On the terrace of the Winter Palace Hotel he saw at once people whom he knew. Within the bay of sand formed by its crescent stood or strolled throngs of dragomans, and as he approached, one of them, who looked compact of cunning and guile, detached himself from a group, came up to him, saluted, and said:
"Good-morning, sir. You want a dahabeeyah? I get you a very good dahabeeyah. You go on board to-day--not stay at the hotel. One night you sleep. When morning-time come, we go away from all these noisy peoples, we go "mong the Egyptian peoples. Heeyah"--he threw out a brown hand with fingers curling backward--"heeyah peoples very vulgar, make much noise. You not at all happy heeyah, my nice gentleman!"
The rascal had read his thought.
"What"s your name?"
"Ha.s.san ben Achmed."
"I"ll see you later."
Isaacson went up the steps and into the great hotel.
When he had had a bath and made his toilet, he came out into the sun.
For a moment he stood upon the terrace rejoicing, soul and body, in the radiance. Then he looked down, and saw the long white teeth of Ha.s.san displayed in a smile of temptation and understanding. Beyond those teeth was the river, to which Ha.s.san was inviting him in silence. He looked at the tapering masts, and--he hesitated. Ha.s.san 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 Ha.s.san.
"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 Ha.s.san 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sank down in the magical wonder of this old and golden world.
"Don"t tie up near any other dahabeeyah."
"No, gentlemans," said Ha.s.san.
Again the crew got out their poles. Two men stripped, went overboard with a rope, and, running along the sh.o.r.e, towed the _Fatma_ up stream against the tide till she came to a lonely place where two men were vehemently working a shaduf. There they tied up for the night.
The gold was fading. Less brilliant, but deeper now, was the dream of river and sh.o.r.e, of the groves of palms and the mountains. Here and there, far off, a window, touched by a dying ray of light, glittered out of the softened dusk. Isaacson leaned over the rail. This evening, after his long months of perpetual work in a house in London, deprived of all real light, he felt like a man taken by the hand and led into Heaven.
Behind him the naked fellahin, unmindful of his presence, cried aloud in the fading gold.
For a long while he stood there without moving. His eyes were attracted, were held, by a white house across the water. It stood alone, and the river flowed in a delicate curve before it by a low tangle of trees or bushes. The windows of this house gleamed fiercely as restless jewels.
At last he lifted himself up from the rail.
"Who lives in that house?" he asked of Ha.s.san.
"An English lord, sah. My Lord Arminigel."
"What house is it? What"s the name?"
"The Villa Androud, my kind gentlemans."
"The Villa Androud!"
So that was where Armine had gone for his honeymoon with Bella Donna!
The windows glittered like the jewels many men had given to her.
Night fell. The song of the fellahin failed. The stars came out. Just where the _Loulia_ had lain the _Fatma_ lay. And under the stars, on deck, Isaacson dined alone. To-morrow at dawn he would start on his voyage up river. He would follow where the _Loulia_ had gone. When dinner was finished, he sent Ha.s.san away, and strolled about on the deck smoking his cigar. Through the tender darkness of the exquisite night the lights of Luxor shone, and from somewhere below them came a faint but barbaric sound of native music.
To-morrow he would follow where the _Loulia_ had gone.
The lady patient that morning had been very communicative. One of her chief joys in life was gossip. Her joy in gossip was second only to her joy in poor health. And she had told her beloved doctor "all the news."
The news of the Armine _menage_ was that Nigel Armine had got sunstroke in Thebes and been "too ill for words," and that the _Loulia_, after a short stay near Luxor, had gone on up the Nile, and was now supposed to be not far from the temple of Edfou. Not a soul had been able to explore the marvellous boat. Only a young American doctor, very susceptible indeed to female charm, had been permitted to set foot on her decks. He had diagnosed "sunstroke," had prescribed for Nigel Armine, and had come away "positively raving" about Mrs. Armine--"silly fellow." Isaacson would have liked a word with him, but he had gone to a.s.souan.
On the lower deck the boatmen began to sing.
Isaacson paced to and fro. The gentle and monotonous exercise, now accompanied by monotonous though ungentle music, seemed to a.s.sist the movement of his thought. When he left the garrulous lady patient, he might have gone to the post-office and telegraphed to the _Loulia_. It was possible to telegraph to Edfou. Since he intended to leave Luxor and sail up the Nile, surely the natural thing to do was to let his friend know of his coming. Why had he not done the natural thing? Some instinct had advised him against the completely straightforward action. If Nigel had been alone on the _Loulia_ the telegram would have been sent. That Isaacson knew. But Nigel was not alone. A spy was with him, she who had come to spy out the land when she had come to Cleveland Square. Perhaps it was very absurd, but the remembrance of Bella Donna prevented Isaacson now from announcing his presence on the Nile. He was resolved to come to her as she had once come to him. She had appeared in Cleveland Square carrying her secret reason with her. He would appear in the shadow of the temple of Horus. And his secret reason? Perhaps he had none. He was a man who was often led by instinct.
And he trusted very much in his instinctive mistrust of Bella Donna.
The _Fatma_ was no marvellous boat like the _Loulia_. She was small, poorly furnished, devoid of luxury, and not even very comfortable! That night Isaacson lay on a mattress so thin that he felt the board beneath it. The water gurgled close to him against the vessel"s side. It seemed to have several voices, which were holding secret converse together in the great stillness of the night. For long he lay awake in the darkness. How different this darkness seemed from that other darkness of London! He thought of the great temples so near him, of the tombs of the Kings, of all those wonders to see which men travelled from the ends of the earth. And he was sailing at dawn, he who had seen nothing! It seemed a mad thing to do. His friends had been openly amazed when he had been forced to tell them of his immediate departure. And he wanted, he longed, to see the wonders that were so near him in the night; Karnak with its pylons, its halls, its statues; the Colossi sitting side by side in their plain, with the springing crops about their feet; the fallen King in the Ramesseum, and that sad King who gazes for ever into the void beneath the mountain.
He longed to see these things, and many others that were near him in the night.
But he longed still more to look for a moment into the eyes of a woman, to take the hand and gaze at the face of a man. And he was glad when, at dawn, he heard the movement of naked feet and the murmur of voices above his head, when, presently, the dahabeeyah shivered and swayed, and the Nile water spoke in a new and more ardent way as it held her in its embrace.
He was glad, for he knew he was going towards Edfou.
x.x.xI
Upon a hard and habitual worker an unexpected holiday sometimes has a weakening rather than a strengthening effect, in the first days of it.
Later may come from it vitality and a renewal of energy. Just at first there steals over the worker a curious la.s.situde. Parts of him seem to lie down and sleep. Other parts of him are dreaming.
So it was now with Meyer Isaacson.
He got up from his Spartan bed feeling alert and animated. He went up on deck full of curiosity and expectation. But as the day wore on, the long day of golden sunshine, the dream of the Nile took him slowly, quietly, to its breast. Strange were the empty hours to this man whose hours were generally so full. And the solitude was strange. For he sent Ha.s.san away, and sat alone on the upper deck--alone save for the Reis, who, like a statue, stood behind him holding the mighty helm.
The _Fatma_ travelled slowly, crept upon the greenish-brown water almost with the deliberation of some monstrous water-insect. For she journeyed against the tide, and as yet there was little wind, though what there was blew from the north. The crew had to work hard in the burning sun-rays, going naked upon the bank and straining at the tow-rope.
Isaacson sat in a folding chair and watched their toil. For years he had not known the sensation of watching in absolute idleness the strenuous exertion of others. Those exertions emphasized his inertia, in which presently the mind began to take part with the body. The Nile is exquisitely monotonous. He was coming under its spell. Far off and near, from the western and eastern banks of the river, he heard almost perpetually the creaking song of the sakeeyas, the water-wheels turned by oxen. They made the leit motiv of this wonderful, idle life. Antique and drowsy, with a plaintive drowsiness, was their continual music, which very gradually takes possession of the lonely voyager"s soul. The shaduf men, in their long lines leading the eyes towards the south, sang to the almost brazen sky. And heat reigned over all.
Was this pursuit? Where was the _Loulia?_ To what secret place had she crept against the repelling tide? It began to seem to Isaacson that he scarcely cared to know. He was forgetting his reason for coming to Egypt. He was forgetting his friend, his enemy; he was forgetting everything. The heat increased. The puffs of wind died down. Towards noon the Reis tied up, that the sweating crew might rest.
A table was laid on deck, and Isaacson lunched under an awning. When he had finished and the Egyptian waiter had cleared away, Ha.s.san came to stand beside his master and entertain him with conversation.
"Are there many orange plantations on the Nile?" asked Isaacson, presently, looking towards the bank, which was broken just here and showed a vista of trees.
Ha.s.san spoke of Mahmoud Baroudi. Once again Isaacson heard of him, and now of his almost legendary wealth. Then came a flood of gossip in pigeon-English. Hamza was presently mentioned, and Isaacson learnt of Hamza"s pilgrimage to Mecca with Mahmoud Baroudi, and of his present service with "my Lord Arminigel" upon the _Loulia_. Isaacson did not say that he knew "my Lord." He kept his counsel, and he listened, till at last Ha.s.san"s volubility seemed exhausted. The crew were sleeping now.
There was no prospect of immediate departure, and, to create a diversion, Ha.s.san suggested a walk through the orange gardens to the house they guarded closely.
Lazily Isaacson agreed. He and the guide crossed the gangway, and soon disappeared into the Villa of the Night of Gold.