Well, Mr. Stephens, when I had done washing
my hands outside, I came past the door again, and there were those two
children sitting on the stoop with their eyes full of flies, and all
just the same as ever, except that each had a little paper cap made out
of the _New York Herald_ upon his head. But, say, Sadie, it's going on
to ten o'clock, and to-morrow an early excursion."

"It's just too beautiful, this purple sky and the great silver stars,"
said Sadie. "Look at the silent desert and the black shadows of the
hills. It's grand, but it's terrible too; and then when you think that
we really _are_, as that dragoman said just now, on the very end of
civilisation, and with nothing but savagery and bloodshed down there
where the Southern Cross is twinkling so prettily, why, it's like
standing on the beautiful edge of a live volcano."

"Shucks, Sadie, don't talk like that, child," said the older woman
nervously. "It's enough to scare any one to listen to you."

"Well, but don't you feel it yourself, Auntie? Look at that great
desert stretching away and away until it is lost in the shadows.
Hear the sad whisper of the wind across it! It's just the most solemn
thing that ever I saw in my life."

"I'm glad we've found something that will make you solemn, my dear,"
said her Aunt. "I've sometimes thought--Sakes alive, what's that?"

From somewhere amongst the hill shadows upon the other side of the river
there had risen a high shrill whimpering, rising and swelling, to end in
a long weary wail.

"It's only a jackal, Miss Adams," said Stephens. "I heard one when we
went out to see the Sphinx by moonlight."

But the American lady had risen, and her face showed that her nerves had
been ruffled.

"If I had my time over again I wouldn't have come past Assouan," said
she. "I can't think what possessed me to bring you all the way up here,
Sadie. Your mother will think that I am clean crazy, and I'd never dare
to look her in the eye if anything went wrong with us. I've seen all I
want to see of this river, and all I ask now is to be back at Cairo
again."

"Why, Auntie," cried the girl, "it isn't like you to be faint-hearted."

"Well, I don't know how it is, Sadie, but I feel a bit unstrung, and
that beast caterwauling over yonder was just more than I could put up
with. There's one consolation, we are scheduled to be on our way home
to-morrow, after we've seen this one rock or temple, or whatever it is.
I'm full