radiance. Then he looked down, and saw the long white teeth of Hassan
displayed in a smile of temptation and understanding. Beyond those teeth
was the river, to which Hassan was inviting him in silence. He looked at
the tapering masts, and--he hesitated. Hassan showed more teeth.

At this moment the lady patient who had written to Isaacson from the
Nile and mentioned Nigel came up with exclamations of wonder and
delight, to engage all his attention. For nearly an hour he strolled
from end to end of the crescent and talked with her. When at last she
slowly vanished in the direction of the temple of Luxor, accompanied by
a villainous-looking dragoman who was "the most intelligent,
simple-minded old dear" in Upper Egypt, Isaacson, with decision,
descended the steps and stood on the sand by Hassan.

"Where's that dahabeeyah you spoke about?" he said. "I'll go and have a
look at her."

That evening, just before sunset he went on board the _Fatma_ as
proprietor.

He had been bargaining steadily for some hours, and felt weary, though
triumphant, as he stood upon the upper deck, with Hassan in attendance,
while the crew poled off from the bank into the golden river. Despite
the earnest solicitations of the lady patient and various acquaintances
staying in Luxor, he had given the order to remove to the western bank
of the Nile. There he could be at peace.

Friends of his cried out adieux from the road in front of the shops and
the great hotel. Unknown donkey-boys saluted. Tourists stood at gaze. He
answered and looked back. But already a new feeling was stealing over
him; already he was forgetting the turmoil of Luxor. The Reis stood on
the raised platform in the stern, still as a figure of bronze, with the
gigantic helm in his hand. The huge sail hung limp from the mast. Then
there came a puff of wind. Slowly the shore receded. Slowly the _Fatma_
crept over the wrinkled gold of the river towards the unwrinkled gold of
the west. And Isaacson stood there, alone among his Egyptians, and saw
his first sunset on the Nile. Over the gold from Thebes came boats going
to the place he had left. And the boatmen sang the deep and drowsy chant
that set the time for the oars. Mrs. Armine had often heard it. Now
Isaacson heard it, and he thought of the beating pulse in a certain
symphony to which he had listened with Nigel, and of the beating pulse
of life; and he thought, too, of the destinies of men that often seem so
fatal. And he san