Helena, sacred once to the Latos fish, now sacred to gorgeous baskets of every size and colour, also somewhat over-beaded, and over-scarabed. A ruined quay jutted into the wine-brown water, where Roman inscriptions could have been spied out, if any one had had eyes to spare from the basket sellers, the sellers of grape-fruit, and all the other shouting merchants who flocked to head us off on our way to the temple, despite a flurry of rain that freckled the deep sand of the landing hill. But nobody did have eyes for anything Roman, now that Cleopatra sulked in her throne-room, and our only archeologist was as absent-minded as if he had been his own astral body. He had seen the wisdom of "sticking to the trip," and not turning back by train with the Bronsons and Somebody Else, as he may have yearned to do (if Monny were right): but History had suddenly become as dry husks to Sheridan. His soul was no longer with us, journeying up the Nile; and I suspected his body of packing to join it, as soon as things had been arranged to un-Hanem Mabel, and send her, freed from a marriage which was not marriage, freed from this fear or forcible conversion, home to the United States.

It was just on the cards, Anthony and I thought, that there might be another "demonstration" at Esneh, that unruly town where Mohammed Ali banished the superfluous dancing girls of Cairo in the eighteen forties. If Rechid Bey had not discovered the truth about that hurried departure from Luxor for Asiut (as a matter of fact, Mabel and her guardians were almost thrown on board as the train began to move) he might have sent emissaries, or come himself to Esneh, where he must have known the Enchantress Isis would land. As for Bedr and his employers, Anthony (who now knew Biddy's suspicions) was inclined to think that, even if she were right, we had seen the last of them. After such a setback as that in the Temple of Mut, he thought they would not only be discouraged but frightened. They had run away from us, in the temple; and despite the proverb concerning those who fight and run, to fight another day, it was probable that men of their calibre would see the wisdom of abandoning the chase. They had shown themselves cowards, Anthony thought, whatever their object had been in attacking Miss O'Brien and Miss Gilder: and though we must be on the watch during the rest of the trip, his idea was that the men had retreated in fear of arrest.

In any case, we had no trouble at Esneh, and saw no sinister faces peering out of low doorways in the bazaars, or over the heads of the pretty (sometimes fair and blue-eyed) dancing girls' descendants.

Buried in the heart of the village we came upon the temple. Only the portico was visible under piled houses and a triumphant mosque; but once we were down in the entombed temple itself, it gave a sense of secrecy, and mystic rites, to look up from under the dark roof of heavy stone with its painted zodiac, out from hidden halls of carving and colour, to the clustered houses of dried brick built before the temple was uncovered. There was a sense of tragedy and failure, too, toiling up the steep slope to the town level, and passing, on the half-buried walls, gigantic carved figures making thwarted gestures, in commemoration of kingly triumphs forgotten hundreds upon hundreds of years ago.

At night there was fantasia on board, with our boatmen dancing each other down, like Highlanders, and the next day brought us to Edfu, which all the women were wild to see because Robert Hichens had called its green-blue the "true colour of love": an adorable temple sacred to Horus, as there he conquered and killed Set.

It was only after we had passed Sir Ernest Cassell's red house, with the smoky irrigation works where fourteen hundred Arabs have chased the desert into the background, and after we had visited the splendid twin temples of Light and Darkness at Kom Ombo, towering majestically above the Nile bank, that I found time to catechize and lecture Miss Guest. I contrived to separate her from her sculptor, and lure her to a part of the deck unfrequented because it was windy. Rachel was looking happy, young and prosperous, in one of Monny's most becoming (and expensive) dresses.

At first, I think she felt inclined to be flattered by my desire for her society, for I had never yet wished her joy, or formally congratulated Bailey. One look into my eyes, with those clever, slanting green orbs of hers, however, and instinct must have told her that my intention was different. She glanced round for an excuse to escape, but found none, for I hedged her in from all her friends. Then she quickly decided to shunt me off on an emergency track laid by herself.

"What a wonderful day it's been!" she remarked. And Kom Ombo is one of the best temples. The only thing I didn't like was those mummied crocodiles. Their smiles look so hypocritical, and to think they've been smiling them for thousands of years—"

"It must be unpleasant to smile the smile of a hypocrite, even for a few weeks," I seized the chance to work up to business.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Miss Guest a slight colour staining her cheeks. "And didn't you notice several new sorts of wall-inscriptions?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to skip sixteen or seventeen centuries and come down to you. I've been wanting a chat—"

"Why, I'm delighted!" she exclaimed, frightened, but all the more ingratiating. "Oh, isn't the Nile beautiful as we come toward Nubia? And aren't the sakkiyehs more interesting than the shadoofs, which they use mostly when the river is low? Willis said quite a lovely thing, about the sakkiyehs: that their chains of great water cups, going up and down, look like enormous strings of red and green prayer-beads, being 'told' by unseen hands. He ought to be a poet, he's so romantic."

"No doubt everything about you, Miss Guest, must make an appeal to his romantic side," I cut in, while she was forced to pause for breath.

"I hope I do appeal to him," she said, meekly, "I never thought to be so happy." This was a direct appeal to me; and it hit the mark. I didn't care a rap about Willis Bailey, or his sketches or the wooden statues with crystal eyes which he was going to make the fashion. If Miss Guest chose to hook her shining fish with a false fly it wasn't my business. It was hers and his, and perhaps Monny's, for Monny had backed Rachel up in creating a wrong impression, as if they two had been playing together, like children, to trick the grown-ups. But I had to find out what had started the ball rolling, because it looked as if that ball had come out of the pocket of Bedr.

"I'm glad you're happy," I said, "and my hope is that you'll remain so. I wish you so well, that perhaps you'll give me the right to ask a few questions. You see, I'm one of your oldest friends in Egypt, after Miss Gilder and her aunt—and Mrs. Jones. You met Miss Gilder and Mrs. East travelling in France, they've told me—"

"Yes, in a dining-car. We were put at the same table, and got talking. I just loved Monny at first sight, and she's been heavenly to me. What fun we've had! I never had any fun before. I hardly knew the meaning of the word."

"I suppose it must have amused you and Miss Gilder," I planted my arrow at last, though not remorselessly, "this quaint idea that's got round, about your having changed places."

Rachel's face crimsoned. "Oh, Lord Ernest!" she sighed in an explosive whisper, with a glance round to see if any one were near. But we were alone with the beginnings of a sunset, that flushed the dun hills as unripe peaches are flushed on a garden wall. "I've promised Monny not to say a word and spoil her fun, as long as the trip lasts. She's finding out, you see, which people are really attracted to her, for herself. She says it's a wonderful experience—and it's given her such a rest from men: the silly ones, you know. It isn't my fault. I'd tell in a minute if she'd let me."

"Was it she who began the game?" I dared to inquire. "Or was it Bedr? Now, this is a question I really have a right to ask. I'll tell you why afterward, if you don't know already from Monny."

"No, I don't think Monny's said anything to make me understand that," Rachel answered, stammering a little, and trying pathetically not to look anxious. "But I'll answer you, of course. There's nothing to hide from you—now—that I can see. It was Bedr who began. He was the most intelligent, extraordinary person! I don't believe any one fully realized it, except me. But from that first night at Alexandria, he seemed to feel that I saw something of value behind his poor face. He was very sensitive. And he attached himself to me in the most beautiful, faithful way. Really and truly, if there hadn't come that trouble about the hasheesh place (which wasn't his fault, because Monny wanted to go, and when she wants things she wants them very much) I believe I could have made a Christian of him. He would have been a wonderful convert! We talked more about religion than anything else, but he used to like to chat about America, because he'd been there, and hoped to go again. That was the way the joke about Monny and me started. He did ask me not to speak of it, but it can't matter now. He told me when he was in New York, with a family who took him from Egypt, one day the great Mr. Gilder's daughter was pointed out to him in the street. She was with her father, in an automobile, but there was a block in the traffic: a policeman was keeping it back, so he saw her distinctly for several minutes, and he was interested, because his employers told him how important the Gilders were, and how Mr. Gilder used to have his daughter guarded every minute for fear she might be kidnapped for ransom, as several rich people's children had been. Monny couldn't have been more than fourteen then, as it's seven years ago; and Bedr said that the little girl he saw in the automobile was exactly like me—hardly at all like what Monny is now. He wanted me to tell him, for a reason which he vowed and swore was very important, whether I wasn't really Miss Gilder, and she Miss Guest."

"Well?"

"Well, I thought the idea so funny, so thoroughly quaint, you know, and like something in a book, that just for fun I answered that I couldn't tell him anything until I'd consulted my friend. Monny nearly went wild about it. She said she'd come to Egypt to have adventures and she was going to have them, no matter whether 'school kept or not'. That's just a little slang expression, people use at home, sometimes. I daresay you've heard her say much the same thing. She said this idea of Bedr's was too good to miss, and we'd get bushels of fun out of it. So we have—in different ways. And she's been lovely, about giving me dresses and things. When she and I talked the matter over, she understood why Bedr should have thought she was more like me, at the age of fourteen, than like her present self. She'd had typhoid fever just before the time she must have been pointed out to him, and it had left her thin as a rail, and as pale as a ghost. Her hair was short, too, and some of the colour had been burnt out of it by the fever. Now, you know, she has a brilliant complexion, and her face is much rounder than mine, as well as more pink and white. Compared to her, I am sallow, I'm afraid, and lanky: and when she and I stand together, her hair looks bright gold, and mine light brown in comparison.

"Monny wouldn't let me tell Bedr right out that he was mistaken about us. She said we wouldn't fib, but we'd act self-conscious, as if we had a secret, and he'd stumbled on it. He must have started the story—oh, if you could call it a story! I don't believe anything has ever been put into words. It was in the air. People got the idea. But Bedr must have put it into their heads. Neither Monny nor I did more than smile and look away, and change the subject if any one hinted. We said, 'You mustn't breathe such things to Mrs. East or Mrs. Jones, or they'll be angry.' Apparently nobody ever did dare to breathe it to them. And I think Monny mentioned you, too, Lord Ernest. She didn't want you to know. She was afraid you'd say that the whole thing was nonsense. I suppose it was Enid Biddell who came to you? She was afraid Mr. Snell —but it isn't worth talking about, now. Only she is a cat."

Miss Biddell had said exactly the same of Miss Guest. Naturally, however, I did not mention the coincidence.

"Now I've told you everything you wanted to know, haven't I?" Rachel went on. "Or were there any more questions you'd like to ask—I mean, about Bedr?"

"Only one more, I think. Did it ever strike you that he was curious about you—or rather, about Miss Gilder who, you both let him suppose, was really Miss Guest? Anything about your name?"

"Why, yes, he was curious. They say Arabs always are, if you let them be. Not that he is exactly an Arab. But I suppose Armenians are the same. He seemed to want to know things about me—what I'd done, where I'd lived, and—oh, lots of little questions he would ask. Monny and I made up our minds from the first, as I told you, that there mustn't be any fibs. I simply put him off. He never got anything out of me at all."

"I see," I said; and let myself drift away from her into thoughtfulness.

"Is that all, then?"

"Yes, that is all, thank you."

Her tone sounded as if she were relieved of a mental weight, and would like to go. I expected her to make some excuse: it would soon be time to dress for dinner: or she had a letter to write. But no, she lingered. She was trying to bring herself to say something. I waited, in silence, my eyes on the shining river, looking back at the golden trail of the sun that was like a rich mantle draping a gondola on a fete day in Venice.

"I suppose you think," she forced the words out at last, "that Willis Bailey wouldn't have—fallen in love—or proposed—if he hadn't thought like the rest, that I—I—" "I don't see why he shouldn't, Miss Guest."

"He—really does seem to care for me—as I am, you know. And I've never told him a single untruth. I've nothing to blame myself for."

"I'm sure of that."

"Yet you don't approve of me—one bit. You think I'm a—kind of adventuress. So does Mrs. Jones. Me! Why, what would the people at home in Salem say if any one suggested such a thing? You don't know the life I've led, Lord Ernest."

"I can imagine. You don't want to go back to it again, do you?"

"It does seem as if I couldn't, now. It's seemed so, even before Willis—oh, I'm sure you think I never meant to go back, once I'd broken free from the dull grind."

"No harm in that!"

"I'm glad you say so. I took all my legacy to see the world a little —well, nearly all, not quite, perhaps, to tell the truth. And being brave has brought me this reward: the love of a man who can give me everything worth having. I shan't be outside life any more. And Willis won't have any reason to blame me when he—when he—"

"No reason, of course," I fitted into her long pause. "But men as well as women are unreasonable, sometimes, you know. And if he should be so —er—wrong-headed as to think you'd deceived him about yourself—"

"Then he ought to blame Monny, not me!"

"He ought, perhaps. But the question is, what he will do. And you can't like having a sword hanging over your head? Supposing he should be unjust, and refuse to carry out—"

"Oh, Lord Ernest, you don't think he will, after he's sworn that I'm the only woman in the world he could ever have loved? He thinks me much better looking than Monny. He says she hasn't got a soul, yet. He doubts if she ever will have one."

I didn't doubt it. I thought I had heard it stirring in the throes of birth, a soul such as would blind the eyes of a Rachel Guest, with its white shining. Monny had said that she would "find her soul in Egypt." But the mention of this was not indicated just then.

"I haven't the courage to tell him, even if there were really anything definite enough to tell," Rachel went on. "It would be insulting a man like Willis to suggest that he'd been influenced—you know what I mean. But—now we're talking of it—oh, do advise me! We're planning to be married in Egypt, at the end of this trip, and then settle down in Cairo, for Mr. Bailey's studies at the museum. He came up the Nile only for me, you see! And he says I shall be his first model for the new style—my eyes are just right, as if they'd been made on purpose to help him. I lie awake nights wondering what if, before the wedding, when he finds out for certain that my name is really only Rachel Guest, and that I'm I—oh, I daren't think of it!"

"Then, if you want me to advise, why don't you in some tactful, perhaps joking way, speak of the story Bedr started, and—"

"I can't—I simply can't."

"Yet you feel it would be better?"

"Yes—sometimes I feel it. You help me, Lord Ernest. You tell him. And then, if you see any signs—you'll make him understand how dreadful it would be to throw me over because I'm poor and have been a nobody till now?"

"I'll do my best," I heard myself weakly promising.

No wonder I have earned the nickname of Duffer!



CHAPTER XXV

MAROONED

Had any human fly ever buzzed himself so fatally into the spider-webs of other people's love affairs? I asked myself sternly. As soon as Providence plucked me out of one web, back I would bumble into another, though I had no time for a love affair of my own.

When the Enchantress Isis had slipped past many miles of desert shore, black-striped and tawny as a leopard's skin, and other desert shores so fiercely yellow as to create an effect of sunshine under gray skies, we arrived at Assuan. I had not yet kept my promise to Rachel, though whether from lack of opportunity or courage I was not sure.

Here we were at historic Assuan; and nothing had happened, nothing which could be written down in black and white, since the excitements at Luxor. Nevertheless, some of us were different within, and the differences were due, directly or indirectly, to those excitements.

Now we were nearing Ethiopia, alias the Land of Cush, though Monny said she could not bear to have it called by that name, except, of course, in the Bible, where it couldn't be helped. How would any of us like to "register" at an hotel as Mr. or Miss So-and-So, of Cush? Oshkosh sounded more romantic.

No land, however, could look more romantic than Assuan, City of the Cataracts, Greek Syene, that granite quarry whose red syenite made obelisks and sarcophagi for kings of countless dynasties. "Suan," as the Copts renamed it (a frontier town of Egypt since the days of Ezekiel the prophet), now appeared a gay place, made for pleasure-pilgrims.

Sky and river were dazzling blue, and the sea of sand was a sea of gold, the dark rocks lying like tamed monsters at the feet of Khnum, god of the Cataract, glittered bright as jet, over which a libation of red wine had gushed. The river-front of the town, with its hotels and shops, was brightly coloured as a row of shining shells from a southern sea; tints of pink and blue and amber, translucently clear in contrast with the dark green of lebbek trees and palms, in whose shadow flowers burned, like rainbow-tinted flames of driftwood. Between our eyes and the brilliant picture, a network of thin dark lines was tangled, as if an artist had defaced his canvas with scratches of a drying brush. These scratches were in reality the masts of moored feluccas, bristling close to the shore like a high hedge of flower stems, stripped of blossoms and bent by driving wind.

On the opposite side of the river, the desert crouched like a lion who flings back his head with a shake of yellow mane, before he stoops to drink. And in the midst of the stream rose Elephantine Island, with its crown of feathery palms, its breastwork of Roman ruins (a medal of fame for the kings it gave to Egypt) and its undying lullaby sung by the cataract, among surrounding rocks.

Very strange rocks they were, black as wet onyx, though for thousands of years they had been painted rose by sunrise and sunset; shapes of animal gods, shapes of negro slaves, shapes of broken obelisks and fallen temples; shapes of elephants like those seen first by Egyptians on this island; shapes which one felt could never have taken form except in Egypt.

Over our heads armies of migrating birds made a network like a great floating scarf of beads, each bead a bird: and the blue water round the slow-gliding Enchantress was crowded with boats of so many hitherto unknown sorts, that they might have been visiting craft from another world: feluccas with sails red or white, or painted in strange patterns, or awninged; some with rails like open trellis work of many colours, over which dark faces shone like copper in the sunshine; rowing boats, "galleys" with fluttering flags, and old soap-boxes roughly lined with tin, in which naked imps of boys perilously paddled. Out from the boats rushed music in clouds like incense; wild, African music of chanting voices, beating tom-toms, or clapping hands that clacked together like castanets. Very old men and very young youths thumped furiously on earthen drums shaped like the jars of Elephantine, once so famous that they travelled the length of Egypt filled with wine. The breeze that fanned to us from beyond the palms and lebbeks, the roses and azaleas, was soft and flower-laden. There was a scent in it, too, as of ripe grapes, as if a fragrance lingered from vanished days when wine for the gods was made from Elephantine vineyards, and fig-trees never lost their leaves. We ourselves, and our big three-decked boat were alone in our modernity, if one forgot the line of gay buildings on the shore. Everything else might have been of the time when the world supposed Elephantine to be placed directly on the Tropic of Cancer, and believed in the magic lamp which lit the unfathomable well; the time when quarries of red and yellow clay gave riches to the island, and all Egypt thanked its gods when Elephantine's Nilemeter showed that the Two Lands would be plentifully watered.

Most of us were going to live on board the Enchantress for our three days at Assuan; but, hearing that lords and ladies of high degrees swarmed at the Cataract Hotel with its wild, watery view of tumbled rocks, and at the Savoy in its flowery gardens, some went where they might hope to cross the path of dukes and duchesses.

The Monny-ites were not "wild" about the aristocracy, nor would royalty (of later date than the Ptolemies) have lured Cleopatra from her suite on the boat. But the whole party was eager for shore, and no sooner had the Enchantress put her foot on the yellow sands than she was deserted by her passengers. The bazaars were the first attractions, for "everybody said" that they were as fine in their way as the bazaars of Cairo; so very soon we were all buying silver, ivory, stuffed crocodiles and ostrich feathers from the Sudan, which now opened its gates not far ahead: the Sudan, mysterious, unknown, and vast.

Cleopatra clung to me, with a certain wistfulness, as if in this incarnation she were not so intimately at home in Upper Egypt as she had hoped to be. Perhaps this loneliness of her soul was due to the fact that instead of seeking her society, "Anthony with an H" seldom came near her now. Something had warned him off. He would never tell me or any one on earth: but, unused to the ways of women as he was, I felt sure that he had been uncomfortably enlightened as to Cleopatra's feelings. The cure, according to his prescription, was evidently to be "absent treatment." But there was another which I fancied might be efficacious; the sudden arrival on the scene of Marcus Antonius Lark.

I happened to know that he proposed a dash from Cairo to Assuan by train, for I had received two telegrams at the moment of walking off the boat. The first message announced his almost immediate advent; the second regretted unavoidable delay, but expressed an intention not to let us steam away for Wady Halfa without seeing him. The excuse alleged was business, but I thought I saw through it, and sympathized; for he whom I had once cursed as a brutal tyrant of money-bags now loomed large as a pathetic figure.

Despite the lesson of the lotuses, I believed that his motive was to try his chance with Mrs. East; that life had become intolerable, unless "Lark's Luck" might hold again; and that he could not wait till the cruel lady returned to Cairo. It was a toss-up, as we walked side by side to the incense-laden bazaar, whether I told her the news or left her to be surprised by the unexpected visitor. Eventually I decided that silence would help the cause; and in thus making up my mind I was far from guessing that my own fate and Monny's and Anthony's and Brigit's hung also on that insignificant decision. I was thankful that Mrs. East said no more of bringing her niece and me together, and that, on the contrary, she dropped dark hints about "everything in life which she had wanted" being now "too late, and useless to hope for" in this incarnation. Why she had changed her plans for Monny I could not be sure; enough for me that she apparently had changed them.

Sir Marcus did not appear the next day or the next, and I heard no more. Indeed, between dread of breaking the truth to Bill Bailey, and self-reproach at letting time pass without breaking it, I almost forgot Lark's love affair. I salved my conscience by working unnecessarily hard, and even helping Kruger with his accounts, when Anthony too generously relieved me of other duties.

How I envied Fenton at this time, because no girls asked him what men they ought to marry; or implored him to prevent men from jilting them; or urged him to enlighten handsome sculptors with wavy, soft hair, and hard eyes resembling the crystal orbs which were to become fashionable in Society! Anthony loved Assuan, and apparently enjoyed displaying its beauties. Not knowing that I hid a fox under my mantle, he meant to be kind in "taking people off my hands," giving them tea on the Cataract Hotel veranda; escorting them to the ruined Saracen Castle which, with Elephantine opposite, barred the river and made a noble gateway; leading them at sunset to the Arab cemetery in the desert, and to the Bisharin village where wild, dark creatures (whose hair was pinned with arrows and whose ancestors were mentioned in the Bible) sold baskets and bracelets and what not. There were really, as Sir John Biddell remarked, a "plethora of sights," not counting the magnificent Rock Tombs, since the Set had definitely "struck" against tombs of all descriptions. But even with an excursion to the ancient quarries, for a look at half-finished obelisks, for once I had not enough to do. And Fenton had snatched Biddy from me as well as Monny. Mercilessly he had them sightseeing every moment. And I could no longer scold Rachel for "letting things slide." To blame her would be for the pot to call the kettle black.

It was on the day of the Great Dam that I screwed my courage to the sticking-place, and made Bailey understand that his fiancee was nobody but Rachel Guest; that she would be Rachel Guest all her life until she became Mrs. Some One-or-Other: preferably Mrs. Willis Bailey. Somehow it seemed appropriate to do the deed at the Dam. And always in future, when people ask what impression the eighth wonder of the world made upon me, I shall doubt for an instant whether they refer to the American sculptor, or to the Barrage.

The way in which we went was so impressive that it was comparatively easy to be keyed up to anything.

Most travellers make the trip on donkey back; or else, as far as Shellal, in a white, blue-eyed desert train, where violet window-glass soothes their eyes and prepares their minds for a future journey to Khartum. After Shellal they go on in small boats to the wide, still lake which the Great Dam has stored up for the supply of Egypt. But we of the Enchantress Isis were super-travellers. Our boat being of less bulk than her new rivals, she was able to reach the Barrage by passing up through its many locks and proceed calmly along the Upper Nile, between the golden shores of Nubia, to Wady Haifa. We remained on board for the experience; and though I had the task of telling Bailey, still before me, I would not have changed places with a king, as standing on deck, with Biddy by my side, I felt myself ascending the once impassable Cataracts of the god Khnum.

If Biddy had been the only person by my side, I should have risked telling her the secret she ought always to have known. But there were as many others as could crowd along the rail. For once they were reflective, not inclined to chatter. Perhaps the same thought took different forms, according as it fitted itself into different heads; the thought of that marvellous campaign of the boats which fought their way past these cataracts to relieve Gordon. The ascent was a pageant for us. For them it had meant strife and disaster and death. We admired the glimpses of yellow desert: we exclaimed joyously at the mad turmoil of green water, the blood-red and jet-black rocks, below the Dam. For us it was a scene of unforgettable majesty. For those others, the waste of stone-choked river must have yawned like a wicked mouth, full of water and jagged black teeth, which opened to gulp down boats and men.

It was on the brink of the Barrage itself that I spoke to Bailey. And there, looking down over the immense granite parapet, upon line after line of tamed cataracts breathing rainbows, we were so small, so insignificant, that surely it could not matter to a man whether the girl of his heart were an heiress or a beggar maid! There was room in the world only for the mighty organ-music of these waters, and the ever underlying song of love.

I saw by the look in Bailey's eyes, however, as he gazed away from me to the long-necked dragon form of a huge derrick, that it did matter. I had been tactful. I had mentioned the mistake in identity as if it were a silly game played by children, a game which neither he nor I nor any one could ever have regarded seriously. He controlled himself, and took it well, so far as outward appearance went: but soon he made an excuse to escape: and presently I saw him strolling off alone, head down, hands in pockets. Luncheon was being prepared on the veranda of a house belonging to the chief engineer of the Dam. Its owner was a friend of Sir Marcus Lark, and, being away, had agreed to lend his place to our party, Kruger having done no end of writing and telegraphing to secure it. Many of our people had got off the Enchantress Isis in one of the locks, and had walked up the steps to the summit-level of the Barrage, Brigit and I among others. And as we assembled for lunch it was an odd sight to see our white, floating home rising higher and higher, until at last she rode out on the surface of the broad sea of Nile which is held up by the granite wall of the Barrage. She was to be moored by the Dam, and to wait for us there until evening, when we should have exhausted the Barrage and ourselves; and have visited Philae.

By and by luncheon was ready, served by our white-robed, red-sashed waiters from the Isis, but Bailey did not return. Rachel begged that our table might wait for a few minutes. Perhaps he had gone the length of the Dam in one of those handcars, on which some of our people had dashed up and down the famous granite mile, their little vehicles pushed by Arabs. He might be back in a few minutes. But the minutes passed and he did not come. The dragon-derrick stretched its neck from far away, as if to peer curiously at Rachel. The black and red and purple monsters disguised as rocks for this wild, masquerade ball of the Nile, foamed at the mouth with watery mirth at the trouble these silly things called girls had always been bringing on themselves, since Earth and Egypt were young together. The look of the forsaken, the jilted, was already stamped upon Rachel's face. She tried to eat: when the picnic meal could be put off no longer, but could scarcely swallow. Monny glanced at her anxiously from time to time, perhaps suspecting something of the truth. And the eyes of both, girls turned to me now and then with an appeal which made unpalatable my well-earned hard-boiled eggs, and drumsticks. Bother the whole blamed business! thought I. Hadn't I done all I could? Wasn't I practically running the lives of these tiresome tourists, as well as their tour? What did that adventuress out of a New England schoolroom want of me now, when I'd washed my hands of her and her affairs?

But all through, there was no real use in asking myself these questions. I knew what Rachel wanted, and that I should have to do it, if only to please Biddy, who would be broken-hearted if Monny's indiscretions should wreck the happiness of even the most undeserving young female. Darling Monny must be saved from remorse at all costs!

One of the costs to me was luncheon as well as peace of mind. I excused myself from the table. I pretended to have forgotten some business of importance. I whispered to the Enchantress dining-room steward, who had come to look after the waiters, that the meal must be served as slowly as possible. "Drag out the courses," said I. "Make 'em eat salad by itself, and everything separate, except bread and butter." Having given these last instructions, I was off like an arrow shot from the bow, a reluctant arrow sulking at its own impetus. Instinct was the hand that aimed me; the Enchantress Isis was the target; and deck cabin No. 36 was the bull's-eye. As I expected, Bailey was in his stateroom. I had not far to go; only to hurry from the engineer's house, along the riverbank to the landing place, where a number of native boats were lying; jump into one, and row out a few yards. But the heat of noon, after the cool shade of the veranda, was terrific. I arrived out of breath, my brow richly embroidered with crystal beads, just in time to find Bailey squeezing his bath sponge preparatory to packing it, in a yawning kitbag already full. At such a moment he could squeeze a sponge! I hated him for this, as though the sponge had been Rachel's heart.

On his berth lay a letter addressed to her, and another to me. No doubt he told us both that he had received an urgent telegram. He was so taken aback at sight of the task master that he let me withdraw the sponge from his pulseless fingers. I laid it reverently on the washhand-stand, as a heart should be laid on an altar.

"My dear fellow," I began. (Yes, to my credit be it spoken, I said "dear fellow!") "You don't know what you are doing. I speak for your own sake. Think what people will say! Everyone will see why you left her. And you don't want to leave her, you know! Of course you don't! You love Miss Guest. She loves you. Not all the crystal eyes in the world can make you the fashion, if the eyes of your fiancee are red with tears because you jilted her, when you found out she was—only herself! People don't like such things. They won't have their artists cold and calculating. It isn't done. You can't afford to squeeze a sp—I mean, break a heart in this fashion. It will ruin your reputation."

So I argued with a certain eloquence, forcing conviction until with a fierce gesture Bailey snatched six collars from his bag and flung them on the bed. Seeing thus clearly what I thought showed him what others were sure to think: and the world's opinion was life itself to Bailey. He was cowed, then conquered. At last I dared to say: "May I?"

He nodded.

Instantly I tore the letters into as many pieces as there were collars. Afterward, when we walked off the boat, arm in arm, I dropped them into the water.

We got back to the engineer's before the picnickers had finished their belated Turkish coffee. Bailey took the vacant chair between Rachel Guest and Monny Gilder. Biddy said that she had asked to have some coffee kept hot for me. I needed it!

* * * * *

That is what delayed our start for Philae and is, I suppose, why everything that took place there afterward happened exactly as it did. If we had left the Dam an hour earlier, there would have been no excuse to stop for sunset at the temple which those who love it call the "Pearl of Egypt." As it was—but that comes afterward.

When Strabo went from Syene to Philae, he drove in a chariot with the prefect of that place, "through a very flat plain," and on both sides of their road (I fear, for their bones, it was a rough one!) rose "blocks of dark, hard rock resembling Hermes-towers." Nearly two thousand years later we were rowed to the same temple, across an immensely deep, vast sheet of shining crystal. We lolled (I am fond of that word, though aware that it's reserved for villainesses) in "galleys" painted in colours so violent that they looked like tropical birds. They were awninged, and convulsively propelled by Nubians whose veins swelled in their full black throats, and whose ebony faces were plastered with a grayish froth of sweat. Each pressed a great toe, like a dark-skinned potato, on the seat in front of him for support in the fierce effort of rowing. Turbans were torn off shaved, perspiring heads, and even skull-caps went in the last extreme. Wild appeals were chanted to all the handiest saints to grant aid in the terrible undertaking. An eagle-eyed child at the steering wheel gazed pityingly at his agonized elders. And then, just as you expected the whole crew to fall dead from heart failure, they chuckled with glee at some joke of their own. There was always breath and energy enough to spare when they wanted it. But what would you? The labourer must be worthy of his hire, and a little something over. When Strabo saw Philae, she was a distant neighbour of the mighty Cataracts. Now, the waters which once rushed down are prisoned by the Great Dam, and stand enslaved, to wall the temple round like a great pearl in a crystal case. She is the true Bride of the Nile; for, as long ago the fairest of maidens gave herself to the water as a sacrifice, so Philae gives herself for the life of the people. She drowns, but in death she is more beautiful than when the eyes of the old historian beheld her, glowing with the colours of her youth, yet already old, deserted by gods and priests and worshippers. Now she has worshippers from the four ends of the earth, and the greatest singers of the world chant her funeral hymn. For in all Egypt, with its many temples of supreme magnificence, there is nothing like Philae. None can forget her. None can confuse her identity for a moment with that of any other monument of a dead religion. And if she were the only temple in Egypt, Egypt would be worth crossing the ocean to see, because of this dying pearl in its crystal case.

Venus rose from the sea. Philae, the Marriage Temple of Osiris and Isis—Venus of Egypt—sinks into the sea of waters poured over her by Khnum, god of the Cataracts. Thus the great enchantress sings her swan-song to touch the heart of the world, her fair head afloat like a sacred lotus on the gleaming water. I think there were few among us who did not fancy they heard that song, as our Nubian men rowed across the sea stored up by the great Barrage. From far away we saw a strange apparition, as of a temple rising from the waters. It seemed unreal at first, a mere mirage of a temple. Then it took solid outline; darkly cut in silver; a low, column-supported roof; a pylon towering high; and to the south, separated from both these, a thing that might have been a huge wreath of purple flowers. We knew, however, from too many photographs and postcards, that this was "Pharaoh's Bed," the unfinished temple of Augustus and Trajan, standing on a flooded island.

Our boat glided close to the flower-like stems of the columns supporting the low roof. Far down in the clear depths we could see the roots of the pillars, or their phantom reflections. And in the light of afternoon, the water was so vivid a green that the colour of it seemed to have washed off from the painted stones. Onto this roof we scrambled, up a flight of steps, and found that we were not to have Philae to ourselves. There were other boats, other tourists; but we pretended that they were invisible, and they played the same game with us. Ignoring one another, the rival bands wandered about, wondered what the place would be like with the water "down," quoted poetry and guide-books, and climbed the pylon. From that height the kiosk called "Pharaoh's Bed" showed a mirrored double, like an old ivory casket with jewelled sides, piled full of a queen's emeralds. We loitered; we explored; and having descended sat down to rest, dangling irreverent feet over beryl depths, splashed with gold. Thus we whiled away an hour, perhaps. Then the Set, impressed at first, had had enough of the mermaid temple's tragic beauty. Sir John Biddell reminded me that it had been a long day for the ladies, and very hot. Hadn't we better get back to the Enchantress before sunset? But that was exactly what some of us did not want to do.

The matter was finally settled by retaining our one small boat, with two rowers, and sending off the two larger "galleys" with their full complement of passengers, excepting only "Mrs. Jones," Miss Gilder, Antoun Effendi, the melancholy Cleopatra, and the guilty shepherd of the flock, who knew he had no business to desert his sheep. He did nevertheless feel, poor brute, that after such a day he had earned a little pleasure, and, accordingly proceeded to snatch it from Fate, despite disapproving glances. Punishment, however, fell as soon as it was due. I had stayed behind with the intention of amusing Brigit. But Monny took her from me, as if she had bought the right to use my childhood's friend whenever it suddenly occurred to her to want a chaperon. Instead of Biddy, I got Cleopatra. And by this time, so far as we knew, all tourists save ourselves had gone.

I knew in my heart that, in accusing Monny Gilder of claiming Brigit O'Neill because she was paying her expenses, I did the girl an injustice. Monny was afraid of herself with Anthony. I saw that plainly, since the fact had been laid under my nose by Mrs. East. She feared the glamour of this magical place, perhaps, and felt the need of Biddy's companionship to keep her strong, not realizing that any one else was yearning for the lady. This was the whole front of her offending; yet I was so disappointed that I wanted to be brutal. Without Biddy, I should wish but to howl at the sunset, as a dog bays the moon. And feeling thus I may not have made myself too agreeable to Cleopatra. In any case, after we had sat in silence for a while, waiting for a sunset not yet ready to arrive, she turned reproachful eyes upon me. "Lord Ernest," she said, "I think you had better go and join Monny."

"Why?" I surlily inquired. "I thought you thought that idea of yours was too late to be of any use now?"

"I do think so," she replied. "Everything interesting is too late now. Still, you'd better go."

"Are you tired of me?" I stupidly catechised her.

"Well, I feel as if I should like to be alone in this wonderful place. I want to think back."

"I see," said I, scrambling up from my seat on the edge of the temple roof, and trying not to show by my expression that I was pleased, or that both my feet had gone to sleep. "In that case, I'll leave you to the spooks. May none but the right ones come!"

"Thank you," she returned dryly; and I limped off, walking on air, tempered with pins and needles. Joy! my luck had turned! At the top of the worn stone stairway, cut in the pylon, I met Biddy. She was dim as one of Cleopatra's Ptolemaic ghosts, in the darkness of the passage; but to me that darkness was brighter than the best thing in sunsets.

"Salutation to Caesar from one about to die!" I ejaculated.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that both my feet are fast asleep, and I shall certainly fall and kill myself if I try to go one step further, up or down."

"You, the climber of impossible cliffs after sea-birds' nests!" she laughed. But she stood still.

"I'm after something better than sea-birds' nests now," said I. "The question is, whether it's not still more inaccessible?"

"Are you talking about—Monny?" she wanted to know, in a whisper.

"Sit down and I'll tell you," was my answer.

"Oh, not here at the top of the steps, if it's anything as private as that," Biddy objected, all excitement in an instant. "Let's come into a tiny room off the stairway, which the guardian showed me a few minutes ago. There's a bench in it. You see, he's up there on the pylon roof now with Monny and Captain Fenton (I can't call him Antoun when I talk to you; its too silly!) and he'll probably be coming down in a minute. Then, if we stop where we are, we'll have to jump up and get out of the way, to let him pass. And he's sure to linger and work off his English on us. I don't think we'll want to be interrupted that way, do you?"

"No, nor any other way," I agreed.

"Oh, but what about the sunset? We may miss it."

"Hang the sunset! Let it slide—down behind the Dam if it likes!"

"I don't wonder you feel so, you poor dear," Biddy sympathized, "when it's a question of Monny, and all our hopes going to pieces the way they are doing, every minute. There isn't a second to lose."

So we went into the little room in the tower, which was lit only by a small square opening over our heads. We sat down on the bench. It was beautifully dark. I began to talk to Biddy. We had forgotten my feet; and I forgot Mrs. East. But I must tell what was happening to her at the time (as I learned afterward, through the confession of an impenitent), before I begin to tell what happened to us. Otherwise the situation which developed can't be made clear.

I left Cleopatra calling spirits from the vasty deep, or rather one spirit; the spirit of Antony. I am morally sure that any other would have been de trop. And sailing to her across the wide water from Shellal came Marcus Antonius Lark.

I can't say whether she considered him an answer to her prayer, or a denial of it. Anyhow, there he was; better, perhaps, than nobody, until she learned from his own lips—tactless though ardent lips—that he had come from Cairo to Assuan, from Assuan to Philae, to see her. Then she took alarm, and remarked in the old, conventional way of women, that they'd "better go look for the others." But Sir Marcus hadn't spent his money, time, and gray matter in hurrying to Philae from Shellal, for nothing. Finding himself too late to catch us at Assuan, he had paid for a special train in order to follow his "Enchantress" (the lady and the boat).

Taking a felucca with a fine spread of canvas and many rowers, which (characteristically) he bargained for at the Shellal landing-place, he sailed across to the moored steamer, only to learn from Kruger that we had gone on our expedition to Philae. That meant a long sail and row for the impatient lover. For us, the longer it was, the better: one of the chief charms of our best day. But for him it must have been tedious, despite a good breeze that filled the sails and helped the rowers.

On his way to the temple, he met the galleys going "home" to the Enchantress Isis. An instant's shock of disappointment, and then the glad relief of realizing that the one he sought was still at the place where he wished to find her. There were only four Obstacles which might prevent an ideal meeting. The names of these Obstacles, in his mind were: Jones, Gilder, Fenton, and Borrow; and being an expert in abolishing Obstacles, the great Sir Marcus began to map out a plan of action.

Luckily for him, our small boat had moved out of Cleopatra's sight, as she sat and dreamed on the low temple-roof, while we four Obstacles disported ourselves on different parts of the high pylon. The two Nubians wished to play a betting game with a kind of Egyptian Jack-stones, and it was not desirable that the pensive lady should behold them doing it. Observing the graceful figure of Mrs. East silhouetted against the sky's eternal flame of blue, and at the same time noticing that she could not see the waiting boat, Sir Marcus got his inspiration. He knew that the four Obstacles were somewhere about the temple. Now was his great chance, while they were out of the way! And if he resolved to play them a trick, perhaps he salved his conscience by telling it that the Obstacles, male and female, ought to thank him.

Cleopatra probably thought, if she glanced up to see his boat: "Oh dear, another load of tourists!" and promptly looked down to avoid the horrid vision. By the time Sir Marcus came within "How do you do?" distance, he had bribed our waiting boatmen to row away. This in order not to be caught in a lie.

With our Nubians and their craft out of his watery way, he was free to fib when the time came. "Go look for the others?" he echoed Mrs. East's proposal. "Why, they've gone. I met them."

"Gone! And left me behind when they knew I was here?" she exclaimed. "They can't have done such a thing."

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," replied Sir Marcus presently. "They certainly have gone. I met the boat. Borrow was expecting me to-day, you know—or maybe you don't know. And when he saw me in my felucca, he stopped his to explain that evidently there'd been a contretemps." (I'm sure Lark mispronounced that word!) "The temple guardian said a gentleman had arrived and taken the lady who was waiting, off in a boat. Of course Borrow thought I had come along, and persuaded you to go with me, after telling the guardian to let him know. I expect the guardian's got mighty little English: and they say white ladies all look alike to blacks. He must have mixed you up with some other lady. I suppose my folks haven't been the only people at Philae since you came?"

Mrs. East admitted that a number of "creatures" had come and gone. But she thought all had vanished before the departure of the galleys.

"You see you thought wrong. That's all there is to it," Sir Marcus assured her. And having taken these elaborate measures to secure the lady's society for himself alone (Nubian rowers don't count) he proceeded to lure her hastily into his own boat, lest any or all of the Obstacles should arrive to spoil his coup.

That was the manner of our marooning.

At the time, we were ignorant of what was happening behind our backs; the sunset for instance, and the only available boat calmly rowing away from the drowned Temple of Philae.

We were thinking of something else; and so was Sir Marcus, or he would not have forgotten the repentant promise he made himself, soon to send back a boat and take us off. We were, therefore, in the position of unrehearsed actors in a play who don't know what awaits them in the next act: while those who may read this can see the whole situation from above, below, and on both sides. Four of us, marooned at Philae, not knowing it, and night coming on.



CHAPTER XXVI

WHAT WE SAID: WHAT WE HEARD

"Biddy, you were never wiser in your life," I exploded as I got her on the bench. "You warned me there wasn't a second to lose. I've lost years already, and I can't stand it the sixtieth part of a minute longer, without telling you how I love you!"

"My goodness!" gasped Biddy. "Do be serious for once, Duffer. This is no time for jokes. Don't you know you've delayed and delayed in spite of my advice, till you've practically lost that girl? And if there's any chance left—"

"The only chance I want is with you," I said. "Darling, I want you with my heart and soul, and all there is of me. Have I any chance?"

"And how long since were you taken this way?" demanded Biddy, at her most Irish, staring at me through the darkness of the little dim room in the pylon.

"Ever since you were an adorable darling of four years," I assured her. "Only I was interrupted by going to Eton and Oxford, and your being married. But the love has always been there, in a deep undertone. The music's never stopped once. It never could. And when I saw you on the Laconia—"

"You fell in love with Monny!" breathlessly she cut me short.

"Nothing of the kind," I contradicted her fiercely. "You ordered me to fall in love with Miss Gilder. I objected politely. You overruled my objections, or tried to. I let you think you had. And for a while after that, you know perfectly well, Biddy, the Set gave me no time to think any thoughts at all, connected with myself."

"You poor fellow, you have been a slave!" The soft-hearted angel was caught in the trap set for her pity.

"And a martyr. A double-dyed martyr. I deserve a reward. Give it to me, Biddy. Promise, here in this beautiful Marriage Temple, to marry me. Let me take care of you all the rest of your life."

"My patience, a nice reward for you!" she snapped. "Let you be hoist by the same petard that's always lying around to hoist me! What do you think of me, Duffer—and after all the proofs we've just had of the dangerous creature I am? Why, the whole trouble at Luxor was on my account. Even you must see that. Monny and I wouldn't have been let into Rechid's house if those secret men hadn't persuaded him to play into their hands, and revenge himself on you men as well as on us, for interfering with Mabel. It was their plot, not Rechid's, we escaped from! And it was theirs at the Temple of Mut, too. Rechid was only their cat's-paw, thinking he played his own hand. Just what they wanted to do I can't tell, but I can tell from what one of them said to Monny in the temple, that they took her for Richard O'Brien's daughter. Poor child, her love for me and all her affectionate treatment of me, must have made it seem likely enough to them that she was Esme, safely disguised as an important young personage, to travel with her stepmother. Bedr must have assured his employers that he was certain the pale girl was really Miss Gilder; so they thought the other one with me must be Esme. You can't laugh at my fears any more! And I ask you again, what do you think of me, to believe I'd mix you up in my future scrapes?"

"I think you're the darling of the world," said I. "And my one talent, as you must have noticed, is getting people out of scrapes. It'll be wasted if I can't have you. Besides, under the wing of an Embassy no one will dare to try and steal you, or blow you up. We'll be diplomats together, Biddy. Come! You say I've 'duffed' all my life, to get what I wanted. Certainly I've done a lot of genuine duffing in love; but do bear out your own expressed opinion of the work by saving it from failure. Couldn't you try and like me a little, if only for that? You were always so unselfish."

"Hush!" said Biddy, suddenly, "Hush!"

"Do you hate me, then? Is it by any chance, Anthony, you love?"

"No—no! Hold your tongue, Duffer."

"'No' to both questions? I shan't stop till you answer."

"No, to both, then! Now will you be silent?"

"Not unless you say you do care for me."

"Yes—yes, I do care. But, Sh! Don't you hear, they're talking just outside that window in the wall? If you can't keep a still tongue in your head, then for all the saints whisper!"

Her brogue was exquisite, and so was she. I worshipped her. When I slipped my arm round her waist, she dared not cry out. The same when I clasped her hand. Things were coming my way at last. And if I put my lips close against her ear I could whisper as low as she liked. I liked it too. And I loved the ear.

She was right. They were indeed talking just outside the window, Monny Gilder and Anthony Fenton. The prologue was evidently over, and the first act was on. It began well, with a touch of human interest certain to please an audience. But unfortunately for every one concerned, this was a private rehearsal for actors only, not a public performance. Biddy and I had no business in the dark auditorium. We were deadheads. We had sneaked in without paying. The situation was one for a nightmare.

"For heaven's sake, let me cough, or knock something over!" I implored Biddy's ear, which (it struck me at the moment) was more like a flower than an unsympathetic shell, best similes to the contrary. Who could have imagined that it would be so heavenly a sensation to have your nose tickled by a woman's hair?

"There's nothing you can knock over, but me," Biddy retorted, as fiercely as she could in a voice no louder than a mosquito's. "And if you cough, I'll know you're a dog-in-the-manger."

"Why?" curiosity forced me to pursue.

"Because, you donkey, ye say ye don't want her yourself, yet ye won't give yer best friend a chance!"

"Can't be a dog and a donkey at the same time," I murmured. "Choose which, and stick to it, if ye want me to know what ye mean."

"Why, you—you Man, don't ye see, if we interrupt at such a minute, and such a conversation, they can never begin again where they left off? If you'd wanted her, I'd have tried to save her for ye, at any cost. But as ye don't, for goodness' sake give the two their chance to come to an understanding. Now be still, I tell ye, or they may hear us."

"We can't just sit and eavesdrop."

"Stop yer ears then. It'll take both hands."

It would; which is the reason I didn't do it. That would have been asking too much, of the most honourable man, in the circumstances.

Meanwhile, the two outside went on talking. Believing themselves to be alone with the sunset, there was no reason to lower their voices. They spoke in ordinary tones, though what they said was not ordinary; and we on the other side of the little unglazed window could not help hearing every word.

"I've been wanting to say it for a long time," in a voice like that of a penitent child Monny was following up something we had (fortunately) lost. "Only how could I begin it? I don't see even now how I did begin, exactly. It's almost easy though, since I have begun. I was horrid —horrid. I can't forgive myself, yet I want you to forgive me for doing your whole race a shameful injustice, for not understanding it, or you, or—or anything. You've shown me what a modern Egyptian man can be, in spite of things I've read and heard, and been silly enough to believe. Oh, it isn't just that you come from some great family, and that you could call yourself a prince if you liked, as Lord Ernest says. He's told me how you could have a fortune, and a great place in your country if you'd reconcile yourself with your grandfather in Constantinople; but that you won't, because it would mean going against England. It isn't your position, but what you are, that has made me see how small and ridiculous I've been, Antoun Effendi. Can you possibly forgive me for the way I treated you at first, now I've confessed and told you I'm very, very sorry and ashamed?"

"I would forgive you, if there were anything to forgive," Anthony answered. And it must have taken pretty well all his immense self-control to go on speaking to the girl in French—an alien language —just then.

"Perhaps there would be something to forgive, if I weren't on my side a great deal more to blame than you. Will you let me confess?"

"If you wish. Otherwise, you needn't. For I've deserved—"

"I do wish. But first, will you answer me a question?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't ask me a question I oughtn't to answer."

"It's only this: Did Ernest Borrow tell you anything else about me?"

"Nothing, except his opinion of you. And you must know that, by this time."

"I think I do. Or Mrs. Jones—or Mrs. East? Neither have—for any reason—advised you to apologize to me for what you very nobly felt was wrong in your conduct?"

"No. Not a soul has advised me. If they had—"

She didn't finish, but Biddy and I both knew the Monny-habit of conscientiously going against advice.

"Thank you. You've changed your opinion of me, then, without urging from outside."

"It has all come from inside. From recognition of—of what you are, and what you've done for—for us all. You've been a hero. And you've been kind as well as brave. Antoun Effendi, I think you are a very great gentleman, and I respect Egyptians for your sake."

"Wait!" said Anthony. "You haven't heard my confession. When I first saw you on the terrace at Shepheard's, I willed you to look at me, and you did look."

"How strange! Yes, I felt it. Something made me look. Why did you will me, Antoun Effendi?" Monny's voice was soft. But it was not like a child's now. It was a woman's voice.

Listening with tingling ears, I knew what she wanted him to answer. Perhaps he also knew, but he boldly told the truth. "It was a kind of wager I made with myself. There was some troublesome business I had to carry out in Cairo. A good deal hung upon it. I saw your profile. You didn't turn my way, and I said to myself: 'If by willing I can make that girl look at me, I'll take it for a sign that I shall succeed in my work.'"

"Oh! It was nothing to do with me?"

"Not then. Afterward I knew that, while I thought my own free will suggested my influencing you, it was destiny that influenced me. Kismet! It had to happen so. But you punished me for my presumption. You treated me as if I were a slave, a Thing that hardly had a place in your world."

"I know! That's what I've asked you to forgive me for."

"And because you've asked me to forgive, I'm telling you this. I was furious; and I said, 'She shall be sorry. I will make her sorry.' My whole wish was to humble you. I wanted to conquer, and though you classed me with servants, to be your master."

"I don't blame you, Antoun Effendi! And you have conquered, in a better way than you meant when you were angry and hating me. You've conquered by showing your true self. You are my friend. That's what you want, isn't it?—Not to be my master, when you don't hate me any longer."

"No, that is not what I want. I still want to be your master."

"Then you do hate me, even now?"

"No, I don't hate you, Mademoiselle Gilder, although you've punished me over and over again for being the brute I was at first. You have conquered me, not I you. But I don't want to be your friend. If you didn't look at me as being a man beyond the pale, you would understand very well what I want."

"Don't say that!" cried Monny, quickly. "Don't say that you're a man beyond the pale. I can't stand it. Oh! I do know what you want. I do understand. I think I should have died if you hadn't wanted it. And yet—I could almost die because you do."

"You could die because I love you?"

"Yes, of joy—and—"

"You care for me?"

"Wait! I could die of joy, and sorrow too. Joy, because I do care, and my heart longs for you to care. Sorrow, because—oh, it's the saddest thing in the world, but we can never be any more to each other than we are now." "You say that so firmly, because you think of me in your heart as a man of Egypt. Dearest and most beautiful, you are great enough if you choose, to mount to your happiness over your prejudice. If you can love me in spite of what I am—"

"I love you in spite of it, and because of it, too; and for every reason, and for no reason."

"Thank God for that! You've said this to me against your convictions. I have won."

"No, for it's all I can ever say. There can be no more between us."

"You couldn't love me enough to be my wife, though I tell you now that you're the star of my soul? Never till I saw you, have I loved a woman or spoken a word of love to one, except my beautiful mother. I've kept all for you, more than I dreamed I had to give. And it's yours for ever and ever. But just because you've said to yourself that we're of stranger races, who mustn't meet in love, you raise a barrier between us. Are our souls of stranger races?"

"No. Sometimes it almost seems as if our souls were one. You have waked mine with a spark from your own. I think I was fast asleep. I didn't know I had a soul—scarcely even a heart. But now I know! Learning to know you has taught me to know myself. And if I'm kinder to everybody, all the rest of my life—even silly rich people I used to think didn't need kindness—it will be through loving you. I'm not afraid to tell you that, and though I used to be afraid I might love you, I'm glad I do, now—glad! I shall never regret anything, even when I suffer. And I shall suffer, when we're parted."

"You're sure we must part?"

"Sure, because there's no other way, being what we are, and life being what it is. Always I've thought since my father died, that he was near me, watching to see what I did with my life. For he loved me dearly, and I loved him. We were everything to each other. Even if that were the only reason, I couldn't do a thing that would have broken his heart. It would be treacherous, now that he's helpless to forbid me. Don't you see?"

"I see. And if it were not for that reason?"

"If it were not for that—oh, I don't know, I don't know! But yes, I do know. The truth comes to me. It speaks out of my heart. If it were only for myself if I felt free from a vow, nothing could make me say to you, 'Go out of my life!'"

"That's what I wanted to be sure of. I could thank you on my knees for those words. For I, too, have made a vow which I won't break. And if I were free of it, I might tell you a thing now which would beat down the barrier. Well! We will keep our vows, both of us, my Queen."

"Yes, we must keep them. But oh, how are we to bear it? Fate has brought us together, and it's going to part us. We love each other, and we must go out of one another's lives. What shall we do when we can't see each other any more—ever any more?"

"That time shall not come."

"But it must—soon."

"Will you trust me, till Khartum?"

"I'll trust you always."

"I mean for a special thing—just till Khartum. In the foolish days when I wished to conquer you, and make you humble yourself to me, I vowed by my mother's love that I'd not tell you, or let Borrow tell, a fact about myself which might win your favour. It was a bad vow to make: a stupid vow. But a vow by my mother's love I could not break, any more than you can break one to your father's memory. I'll abide by it: but trust me till Khartum, and there you shall know what I can't tell you now. I always hoped you would find out there—if we went as far as Khartum together. Then I hoped, because I was a conceited fool. Now I hope this thing—and all it means—because I am your lover."