CHAPTER XVII

"The hundred-gated Thebes, where twice ten-score in martial state

Of valiant men with steeds and cars march through each massy gate."

There was no moon to break the shadows in the Great Hypostyle Hall of

the Temple of Amnon; neither was there sound or sign of life, the

winter residents and bird-of-passage tourists being duly occupied in

the festivities which are the order of the night in hotel life on the

Nile.

It is not actually dangerous, nor is it actually wise, to visit the

stupendous ruins of Egypt alone at night. The native has far too good

an eye to business to lurk behind obelisk or column with intent to

spring out and demand the purse of any stray unit of the cosmopolitan

hordes which bring such wealth in the winter months to the land of the

Pharaohs.

Rather not! Far greater joy for him at full noon is palming off upon

your guileless self the spurious scarab at a price 300% above its

intrinsic worth.

Incidents of that kind do not occur in the great tourist

centres--though worse, far worse happens to the foolhardy or

featherheaded in the by-paths and hidden corners of this mysterious

land--but if you have the vision, the terrible silence of the Past, the

supreme indifference of the great ruins to the passage of Time, the

wonderful repose of the mighty blocks of stone piled in the days of the

great Pharaohs, are apt to give a thrill to your heart and an

impression to your mind which may last a lifetime.

If you have not the vision you need not worry, for you will not want to

wander from the hotel lounge after your coffee to traverse these

ancient wastes.

Damaris had spent the last fortnight in helping her godmother prepare

for her tedious journey.

With the knowledge that she would have a fortnight, perhaps more, in

which there would be little else to do than to visit the ruins, she had

rushed through the principal objects of interest in the wake of a

verbose dragoman, and then given every moment of her time to her

beloved godmother, to whom she had said good-bye that very morning.

Restless and irritated by the trivial conversation of girls of her own

age and the amorous tendencies of the stronger sex of the same age and

also a good bit older, she had spent the afternoon in the hotel

grounds, waiting for the evening, when she could slip away by herself;

having realised that the best time of all in Thebes of the Hundred

Gates is at fall of night, when the shadows cast a seemly cloak over

the vulgarity of the modern buildings, and give an air of romance even

to the glittering lights of the appalling esplanade, which flaunts its

tawdry modernity cheek by jowl with the quay, built by one of the

Ptolemies, and in use even to the present day.

When the call of the _Muezzin_ from the Mosque of Abou'l-Hâggag came to

her an hour before sunset she went in, bathed and dressed, and dined in

her own room. Later, she stole out, ordered her car and drove herself

along the broad tree-lined road and up the avenue of ram-headed

Sphinxes to the first pylon of the great Temple.

There she switched off the lights, hid the starting-handle under the

cushions and, tip-toeing, passed through the first pylon and up to the

broken kiosk of the Ethiopian Tahraka.

She walked quietly, though assuredly her footsteps would have been

deadened by Egypt's sands even if she had walked upon her heels, and

stole through the vestibule to the second pylon, occasionally switching

on her electric torch for fear of being tripped by fallen stone.

She had not heard of the great catastrophe which had brought the

columns hurtling to the ground, due perhaps to the merciless greed of

Ptolemy Lathyrus, or earthquake, or the well-known fact that temples,

houses or plans built upon sand are bound to crumble; nor did she wot

of the precariousness of the walls around her or the shifting

propensities of the foundations.

She walked quietly because the spirit of the place was upon her, the

spirit which puts a hand upon your mouth so that words shall not

disturb the ghosts of the past, and which blinds your eyes so that you

look back upon that hour as on a dream.

Yet, as she passed through pylon, vestibule and the Great Court, she

stopped and turned, went on, and stopped again to listen.

There was no sound.

Flashing her light upon part of a fallen column, she sat down upon it,

with the purple sky studded with stars as roof above her head and the

sands of ages as carpet to her feet.

And as she sat, so still, her thoughts turned to the man who had said

he loved her and who yet seemed so content to leave her quite alone.

A woman may refuse a man's honest proposal of marriage and have no

intention whatever of marrying him, even later on, but that does not

mean he need necessarily take her at her word to the extent of retiring

altogether from the horizon of her life.

As for the rest, the flowers upon her breakfast-table, her rides at

dawn--about that she instinctively kept her thoughts in check. It was

like the cut-glass bottle of perfume which you are not allowed to use,

on account of your youth; the first few lines of the first novel you

filched from your mother's book-stand that afternoon she was out; the

first time you put on a real evening dress and wound a fichu about your

neck before you opened your bedroom door.

And as she sat there fell a little sound.

Bits of masonry as big as a bowl or as small as a marble are quite

likely to fall upon your pate in colossal ruins, but, remembering the

vague uneasiness which had caused her to stop and listen, further back,

she sat forward and switched on her light.

Against the wall opposite her, entirely robed in black, with a

glittering jewel clasping a corner of the great black mantle swinging

from the shoulders, there stood a man.

There was no sign of the paralysing terror which swept the girl; her

face, which had gone dead-white, was in shadow, her hands under control.

For a moment she sat breathless, then flashed the light full into the

face of the man who had stalked her through the temple, then flashed it

back to the jewel, then sighed--an unutterable sigh of relief.

The jewel was in the shape of a hawk, the symbol of Ancient Egypt.

Just for a moment they stayed in utter silence, those two who for all

we know may have met and parted in this very spot in the days of the

XII dynasty, to meet and part and meet again.

Then she tackled the untoward situation in the only possible way.

"Will you, as you promised, if the hour is come, tell me the tale of

the Hawk of Egypt?"

She spoke sweetly, softly, switching out the light.

And Hugh Carden Ali crossed the intervening square of sand, which,

however, being one-half his heritage, stretched an impregnable barrier

between them, and sank to the ground beside her.

The perfume of her raiment was about him, the sound of her breathing in

his ears; all the love and worship of his heart was hers. Yet he

merely lifted the hem of her cloak to his lips.

The shadows pressed down upon them as he spoke, quietly, his voice

echoing strangely in the Temple of the Gods.

"Behold, the Hawk of Egypt looked forth from the shadows of the

mountain fastness, and nothing stirred in the earth or upon the face of

the waters.

"Wrong had been wrought and the anger of the gods was as clouds

loosened from their hands.

"And behold, as the first sun-ray pierced the fury of the storm, the

mighty bird spread wide its wings, which were as of ruby and of emerald

and of onyx and of gold as they glistened in the sun, and sailed upon

the wind of the morning down towards the plains.

"And as he passed, glittering like a jewel in the crown of Osiris,

those of his kind, screaming defiance, spread their wings and hastened

west and east.

"They would have none of him, for beneath the mighty pinions showed the

white plumage of another race.

"And in the radiant light of day there came from the southern plains a

white bird, crossing the hawk's path as a snowflake driven by Destiny

across the desert wastes; and he encircled her, lifting her upon the

wind of his great pinions higher, higher yet towards the eyrie in the

solitary mountain peak.

"And as they mounted, those of his kind and those of her kind, who had

followed, battled with him, for he was outcast from the one and the

other. And the mist, which was the anger of the gods, closed

down . . ."

The shadows seemed to deepen as the quiet voice stopped.

"And--" said Damaris gently, "--the end?"

"That is on the lap of the gods."

"I do not understand!"

She had not caught the end of Lady Thistleton's chatter, else would she

have been able to interpret the little story, and the man, who had

thought that his parents' mixed marriage was a common subject for

gossip in the hotel--which it was--sprang to his feet, The future still

held the moment when someone would enlighten her as to the lowliness of

his caste.

"It is late," he said gravely in English. "Perhaps if you were to ask

at the hotel, someone would interpret the little tale. And now will

you not return, for fear they come in search of you? It is not wise to

wander alone, at night, without a companion. Your dog------?"

Damaris laughed, the echoes binding the silvery sound like a soft

wrapping about the wounds and bruises Time had left upon the ruins.

"Wellington? Oh, he cut his foot badly this morning. And I--I want to

go to the hall built like a tent."

"The great Festal Hall of Totmes III?"

The man made no other comment; it was not for him to offer himself as

dragoman.

"Will you--take me there, if you know the way?"

"Verily would I be thy guide," came the passionate reply, "to guard thy

feet against the stones which will surely be spread upon thy path."

Playing with fire! Yes, indeed!

Side by side they walked, the torch throwing a pool of radiance just

ahead, until Damaris walked blindly into a column and cried aloud from

the hurt of the stone against her shoulder.

It was then that she stretched out her hand for support, and tingled to

her feet when sudden flames seemed to singe her finger-tips as they

rested on the man's arm.

Through the Central Court and the Pylons and into the Hall of Records

they went, until she tripped and crashed to her knees, and, rising,

slipped her hand into the man's and stood for a moment with thudding

heart when, closing fiercely round hers, it seemed to burn her whole

being.

Hand in hand they stood, seeing, by reason of the gloom, vastly little

of the columns which have the strange shape of tent-poles; then walked

warily and still hand in hand in and out of various and dilapidated

chambers.

"I--I don't _want_ to go back, but I think it must be very late,

so------"

They were standing near the chapel with the granite altar as she spoke,

and had turned to retrace their way when she flashed her light upon a

flight of steps.

Strange is the fascination and desolation of steps leading to an empty

dwelling and almost as mysterious as the door ajar in an empty house.

She stood in the little room and swept the light across the walls upon

which are represented the animals and flowers brought from Syria

century upon century ago.

Then the light, which had been growing dimmer and dimmer, went out.

And it was the man this time who tackled the situation.

"I am your guide. I know the way in the dark."

He spoke in English as he swept the girl into his arms, carrying her

like a feather down the great temple where perchance he had held her

against his heart century upon century ago, even when the flowers and

animals had been brought from Syria.

"May I drive you home? I should love to," he said, as he placed her on

her feet near the car. He spoke in English, with an eagerness out of

keeping with the trivial request, and which was merely the expression

of a desire to be with her under commonplace circumstances.

"Please do. I don't think I could--I am so tired."

The _gafir_ was accustomed to the strange habits of the white people,

but, although almost drunken with slumber, he peered closely and

furtively at the driver.

"Thank you so much," said Damaris gravely, with her hand against a mark

upon her cheek caused by the pressure of an amulet made of a

scarab-shaped emerald in a dull gold setting, and which Hugh Carden Ali

wore night and day above his heart. "Is there anything else as

wonderful to see as the Temple?"

"Deir el-Bahari."

The man spoke curtly and made no further comment; not for him was it to

offer himself as guide.

"Ah! yes, of course--but people go to it in crowds, and one has to

follow behind a guide in a procession."

"One is not obliged to return with the crowd, nor to listen to the

dragoman, who knows nothing about the incense-trees of Punt which were

planted upon the terrace to perfume the air under the light of the full

moon, in the days of Queen Hatshepu."

With apparent abruptness she ended the conversation:

"I share my godmother's great faith in you. Good night."

She put out her hand as he salaamed with hands to brow and lips and

heart. Perhaps that was why he failed to see it.

Or was it, perhaps, that he still felt the softness of her against his

heart?

If you are dying of thirst, one drop of water will not assuage you!