hysterical ecstasy. Although the time was winter, and
the Christians' Christmas was not far off, the soft airs seemed to be
whispering all the sweet messages of the ardent spring that smiles over
Eastern lands. This was a world of young rapture, not careless, but
softly intense with joy. All things animate and inanimate were surely
singing a love-song, effortless because it flowed from the very core of
a heart that had never known sorrow.

"You are blossoming here!"

Nigel had said that to Mrs. Armine, and she thought of his words now,
and she felt that to-day they were true. Where was she going? She did
not care. She was going under this singing sky, over this singing land,
through this singing sunshine. That was surely enough. Once or twice she
looked at Hamza, and, because he never looked at her, presently she
spoke to him, making some remark about the weather in English. He turned
his head, fixed his unyielding eyes upon her, said "Yes," and glanced
away. She asked him a question which demanded "No" for an answer. This
time he said "Yes," but without looking at her. Like a living bronze he
ran on, lightly, swiftly, severely, towards the tiger-coloured
mountains. And something in Hamza now made Mrs. Armine wonder where they
were going. Already she had seen the ruins on the western shore of the
Nile; she was familiar with Medinat-Habu, with Deir-al-Bahari, with
Kurna, with the Ramesseum, with the tombs of the Kings and of the
Queens. They had landed at a point that lay to the south of Thebes, and
now seemed to be making for Medinat-Habu.

"Where are we going, Hamza?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

And he ran on, holding the piece of sugar-cane, like some hieratic
figure holding a torch in a procession. Ibrahim stopped his song to
sigh, and struck his donkey lightly under the right ear, causing it to
turn sharply to the left. In the distance Mrs. Armine saw the great
temple of Medinat-Habu, but it was not their destination. They were
leaving it on their right. And now Ibrahim struck his donkey again, and
they went on rapidly towards the Libyan mountains. The heat increased as
the day wore on towards noon, but she did not mind it--indeed, she had
the desire that it might increase. She saw the drops of perspiration
standing on the face of the living bronze who ran beside her. Ibrahim
ceased from singing. Had the approach of the golden noontide laid a
spell upon his lips?

They went on, and on, and on.