g blue, he
saw the tapering mast of a dahabeeyah. No sail was set on it. The
dahabeeyah was either becalmed or tied up. He wondered if it were the
_Loulia_, and something of his usual alertness returned to him. For a
moment he thought of calling up the snarling and indignant Hassan, whose
piercing eyes might perhaps discern the dahabeeyah's identity even from
this distance. Or he might go back to his boat, and tell the men to get
out their poles again and work her up the river till he could see for
himself. Then, in the golden warmth, the dream settled down once more
about him and upon him. Why hurry? Why be disturbed? The alertness
seemed to fade, to dissolve in his mind. He turned his eyes away from
the distant mast, he got upon the donkey, and was taken gently to the
temple.

No tourists were there. He sent the donkey-boy away, saying he would
walk back to the river. He knew the consciousness that some one was
waiting for him to go would take the edge off his pleasure. And he
realized at once that he was on the threshold of one of the most intense
pleasures of his life. Allured by a gift of money, the native guardian
consented to desert him instead of dogging his steps. For the first time
he stood in an Egyptian temple.

He remained for some time in the outer court, where the golden sunshine
fell, attracted by the sacred darkness that seemed silently to be
calling him, but pausing to savour his pleasure. Before him was a vista
of empty golden hours. What need had he to hurry? Slowly he approached
the hypostyle hall. All about him in the sunshine swarms of birds flew.
Their vivacious chirping fell upon ears that were almost deaf. For
already the great silence of the darkness beyond was flowing out to
Isaacson, was encompassing him about. He reached the threshold and
looked back. Through the high and narrow doorway between the towers he
caught a glimpse of the native village, and his eyes rested for a moment
upon the cupolas of a mosque. Behind him was a place of prayer. Before
him was another place, which surely held in its arms of stone all the
mystical aspirations, all the unuttered longings, all the starry desires
and humble but passionate worship of the men who had passed away from
this land of the sun, leaving part of their truth behind them to move
through the ages of the souls of men.

He turned at last, and slowly, almost with precaution, he moved from the
sunlight into the darkness.

And darkness led to