ride were his enemies, he must hold them in bondage. She had struck at
both audaciously that night. But the blow, instead of driving him away,
had sent him straight to the sick man. That stroke of hers had
miscarried. But Isaacson recognized her power as an opponent.

A consultation to-morrow at four with this young doctor! So that was
ordained, was it, by Bella Donna?

His energy of mind soon made him weary of sitting, and he got up and
went towards the balcony which so lately he had been watching from the
bank of the Nile. As he stepped out upon it he saw a white figure by the
rail, and he remembered that Hamza had been with Nigel, and had
disappeared at his approach. He had not given Hamza a thought. The sick
man had claimed all of him. But now, in this pause, he had time to think
of Hamza.

As he came out upon the balcony the Egyptian turned round to look at
him.

Hamza was dressed in white, with a white turban. His arms hung at his
sides. His thin hands, the fingers opened, made two dark patches against
his loose and graceful robe. His dark face, seen in the night, and by
the light which came from the room of the faskeeyeh, was like an Eastern
dream. In his eyes lay a still fanaticism. Those eyes drew something in
Isaacson. He felt oddly at home with them, without understanding what
they meant. And he thought of the hashish-smoker, and he thought of the
garden of oranges, surrounding the little secret house, to which the
hashish-smoker sometimes came. These Easterns dwell apart--yes, despite
the coming of the English, the so-called "awakening" of the East--in a
strange and romantic world, an enticing world. Had Bella Donna undergone
its charm? Unconsciously his eyes were asking this question of this
Eastern who had been to Mecca, who prayed--how many times a day!--and
was her personal attendant. But the eyes gave him no answer. He came a
little nearer to Hamza, stood by the rail, and offered him a cigarette.
Hamza accepted it, with a soft salute, and hid it somewhere in his robe.
They remained together in silence. Isaacson was wondering if Hamza spoke
any English. He looked full of secrets, that were still and calm within
him as standing water in a sequestered pool, sheltered by trees in a
windless place. Starnworth, perhaps, would have understood
him--Starnworth who understood at least some of the secrets of the East.
And Isaacson recalled Starnworth's talk in the night, and his parting
words as he went away--