It Happened in Egypt Part 37

It was a stage still dimly, but most effectively revealed: lights down: pale blue, lilac and cold green; a thrilling, almost sinister combination: no gold or rose switched on yet. Turned obliquely toward the river, facing slightly northward, four figures sat on thrones, super-giants, immobile, incredible, against a background of rock whence they had been released by forgotten sculptors--released to live while the world lasted. These seated kings gave the first shock of awed admiration; then lesser marvels detached themselves in detail from the shadows of the vast facade; the frieze, the cornice, the sun-G.o.d in his niche over the door of the Great Temple: the smaller Temple of Hathor, divided from her huge brother by a cataract of sand, whose piled gold-dust already called the sun, as a magnet calls iron.

The stage-lights were still down when the _Enchantress_ moored by the river bank, within a comparatively short walk of the mountain which Rameses II had turned into a temple, as usual glorifying himself. But though the walk was comparatively short, on second thoughts elderly ghosts already chilled to the bone, funked it on empty stomachs. They made various excuses for putting off the excursion (the boat was to remain till late afternoon), until finally the sun-worshippers were reduced to a party of ten.

Since Philae, Biddy had kept out of my way when she could do so without being actually rude; but as our small, shivering procession formed, she suddenly appeared at my side. Thus we two headed the band, save for a sleepy dragoman who knew the rather intricate paths through scaly dried mud, sand, and vegetation.

"I want to say something to you, Duffer," she murmured; and the roughness of the way excused me for slipping her arm through mine.

"Not as much as I want to say something to you," I retorted fervently.

"But this is _serious_," she reproached me.

"So is--"

"Please listen. There isn't much time. I heard this only last night, or I'd have spoken before, and asked you what you thought. Do you happen to know whether Captain Fenton wrote a note to Monny, asking her to wait for him in the inner sanctuary of the temple till after the people had gone, as he wanted to see her alone about something of great importance?"

"I don't know," I said. "Anthony hasn't mentioned Miss Gilder's name to me since Philae. As a matter of fact he's been particularly taciturn."

"You haven't quarrelled, surely?"

"Anthony and I! Thank goodness, no. But I'm afraid he misunderstands, and is a bit annoyed. Miss Gilder of course told him we'd overheard a certain conversation, and he's never given me a chance to explain.

After Khartum it will be all right, if not before, but meanwhile--"

"I see. Then let me tell you quickly what's happened. When we came back on board the boat, after climbing about the fort of Kasr Ibrim, Monny found on the table in her cabin a note in French, typewritten on _Enchantress Isis_ paper. It had no beginning or signature, only an urgent request to grant the writer five minutes just after sunrise, in the sanctuary at Abu Simbel, _as soon as every one was out of the way_.

There's only one typewriter on board, isn't there?"

"Yes, Kruger's."

"And n.o.body but you and he and Captain Fenton ever use it, I suppose?"

"n.o.body else, so far as I know."

"Captain Fenton didn't land with us to see the fort, but came up later, just as we were ready to go down. Well, for all these reasons and the note being in French Monny thinks it was written by Antoun Effendi. It was only in chatting last night about the sunrise expedition that she mentioned finding the letter. I begged her to make certain it _was_ from him, before doing what it asked; because, you see, I'm still afraid of anything that seems queer or mysterious. But she laughed and said, 'What nonsense! Who else could have written it except Lord Ernest, unless you think Mr. Kruger's in a plot.' And she refused to question Antoun, because if he'd wanted the thing to be talked over, he'd have spoken instead of writing. As for doing what he asked, she pretended not to have made up her mind. She said she'd 'see what mood she was in,' after the others had finished with the sanctuary. Well, what I want, is for you and me to stay in the place ourselves when the others have gone."

"With the greatest of pleasure on earth!" said I.

"Don't be foolish. You aren't to torment me there."

"That depends on what you call 'tormenting.' If I'm to be made a spoil-sport for Fenton and Miss Gilder, a kind of live scarecrow, I mean to get something out of it for myself."

There was no time for more. We had arrived at the foot of the long flight of stone steps which lead up to the rocky plateau of the Great Temple. In the east, a golden fire below the horizon was sending up premonitory flames, and the procession must bestir itself, or be too late. The whole object of arriving at this unearthly hour would be defeated, if, before the sun's forefinger touched the faces of the altar statues, we were not in the sanctuary. No time to study the features of the Colossi, or to search for the grave of Major Tidwell.

These things must wait. The dark-faced guardian examined our tickets, and let us file through the rock-hewn doorway, whose iron _grille_ he had just opened. As we pa.s.sed into the cavernous hall of roughly carved Osiride columns, the huge figures attached to them loomed vaguely out of purple gloom. There was an impression of sculptured rock walls, with splashes of colour here and there; of columns in a chamber beyond, and still a third chamber, whence three rooms opened off, the side doorways mere blocks of ebony in the dimness. But already the sun's first ray groped for its goal, like the wandering finger of a blind man. We had only time to hurry through the faintly lit middle doorway, and plaster ourselves round the rock walls of the sanctuary, when the golden digit touched the altar and found the four sculptured forms above: Harmachis, Rameses, Amen and Ptah. Night lingered in the temple, a black, brooding vulture. But suddenly the bird's dark breast was struck by a golden bullet and from the wound a magic radiance grew. The effect, carefully calculated by priests and builders thousands of years ago, was as thrilling to-day as on the morning when the sun first poured gold upon the altar. The sightless faces of the statues were given eyes of an unearthly brilliance to stare into ours, and search our souls. But with most of the party, to be thrilled for a minute was enough. As the sun's finger began to move, they found it time to move also. There was the whole temple to be seen, and then the walk back to the boat before dressing for breakfast.

Soon Biddy and I had--or seemed to have--the sanctuary to ourselves.

Even the sun's ray had left us, mounting higher and pa.s.sing above the doorway of the inner shrine. The momentarily disturbed shadows folded round us again, with only a faint glimmer on the wall over the altar to show that day was born.

"Did you notice that Monny wasn't with the others?" asked Brigit, in a low voice. "She lingered behind, I think, and never came near us. I wasn't sure till I watched the rest filing out of this room. Then I saw she wasn't among them. Neither was Captain Fenton."

"If they're together, it's all right," I a.s.sured her.

"Yes, but are they? That affair of the typewritten note has worried me."

"You're very nervous, darling. But no wonder!"

"You mustn't call me 'darling.'"

"Why not? It's no worse than Duffer. I like your calling me that."

"I wonder if we ought to go, as she never came--or stay and wait?"

"If we go, we shall be playing into Miss Gilder's hands. If we stay, we shall be playing into mine. Which do you prefer?"

"Oh, I suppose we'd better stay--for fear of something. But you must be good."

Then abruptly I attacked her with a change of weapons. I had fenced lightly, knowing that Biddy liked a man who could laugh. But now I threw away my rapier and s.n.a.t.c.hed a club. I told her I would stand no more of this. Did she want to spoil my life and break my heart? She was the one thing I needed. Now she would have to say whether she'd put me off because she didn't love me and never could, or because of that trash about not wanting to involve me in her troubles. No use prevaricating! I should know whether she lied or told the truth by the sound of her voice. But I might as well confess before she began, that I'd rather be loved by her and refused, than _not_ loved and refused.

Women seemed to think the unselfish thing was to pretend not to care, if a man had to be sent away; because in the end that made it easier for him. But in real life, with a real man, it was the other way round.

"I think you're right, Duffer," Biddy said softly. "That's why I wouldn't answer you for good and all, that night at Philae. I felt then it might be kinder to tell you I could never care. But I've thought of nothing else since--except a little about Monny--and I decided that if it were _me_, I'd rather be loved, whatever happened. Men can't be so very different where their hearts are concerned. So I'm going to tell you I _do_ love you. It was hard to give you to Monny. But I thought it would be for your happiness. I nearly died of love for you when I was a little girl. I kept every tiniest thing you ever gave me. I was in love with your memory when you went up to Oxford. And it was then Richard O'Brien came. He swept me off my feet, and made me think my heart was caught in the rebound. When it was too late, I realised that it hadn't been caught at all. Only hypnotized for a while. I've loved you always, Duffer dear. The thought of you was my one comfort, often, although I hardly expected to see you again: or maybe, for that very reason. No, don't touch me! please let me go on now, or I'll not tell you any more.

I wonder if you never guessed what I had in that chamois-skin bag you're so worried about?"

"Why, yes, I did guess, Biddy, right or wrong."

"And I'll _bet_ you it was wrong! What did you think, when I wouldn't understand any of your hints to tell what I wore over my heart?"

"I thought then," I answered after a moment's deliberation, "that you kept--compromising doc.u.ments which might be of interest to the organization you and I have talked about. Now I think differently. I think you kept a lock of my childish hair, or my first tooth."

"You conceited Duffer!--not so bad as that, because I had never a chance of getting either. Once I _did_ keep in that bag just what you said: compromising doc.u.ments, that the organization would have given thousands of dollars to get. And my life wouldn't have stood in their way for a minute, I'm sure. But that was before Richard died. He was afraid--I mean, I thought it would be better and less suspicious if _I_ had charge of the papers. And if the Society had ever got hold of him, he believed the letters and lists of names I had, might have bought back his safety, if I played my hand well. He'd told me just what to do. But when he was ill, he had a nurse whom I began to suspect as a spy. Once when I was called into Richard's room suddenly, half dressed, the chamois-skin bag showed, as my wrapper fell open at the breast. I caught her looking at it with an eager look; and that very night I had it locked up in a bank. It was only a few days later that Richard died; and with him gone, I felt there was no more need to keep papers which might cost the lives or liberty of men. Richard had wronged his friends, and I wanted none of them to come to harm through me, though they'd made me suffer with him. I burned every sc.r.a.p of paper I had, every single one! And it wasn't till there was an attempt to kidnap Esme that I asked myself if I'd been right. Still, even now, I am not sorry. I wouldn't hurt a hair of their heads. For a while the bag was empty; but coming away from America and feeling a bit lonesome, I thought it would do me good to look now and then at the only love-letter you ever wrote me. It was on my ninth birthday--but I don't believe you could write a better one now. There was a photograph, too, of my lord when he was seventeen. I stole that, but it was all the dearer. At this very minute, the letter and the picture are lying on my heart. So now you know whether I care for you or not; and you can understand why I wouldn't put the bag into a bank."

"Oh, Biddy darling," I said, "you've made me the happiest man in the world."

"Well, I'm glad," she snapped, twisting away from me, "that it takes so little to make you happy."

"So little, when I'm going to have you for my wife?"

"But you're not. You said you'd rather be loved and refused--"

"I would, if I had to choose between the two. That's not the case with me, for I shall marry you, now I know the truth, in spite of fifty, or fifty thousand, refusals, or any other little obstacles like that."

"Never, Duffer! Not for all the world would I be your wife, loving you as I do, unless the organization would forget or forgive Esme and me.

And that I can't fancy they'll ever do, till the millenium. I shall be past the marrying age then! Oh, Duffer, I _almost_ wish you had fallen in love with Monny as I wanted you to do--'

"Honest Injun, you really wanted that to happen?"

"Well, I tried to want it, for your sake; and in a way for my own, too.

If I'd seen you caring for Monny, I should have found some medicine to cure my heartache. Oh, it would have been a very good thing all around, except for your friend, Anthony Fenton."

"And I was half afraid he was in love with you! I can tell you I've had my trials, Biddy. It's my turn to be happy now, and yours, too. Just think, nearly everybody in the world is engaged, but us--or next door to being engaged. Miss Gilder and Anthony--who's the only man on earth to keep her in order: and Rachel Guest and Bailey; and Enid Biddell and Harry Snell; and even your stepdaughter, Esme O'Brien--"

"Duffer, she's _married_!"