w she would not
sleep. Although she laughed at Egyptian superstition, as she glanced
about the room she was half unconsciously looking for the shadowy form
of a ginnee. All night the wind roared, and all night she lay awake,
wondering, fearing, planning, imagining, in terror of the future, yet
calling upon her adroitness, her strong fund of resolution, to shape it
as she willed.

And she would have helpers--Baroudi, Ibrahim, Hamza.

When at dawn the wind died down, and at last slumber, like a soft wave,
came stealing over her, the last thing she saw with her imagination was
Hamza, straight, enigmatic, grave, holding an upright wand in his hand.

Or was it the ginnee, who had come in out of the night to meet "my lord
Arminigel"?

* * * * *

What was that? Was it the ginnee moving, speaking?

Was it--? There had surely been a movement in the room, a sound. She
opened her eyes, and saw sunshine and some one by the bed.

"Ruby!"

She blinked, stared, lying perfectly still.

"Ruby!"

She felt a hand on one of her hands. The touch finally recalled her from
sleep, and she knew the morning and Nigel. He stood beside the bed in
loose travelling clothes, dusty, with short, untidy hair, and a radiant
brown face, looking down on her, holding her hand.

"Did I frighten you? I didn't mean to. But I thought you must be awake
by now."

There was no sound of reproach in his voice, but there was perhaps just
a touch of disappointment. She sat up, leaning against the big pillow.

"And I meant to be at the station to meet you!" she said.

He sat down close to the bed, still keeping his hand on hers.

"You did?"

"Of course. It's this horrid habit I've got into of lying awake at night
and sleeping in the morning. And there was such a storm last night."

"I know. The ginnee were abroad."

He spoke laughingly, but she said:

"How did you know that?"

"How? Why, in Egypt--but what do you mean?"

But she had recovered herself, was now fully awake, fully herself,
entirely freed from the thrall of the night.

"How well you look!" she said.

"Work!" he replied. "Sun--life under the tent! It's glorious! How I want
you to love it! But, I say, shan't we have some tea together? And then
I'll jump into a bath. It's too cold for the Nile this morning. And I'm
all full of dust. I'll ring for Marie."

He moved, but she caught his hand.

"Nigel!"

"Yes?"

"Don't ring for Marie."

"Why no