MAROONED
Had any human fly ever buzzed himself so fatally into the spider-webs
of other people's love affairs? I asked myself sternly. As soon as
Providence plucked me out of one web, back I would bumble into another,
though I had no time for a love affair of my own.
When the _Enchantress Isis_ had slipped past many miles of desert
shore, black-striped and tawny as a leopard's skin, and other desert
shores so fiercely yellow as to create an effect of sunshine under gray
skies, we arrived at Assuan. I had not yet kept my promise to Rachel,
though whether from lack of opportunity or courage I was not sure.
Here we were at historic Assuan; and nothing had happened, nothing
which could be written down in black and white, since the excitements
at Luxor. Nevertheless, some of us were different within, and the
differences were due, directly or indirectly, to those excitements.
Now we were nearing Ethiopia, alias the Land of Cush, though Monny said
she could not bear to have it called by that name, except, of course,
in the Bible, where it couldn't be helped. How would any of us like to
"register" at an hotel as Mr. or Miss So-and-So, of Cush? Oshkosh
sounded more romantic.
No land, however, could look more romantic than Assuan, City of the
Cataracts, Greek Syene, that granite quarry whose red syenite made
obelisks and sarcophagi for kings of countless dynasties. "Suan," as
the Copts renamed it (a frontier town of Egypt since the days of
Ezekiel the prophet), now appeared a gay place, made for
pleasure-pilgrims.
Sky and river were dazzling blue, and the sea of sand was a sea of
gold, the dark rocks lying like tamed monsters at the feet of Khnum,
god of the Cataract, glittered bright as jet, over which a libation of
red wine had gushed. The river-front of the town, with its hotels and
shops, was brightly coloured as a row of shining shells from a southern
sea; tints of pink and blue and amber, translucently clear in contrast
with the dark green of lebbek trees and palms, in whose shadow flowers
burned, like rainbow-tinted flames of driftwood. Between our eyes and
the brilliant picture, a network of thin dark lines was tangled, as if
an artist had defaced his canvas with scratches of a drying brush.
These scratches were in reality the masts of moored feluccas, bristling
close to the shore like a high hedge of flower stems, stripped of
blossoms and bent by driving wind.
On the opposite side of the river, the desert crouched like a lion who
flings back his head with a shake of yellow mane, before he stoops to
drink. And in the midst of the stream rose Elephantine Island, with its
crown of feathery palms, its breastwork of Roman ruins (a medal of fame
for the kings it gave to Egypt) and its undying lullaby sung by the
cataract, among surrounding rocks.
Very strange rocks they were, black as wet onyx, though for thousands
of years they had been painted rose by sunrise and sunset; shapes of
animal gods, shapes of negro slaves, shapes of broken obelisks and
fallen temples; shapes of elephants like those seen first by Egyptians
on this island; shapes which one felt could never have taken form
except in Egypt.
Over our heads armies of migrating birds made a network like a great
floating scarf of beads, each bead a bird: and the blue water round the
slow-gliding _Enchantress_ was crowded with boats of so many hitherto
unknown sorts, that they might have been visiting craft from another
world: feluccas with sails red or white, or painted in strange
patterns, or awninged; some with rails like open trellis work of many
colours, over which dark faces shone like copper in the sunshine;
rowing boats, "galleys" with fluttering flags, and old soap-boxes
roughly lined with tin, in which naked imps of boys perilously paddled.
Out from the boats rushed music in clouds like incense; wild, African
music of chanting voices, beating tom-toms, or clapping hands that
clacked together like castanets. Very old men and very young youths
thumped furiously on earthen drums shaped like the jars of Elephantine,
once so famous that they travelled the length of Egypt filled with
wine. The breeze that fanned to us from beyond the palms and lebbeks,
the roses and azaleas, was soft and flower-laden. There was a scent in
it, too, as of ripe grapes, as if a fragrance lingered from vanished
days when wine for the gods was made from Elephantine vineyards, and
fig-trees never lost their leaves. We ourselves, and our big three-decked
boat were alone in our modernity, if one forgot the line of gay
buildings on the shore. Everything else might have been of the time
when the world supposed Elephantine to be placed directly on the Tropic
of Cancer, and believed in the magic lamp which lit the unfathomable
well; the time when quarries of red and yellow clay gave riches to the
island, and all Egypt thanked its gods when Elephantine's Nilemeter
showed that the Two Lands would be plentifully watered.
Most of us were going to live on board the _Enchantress_ for our three
days at Assuan; but, hearing that lords and ladies of high degrees
swarmed at the Cataract Hotel with its wild, watery view of tumbled
rocks, and at the Savoy in its flowery gardens, some went where they
might hope to cross the path of dukes and duchesses.
The Monny-ites were not "wild" about the aristocracy, nor would royalty
(of later date than the Ptolemies) have lured Cleopatra from her suite
on the boat. But the whole party was eager for shore, and no sooner had
the _Enchantress_ put her foot on the yellow sands than she was
deserted by her passengers. The bazaars were the first attractions, for
"everybody said" that they were as fine in their way as the bazaars of
Cairo; so very soon we were all buying silver, ivory, stuffed
crocodiles and ostrich feathers from the Sudan, which now opened its
gates not far ahead: the Sudan, mysterious, unknown, and vast.
Cleopatra clung to me, with a certain wistfulness, as if in this
incarnation she were not so intimately at home in Upper Egypt as she
had hoped to be. Perhaps this loneliness of her soul was due to the
fact that instead of seeking her society, "Anthony with an H" seldom
came near her now. Something had warned him off. He would never tell me
or any one on earth: but, unused to the ways of women as he was, I felt
sure that he had been uncomfortably enlightened as to Cleopatra's
feelings. The cure, according to his prescription, was evidently to be
"absent treatment." But there was another which I fancied might be
efficacious; the sudden arrival on the scene of Marcus Antonius Lark.
I happened to know that he proposed a dash from Cairo to Assuan by
train, for I had received two telegrams at the moment of walking off
the boat. The first message announced his almost immediate advent; the
second regretted unavoidable delay, but expressed an intention not to
let us steam away for Wady Halfa without seeing him. The excuse alleged
was business, but I thought I saw through it, and sympathized; for he
whom I had once cursed as a brutal tyrant of money-bags now loomed
large as a pathetic figure.
Despite the lesson of the lotuses, I believed that his motive was to
try his chance with Mrs. East; that life had become intolerable, unless
"Lark's Luck" might hold again; and that he could not wait till the
cruel lady returned to Cairo. It was a toss-up, as we walked side by
side to the incense-laden bazaar, whether I told her the news or left
her to be surprised by the unexpected visitor. Eventually I decided
that silence would help the cause; and in thus making up my mind I was
far from guessing that my own fate and Monny's and Anthony's and
Brigit's hung also on that insignificant decision. I was thankful that
Mrs. East said no more of bringing her niece and me together, and that,
on the contrary, she dropped dark hints about "everything in life which
she had wanted" being now "too late, and useless to hope for" in this
incarnation. Why she had changed her plans for Monny I could not be
sure; enough for me that she apparently had changed them.
Sir Marcus did not appear the next day or the next, and I heard no
more. Indeed, between dread of breaking the truth to Bill Bailey, and
self-reproach at letting time pass without breaking it, I almost forgot
Lark's love affair. I salved my conscience by working unnecessarily
hard, and even helping Kruger with his accounts, when Anthony too
generously relieved me of other duties.
How I envied Fenton at this time, because no girls asked him what men
they ought to marry; or implored him to prevent men from jilting them;
or urged him to enlighten handsome sculptors with wavy, soft hair, and
hard eyes resembling the crystal orbs which were to become fashionable
in Society! Anthony loved Assuan, and apparently enjoyed displaying its
beauties. Not knowing that I hid a fox under my mantle, he meant to be
kind in "taking people off my hands," giving them tea on the Cataract
Hotel veranda; escorting them to the ruined Saracen Castle which, with
Elephantine opposite, barred the river and made a noble gateway;
leading them at sunset to the Arab cemetery in the desert, and to the
Bisharin village where wild, dark creatures (whose hair was pinned with
arrows and whose ancestors were mentioned in the Bible) sold baskets
and bracelets and what not. There were really, as Sir John Biddell
remarked, a "plethora of sights," not counting the magnificent Rock
Tombs, since the Set had definitely "struck" against tombs of all
descriptions. But even with an excursion to the ancient quarries, for a
look at half-finished obelisks, for once I had not enough to do. And
Fenton had snatched Biddy from me as well as Monny. Mercilessly he had
them sightseeing every moment. And I could no longer scold Rachel for
"letting things slide." To blame her would be for the pot to call the
kettle black.
It was on the day of the Great Dam that I screwed my courage to the
sticking-place, and made Bailey understand that his fiancée was nobody
but Rachel Guest; that she would be Rachel Guest all her life until she
became Mrs. Some One-or-Other: preferably Mrs. Willis Bailey. Somehow
it seemed appropriate to do the deed at the Dam. And always in future,
when people ask what impression the eighth wonder of the world made
upon me, I shall doubt for an instant whether they refer to the
American sculptor, or to the Barrage.
The way in which we went was so impressive that it was comparatively
easy to be keyed up to anything.
Most travellers make the trip on donkey back; or else, as far as
Shellal, in a white, blue-eyed desert train, where violet window-glass
soothes their eyes and prepares their minds for a future journey to
Khartum. After Shellal they go on in small boats to the wide, still
lake which the Great Dam has stored up for the supply of Egypt. But we
of the _Enchantress Isis_ were super-travellers. Our boat being of less
bulk than her new rivals, she was able to reach the Barrage by passing
up through its many locks and proceed calmly along the Upper Nile,
between the golden shores of Nubia, to Wady Haifa. We remained on board
for the experience; and though I had the task of telling Bailey, still
before me, I would not have changed places with a king, as standing on
deck, with Biddy by my side, I felt myself ascending the once
impassable Cataracts of the god Khnum.
If Biddy had been the only person by my side, I should have risked
telling her the secret she ought always to have known. But there were
as many others as could crowd along the rail. For once they were
reflective, not inclined to chatter. Perhaps the same thought took
different forms, according as it fitted itself into different heads;
the thought of that marvellous campaign of the boats which fought their
way past these cataracts to relieve Gordon. The ascent was a pageant
for us. For them it had meant strife and disaster and death. We admired
the glimpses of yellow desert: we exclaimed joyously at the mad turmoil
of green water, the blood-red and jet-black rocks, below the Dam. For
us it was a scene of unforgettable majesty. For those others, the waste
of stone-choked river must have yawned like a wicked mouth, full of
water and jagged black teeth, which opened to gulp down boats and men.
It was on the brink of the Barrage itself that I spoke to Bailey. And
there, looking down over the immense granite parapet, upon line after
line of tamed cataracts breathing rainbows, we were so small, so
insignificant, that surely it could not matter to a man whether the
girl of his heart were an heiress or a beggar maid! There was room in
the world only for the mighty organ-music of these waters, and the ever
underlying song of love.
I saw by the look in Bailey's eyes, however, as he gazed away from me
to the long-necked dragon form of a huge derrick, that it _did_ matter.
I had been tactful. I had mentioned the mistake in identity as if it
were a silly game played by children, a game which neither he nor I nor
any one could ever have regarded seriously. He controlled himself, and
took it well, so far as outward appearance went: but soon he made an
excuse to escape: and presently I saw him strolling off alone, head
down, hands in pockets. Luncheon was being prepared on the veranda of a
house belonging to the chief engineer of the Dam. Its owner was a
friend of Sir Marcus Lark, and, being away, had agreed to lend his
place to our party, Kruger having done no end of writing and
telegraphing to secure it. Many of our people had got off the
_Enchantress Isis_ in one of the locks, and had walked up the steps to
the summit-level of the Barrage, Brigit and I among others. And as we
assembled for lunch it was an odd sight to see our white, floating home
rising higher and higher, until at last she rode out on the surface of
the broad sea of Nile which is held up by the granite wall of the
Barrage. She was to be moored by the Dam, and to wait for us there
until evening, when we should have exhausted the Barrage and ourselves;
and have visited Philae.
By and by luncheon was ready, served by our white-robed, red-sashed
waiters from the _Isis_, but Bailey did not return. Rachel begged that
our table might wait for a few minutes. Perhaps he had gone the length
of the Dam in one of those handcars, on which some of our people had
dashed up and down the famous granite mile, their little vehicles
pushed by Arabs. He might be back in a few minutes. But the minutes
passed and he did not come. The dragon-derrick stretched its neck from
far away, as if to peer curiously at Rachel. The black and red and
purple monsters disguised as rocks for this wild, masquerade ball of
the Nile, foamed at the mouth with watery mirth at the trouble these
silly things called girls had always been bringing on themselves, since
Earth and Egypt were young together. The look of the forsaken, the
jilted, was already stamped upon Rachel's face. She tried to eat: when
the picnic meal could be put off no longer, but could scarcely swallow.
Monny glanced at her anxiously from time to time, perhaps suspecting
something of the truth. And the eyes of both, girls turned to me now
and then with an appeal which made unpalatable my well-earned
hard-boiled eggs, and drumsticks. Bother the whole blamed business!
thought I. Hadn't I done all I could? Wasn't I practically running the
lives of these tiresome tourists, as well as their tour? What did that
adventuress out of a New England schoolroom want of me now, when I'd
washed my hands of her and her affairs?
But all through, there was no real use in asking myself these
questions. I knew what Rachel wanted, and that I should have to do it,
if only to please Biddy, who would be broken-hearted if Monny's
indiscretions should wreck the happiness of even the most undeserving
young female. Darling Monny must be saved from remorse at all costs!
One of the costs to me was luncheon as well as peace of mind. I excused
myself from the table. I pretended to have forgotten some business of
importance. I whispered to the _Enchantress_ dining-room steward, who
had come to look after the waiters, that the meal must be served as
slowly as possible. "Drag out the courses," said I. "Make 'em eat salad
by itself, and everything separate, except bread and butter." Having
given these last instructions, I was off like an arrow shot from the
bow, a reluctant arrow sulking at its own impetus. Instinct was the
hand that aimed me; the _Enchantress Isis_ was the target; and deck
cabin No. 36 was the bull's-eye. As I expected, Bailey was in his
stateroom. I had not far to go; only to hurry from the engineer's
house, along the riverbank to the landing place, where a number of
native boats were lying; jump into one, and row out a few yards. But
the heat of noon, after the cool shade of the veranda, was terrific. I
arrived out of breath, my brow richly embroidered with crystal beads,
just in time to find Bailey squeezing his bath sponge preparatory to
packing it, in a yawning kitbag already full. At such a moment he could
squeeze a sponge! I hated him for this, as though the sponge had been
Rachel's heart.
On his berth lay a letter addressed to her, and another to me. No doubt
he told us both that he had received an urgent telegram. He was so
taken aback at sight of the task master that he let me withdraw the
sponge from his pulseless fingers. I laid it reverently on the
washhand-stand, as a heart should be laid on an altar.
"My dear fellow," I began. (Yes, to my credit be it spoken, I said
"dear fellow!") "You don't know what you are doing. I speak for your
own sake. Think what people will say! Everyone will see why you left
her. And you don't _want_ to leave her, you know! Of course you don't!
You love Miss Guest. She loves you. Not all the crystal eyes in the
world can make you the fashion, if the eyes of your fiancée are red
with tears because you jilted her, when you found out she was--only
herself! People don't like such things. They won't have their artists
cold and calculating. It isn't done. You can't afford to squeeze a
sp--I mean, break a heart in this fashion. It will ruin your reputation."
So I argued with a certain eloquence, forcing conviction until with a
fierce gesture Bailey snatched six collars from his bag and flung them
on the bed. Seeing thus clearly what I thought showed him what others
were sure to think: and the world's opinion was life itself to Bailey.
He was cowed, then conquered. At last I dared to say: "May I?"
He nodded.
Instantly I tore the letters into as many pieces as there were collars.
Afterward, when we walked off the boat, arm in arm, I dropped them into
the water.
We got back to the engineer's before the picnickers had finished their
belated Turkish coffee. Bailey took the vacant chair between Rachel
Guest and Monny Gilder. Biddy said that she had asked to have some
coffee kept hot for me. I needed it!
* * * * *
That is what delayed our start for Philae and is, I suppose, why
everything that took place there afterward happened exactly as it did.
If we had left the Dam an hour earlier, there would have been no excuse
to stop for sunset at the temple which those who love it call the
"Pearl of Egypt." As it was--but that comes afterward.
When Strabo went from Syene to Philae, he drove in a chariot with the
prefect of that place, "through a very flat plain," and on both sides
of their road (I fear, for their bones, it was a rough one!) rose
"blocks of dark, hard rock resembling Hermes-towers." Nearly two
thousand years later we were rowed to the same temple, across an
immensely deep, vast sheet of shining crystal. We lolled (I am fond of
that word, though aware that it's reserved for villainesses) in
"galleys" painted in colours so violent that they looked like tropical
birds. They were awninged, and convulsively propelled by Nubians whose
veins swelled in their full black throats, and whose ebony faces were
plastered with a grayish froth of sweat. Each pressed a great toe, like
a dark-skinned potato, on the seat in front of him for support in the
fierce effort of rowing. Turbans were torn off shaved, perspiring
heads, and even skull-caps went in the last extreme. Wild appeals were
chanted to all the handiest saints to grant aid in the terrible
undertaking. An eagle-eyed child at the steering wheel gazed pityingly
at his agonized elders. And then, just as you expected the whole crew
to fall dead from heart failure, they chuckled with glee at some joke
of their own. There was always breath and energy enough to spare when
they wanted it. But what would you? The labourer must be worthy of his
hire, and a little something over. When Strabo saw Philae, she was a
distant neighbour of the mighty Cataracts. Now, the waters which once
rushed down are prisoned by the Great Dam, and stand enslaved, to wall
the temple round like a great pearl in a crystal case. She is the true
Bride of the Nile; for, as long ago the fairest of maidens gave herself
to the water as a sacrifice, so Philae gives herself for the life of
the people. She drowns, but in death she is more beautiful than when
the eyes of the old historian beheld her, glowing with the colours of
her youth, yet already old, deserted by gods and priests and
worshippers. Now she has worshippers from the four ends of the earth,
and the greatest singers of the world chant her funeral hymn. For in
all Egypt, with its many temples of supreme magnificence, there is
nothing like Philae. None can forget her. None can confuse her identity
for a moment with that of any other monument of a dead religion. And if
she were the only temple in Egypt, Egypt would be worth crossing the
ocean to see, because of this dying pearl in its crystal case.
Venus rose from the sea. Philae, the Marriage Temple of Osiris and
Isis--Venus of Egypt--sinks into the sea of waters poured over her by
Khnum, god of the Cataracts. Thus the great enchantress sings her
swan-song to touch the heart of the world, her fair head afloat like a
sacred lotus on the gleaming water. I think there were few among us who
did not fancy they heard that song, as our Nubian men rowed across the
sea stored up by the great Barrage. From far away we saw a strange
apparition, as of a temple rising from the waters. It seemed unreal at
first, a mere mirage of a temple. Then it took solid outline; darkly
cut in silver; a low, column-supported roof; a pylon towering high; and
to the south, separated from both these, a thing that might have been a
huge wreath of purple flowers. We knew, however, from too many
photographs and postcards, that this was "Pharaoh's Bed," the
unfinished temple of Augustus and Trajan, standing on a flooded island.
Our boat glided close to the flower-like stems of the columns
supporting the low roof. Far down in the clear depths we could see the
roots of the pillars, or their phantom reflections. And in the light of
afternoon, the water was so vivid a green that the colour of it seemed
to have washed off from the painted stones. Onto this roof we
scrambled, up a flight of steps, and found that we were not to have
Philae to ourselves. There were other boats, other tourists; but we
pretended that they were invisible, and they played the same game with
us. Ignoring one another, the rival bands wandered about, wondered what
the place would be like with the water "down," quoted poetry and
guide-books, and climbed the pylon. From that height the kiosk called
"Pharaoh's Bed" showed a mirrored double, like an old ivory casket with
jewelled sides, piled full of a queen's emeralds. We loitered; we
explored; and having descended sat down to rest, dangling irreverent
feet over beryl depths, splashed with gold. Thus we whiled away an
hour, perhaps. Then the Set, impressed at first, had had enough of the
mermaid temple's tragic beauty. Sir John Biddell reminded me that it
had been a long day for the ladies, and very hot. Hadn't we better get
back to the _Enchantress_ before sunset? But that was exactly what some
of us did not want to do.
The matter was finally settled by retaining our one small boat, with
two rowers, and sending off the two larger "galleys" with their full
complement of passengers, excepting only "Mrs. Jones," Miss Gilder,
Antoun Effendi, the melancholy Cleopatra, and the guilty shepherd of
the flock, who knew he had no business to desert his sheep. He did
nevertheless feel, poor brute, that after such a day he had earned a
little pleasure, and, accordingly proceeded to snatch it from Fate,
despite disapproving glances. Punishment, however, fell as soon as it
was due. I had stayed behind with the intention of amusing Brigit. But
Monny took her from me, as if she had bought the right to use my
childhood's friend whenever it suddenly occurred to her to want a
chaperon. Instead of Biddy, I got Cleopatra. And by this time, so far
as we knew, all tourists save ourselves had gone.
I knew in my heart that, in accusing Monny Gilder of claiming Brigit
O'Neill because she was paying her expenses, I did the girl an
injustice. Monny was afraid of herself with Anthony. I saw that
plainly, since the fact had been laid under my nose by Mrs. East. She
feared the glamour of this magical place, perhaps, and felt the need of
Biddy's companionship to keep her strong, not realizing that any one
else was yearning for the lady. This was the whole front of her
offending; yet I was so disappointed that I wanted to be brutal.
Without Biddy, I should wish but to howl at the sunset, as a dog bays
the moon. And feeling thus I may not have made myself too agreeable to
Cleopatra. In any case, after we had sat in silence for a while,
waiting for a sunset not yet ready to arrive, she turned reproachful
eyes upon me. "Lord Ernest," she said, "I think you had better go and
join Monny."
"Why?" I surlily inquired. "I thought _you_ thought that idea of yours
was too late to be of any use now?"
"I do think so," she replied. "_Everything_ interesting is too late
now. Still, you'd better go."
"Are you tired of me?" I stupidly catechised her.
"Well, I feel as if I should like to be alone in this wonderful place.
_I want to think back._"
"I see," said I, scrambling up from my seat on the edge of the temple
roof, and trying not to show by my expression that I was pleased, or
that both my feet had gone to sleep. "In that case, I'll leave you to
the spooks. May none but the right ones come!"
"Thank you," she returned dryly; and I limped off, walking on air,
tempered with pins and needles. Joy! my luck had turned! At the top of
the worn stone stairway, cut in the pylon, I met Biddy. She was dim as
one of Cleopatra's Ptolemaic ghosts, in the darkness of the passage;
but to me that darkness was brighter than the best thing in sunsets.
"Salutation to Caesar from one about to die!" I ejaculated.
"What _do_ you mean?" she asked.
"I mean that both my feet are fast asleep, and I shall certainly fall
and kill myself if I try to go one step further, up or down."
"You, the climber of impossible cliffs after sea-birds' nests!" she
laughed. But she stood still.
"I'm after something better than sea-birds' nests now," said I. "The
question is, whether it's not still more inaccessible?"
"Are you talking about--Monny?" she wanted to know, in a whisper.
"Sit down and I'll tell you," was my answer.
"Oh, not here at the top of the steps, if it's anything as private as
_that_," Biddy objected, all excitement in an instant. "Let's come into
a tiny room off the stairway, which the guardian showed me a few
minutes ago. There's a bench in it. You see, he's up there on the pylon
roof now with Monny and Captain Fenton (I _can't_ call him Antoun when
I talk to you; its _too_ silly!) and he'll probably be coming down in a
minute. Then, if we stop where we are, we'll have to jump up and get
out of the way, to let him pass. And he's sure to linger and work off
his English on us. I don't think we'll want to be interrupted that way,
do you?"
"No, nor any other way," I agreed.
"Oh, but what about the sunset? We may miss it."
"Hang the sunset! Let it slide--down behind the Dam if it likes!"
"I don't wonder you feel so, you poor dear," Biddy sympathized, "when
it's a question of Monny, and all our hopes going to pieces the way
they are doing, every minute. There isn't a second to lose."
So we went into the little room in the tower, which was lit only by a
small square opening over our heads. We sat down on the bench. It was
beautifully dark. I began to talk to Biddy. We had forgotten my feet;
and I forgot Mrs. East. But I must tell what was happening to her at
the time (as I learned afterward, through the confession of an
impenitent), before I begin to tell what happened to us. Otherwise the
situation which developed can't be made clear.
I left Cleopatra calling spirits from the vasty deep, or rather one
spirit; the spirit of Antony. I am morally sure that any other would
have been _de trop_. And sailing to her across the wide water from
Shellal came Marcus Antonius Lark.
I can't say whether she considered him an answer to her prayer, or a
denial of it. Anyhow, there he was; better, perhaps, than nobody, until
she learned from his own lips--tactless though ardent lips--that he had
come from Cairo to Assuan, from Assuan to Philae, to see her. Then she
took alarm, and remarked in the old, conventional way of women, that
they'd "better go look for the others." But Sir Marcus hadn't spent his
money, time, and gray matter in hurrying to Philae from Shellal, for
nothing. Finding himself too late to catch us at Assuan, he had paid
for a special train in order to follow his "Enchantress" (the lady and
the boat).
Taking a felucca with a fine spread of canvas and many rowers, which
(characteristically) he bargained for at the Shellal landing-place, he
sailed across to the moored steamer, only to learn from Kruger that we
had gone on our expedition to Philae. That meant a long sail and row
for the impatient lover. For us, the longer it was, the better: one of
the chief charms of our best day. But for him it must have been
tedious, despite a good breeze that filled the sails and helped the
rowers.
On his way to the temple, he met the galleys going "home" to the
_Enchantress Isis_. An instant's shock of disappointment, and then the
glad relief of realizing that the one he sought was still at the place
where he wished to find her. There were only four Obstacles which might
prevent an ideal meeting. The names of these Obstacles, in his mind
were: Jones, Gilder, Fenton, and Borrow; and being an expert in
abolishing Obstacles, the great Sir Marcus began to map out a plan of
action.
Luckily for him, our small boat had moved out of Cleopatra's sight, as
she sat and dreamed on the low temple-roof, while we four Obstacles
disported ourselves on different parts of the high pylon. The two
Nubians wished to play a betting game with a kind of Egyptian
Jack-stones, and it was not desirable that the pensive lady should behold
them doing it. Observing the graceful figure of Mrs. East silhouetted
against the sky's eternal flame of blue, and at the same time noticing
that she could not see the waiting boat, Sir Marcus got his
inspiration. He knew that the four Obstacles were somewhere about the
temple. Now was his great chance, while they were out of the way! And
if he resolved to play them a trick, perhaps he salved his conscience
by telling it that the Obstacles, male and female, ought to thank him.
Cleopatra probably thought, if she glanced up to see his boat: "Oh
dear, another load of tourists!" and promptly looked down to avoid the
horrid vision. By the time Sir Marcus came within "How do you do?"
distance, he had bribed our waiting boatmen to row away. This in order
not to be caught in a lie.
With our Nubians and their craft out of his watery way, he was free to
fib when the time came. "Go look for the others?" he echoed Mrs. East's
proposal. "Why, they've gone. I met them."
"Gone! And left me behind when they knew I was here?" she exclaimed.
"They can't have done such a thing."
"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," replied Sir Marcus presently.
"They certainly _have_ gone. I met the boat. Borrow was expecting me
to-day, you know--or maybe you don't know. And when he saw me in my
felucca, he stopped his to explain that evidently there'd been a
_contretemps_." (I'm sure Lark mispronounced that word!) "The temple
guardian said a gentleman had arrived and taken the lady who was
waiting, off in a boat. Of course Borrow thought I had come along, and
persuaded you to go with me, after telling the guardian to let him
know. I expect the guardian's got mighty little English: and they say
white ladies all look alike to blacks. He must have mixed you up with
some other lady. I suppose my folks haven't been the only people at
Philae since you came?"
Mrs. East admitted that a number of "creatures" had come and gone. But
she thought all had vanished before the departure of the galleys.
"You see you thought wrong. That's all there is to it," Sir Marcus
assured her. And having taken these elaborate measures to secure the
lady's society for himself alone (Nubian rowers don't count) he
proceeded to lure her hastily into his own boat, lest any or all of the
Obstacles should arrive to spoil his _coup_.
That was the manner of our marooning.
At the time, we were ignorant of what was happening behind our backs;
the sunset for instance, and the only available boat calmly rowing away
from the drowned Temple of Philae.
We were thinking of something else; and so was Sir Marcus, or he would
not have forgotten the repentant promise he made himself, soon to send
back a boat and take us off. We were, therefore, in the position of
unrehearsed actors in a play who don't know what awaits them in the
next act: while those who may read this can see the whole situation
from above, below, and on both sides. Four of us, marooned at Philae,
not knowing it, and night coming on.