ombs which give the
valley its modern name lay in all their desolate splendour in the
bowels of the earth, under the cliffs on either side of her. Her sense
of the valley was not mental, it was not derived from books or a
knowledge of Egypt's history.

Why it so affected her she could not imagine. It did not depress her
so much as it awed her. The light on the hills was the light of
happiness, and the blueness of the clear sky banished all idea of
sadness which a valley called the Valley of Tombs might have suggested.
Yet it did affect her so profoundly that she accepted the idea that in
entering this valley of desolation she was entering on a new phase of
her existence. She felt suddenly older and wiser and strangely
apprehensive.

The Sheikh, on his swaying camel, riding on ahead, the donkey-boys,
with their fleet limbs and blue shirts clinging to them as they ran,
were becoming immortal in her memory. Years would never efface the
picture. Only Michael Amory and herself, in their European clothes,
had no place in it. They were intruders.

Not a bird crossed their path, not a falcon circled over the tops of
the cliffs. On the Nile thousands of birds had looked black against
the sunlight as they came to the great river to drink.

"Why does this valley, with its pink sunlight, make talking out of the
question?" Margaret at last said. "Please forgive me if I am a very
poor companion."

Michael, who had been glad that she had not spoken--he would not have
liked her so well if she had--said, "Please don't feel compelled to
talk. I came to help you if you needed help, not to bother you or
spoil your enjoyment."

"Thank you," she said. "I simply couldn't talk. Does one enjoy
Egypt?" she asked the question pertinently.

They rode on in silence again and Michael was pleased that
temperamentally she seemed to "feel" Egypt. There had been no
suggestion of psychic influence in her very evident acceptance of the
power of Egypt--just a simple awe, which was to Michael absolutely
natural.

Presently she said, "Does my brother live all alone in this valley?"

"Practically alone, for some months in each year. I am with him just
now, and in the daytime there are the workmen. At night he is alone
with his two Sudanese house-servants; but he is well protected--his
watch-dogs sit round his hut and nothing human would dare venture near
them after dark."

Margaret tried to laugh. "Dogs!" she said. "Dogs couldn'