THE INNER SANCTUARY
We made a sensation when we returned to the fold. Everybody wondered so
much that they gave us no time to answer their questions, even if we
would. But somehow it seemed to be taken for granted that the whole
thing was my fault. Perhaps Mrs. East or Sir Marcus had spread the
report. I let it pass.
As for Sir Marcus, he stayed only long enough for a talk with me. It
began with trumped-up business, and ended in a confession. She had
snubbed him, it seemed. Snubs being new to Sir Marcus, he had been
dazed, and had forgotten for a while to send us a boat. I assured him
that we bore no grudge, really none whatever. It had been quite an
adventure. And I tried to cheer him up. Better luck next time! Why
wouldn't he go on with us? Fenton and I could chum together, to give
him cabin-room. And Neill Sheridan, the American Egyptologist, had let
me know that he was obliged to leave us at Wady Haifa. There would be
an empty cabin, going down again. But no, the "Boss" refused his
Conductor's hospitality. "I think the less she sees of me, the better
she likes me," he said dismally. "She was civil enough until I--but no
matter. I suppose a man can't expect his luck to always hold."
"Don't split your infinitives till things get desperate," I begged. "It
hasn't come to that yet. If you must go back, I'll take it on my
shoulders to watch your private interests a bit, as well as the rest.
Look out for a telegram one of these fine days, saying 'Come at once.'
You'll know what it means."
"I will, bless you, my boy," he said heartily. "Though I am hanged if I
know what you mean by a split infinitive. I hope if its improper, I've
never inadvertently done it before a lady."
There seemed to be an atmosphere of suspense for everybody who
mattered, as we steamed on between strange black mountainettes, and
tiger-golden sands toward Wady Halfa. Anthony was in suspense about the
way his fate might arrange itself at Khartum. I was in suspense as to
Biddy's decision, which nothing I was able to say could wheedle or
browbeat out of her. He and I were both in suspense together, about the
Mountain of the Golden Pyramid. It would be ours now, we knew that. But
what would be in it? Would it be full of treasure, or full of nothing
but mountain, just as a crusty baked pudding is full of pudding? The
doubt was harder to bear, now that Anthony was in love with a very rich
girl, and desired something from the mountain more substantial than the
adventure which would once have contented him. Harder to bear for me,
too, wanting Biddy and wanting to give her luxury as well as peace,
such as she had never known in her life of tragedy and brave laughter.
Monny was in suspense quite equal to Anthony's about Khartum, and what
could possibly happen there to give her happiness. Brigit was in
suspense about the two men who had so strangely and secretly worked
with their spy, Bedr, and whom she expected to meet again later. Rachel
was in suspense about Bailey, although I had told her it was "going to
be all right," and he had said not a word of the business to her. What
she wanted, was to make sure of him, and there was the difficulty at
present, since we had failed to arrange for a registry-office or a
clergyman on board. Other hearts were no doubt throbbing with the same
emotions, but they were of comparatively small importance to me.
Our feelings were all so different and so much more intense than they
had been, that the extraordinary difference in the scenery gave us a
vague sense of satisfaction. We were in another world, now that we had
heard the first cataract's roar, and left it behind; a world utterly
unlike any conceptions we had formed of Egypt. But we did not for a
long time leave the influence of the Barrage. Black rocks ringed in a
blue basin so lake-like that it was hard to realize it as the Nile. Now
and then a yellow river of sand poured down to the sapphire sea, and
where its bright waves were reflected, the water became liquid gold
under a surface of blue glass. The sky was overcast, and through a
thick silver veil, the sun shone with a mystic light as of a lamp
burning in an alabaster globe; yet the flaming gold of the sand created
an illusion as of sunshine. It was as if the treasure of all the lost
mines of Nub had been flung out on the black rocks, and lay in a
glittering carpet there.
We passed small, submerged temples, with their foreheads just above
water; drowning palm groves whose plumes trailed sadly on the blue
expanse, and deserted mud-villages where the high Nile looked in at
open doors to say, "This is for Egypt's good!"
Then there was the little Temple of Dendur, whose patron goddess was
prayed to spit if rain were needed; and so many other ruined temples
that we lost count (though one was the largest in Nubia) until we came
to Wadi-es-Sabuá, "the Valley of the Lions." This we remembered, not
because it was imposing, or because it had a dromos of noble-faced
sphinxes--the only hawk-faced ones in Egypt--or because of its
prehistoric writings, on dark boulders; or because it had been used as
a Christian Church: but owing to the fact that the ladies bought rag
dolls from little Nubian girls, who wore their hair in a million
greased braids. Here the influence of the Dam faded out of sight.
Forlorn trees and houses no longer crawled half out of water. Mountains
crowded down to the shore, wild and dark and stately as Nubian warriors
of ancient days. Then came Korosko, point of departure for the old
caravan route, where kings of forgotten Egyptian dynasties sent for
acacia wood, and Englishmen in the Campaign of the Cataracts fought and
died; deserted now, with houses dead and decayed, their windows staring
like the eye-sockets of skulls; and the black, tortured mountain-shapes
behind, lurking in the background as hyenas lurk to prey. More temples,
and many sakkeyehs (no shadoofs here, on the Upper Nile) but few boats.
The spacious times were past, when loads of pink granite,
honey-coloured sandstone, fragrant woods, and spices from the Land of
Punt, went floating down the stream!
There were tombs as well as temples which we might have seen, savage
gorges and mild green hills. There was the great grim fort of Kasr
Ibrim; and at last--there was Abu Simbel.
Somehow I knew that things were bound to happen at Abu Simbel. I didn't
know what they would be, but they hovered invisible at my berth-side in
the night, and whispered to warn me that I might expect them.
A few people rose stealthily before dawn to prepare for Abu Simbel,
because it had been hammered into their intellects by me that this
Rock-Temple was the Great Thing of the Upper Nile. Also that every he,
she, or it, who did not behold the place at sunrise would be as mean a
worm as one who had not read the "Arabian Nights."
Not everybody heeded the advice, though at bedtime most had resolved to
do so. We had anchored for the night not far off, in order to have the
mysterious light before sun-up, to go on again, and see the grand
approach to the grandest temple of the Old World. But after all, most
of the cabin eyelids were still down when we arrived before dawn at our
journey's end, and only a few intrepid ghosts flitted out on deck;
elderly male ghosts in thick dressing-gowns: youthful ghosts of the
same sex, fully clothed and decently groomed because of cloaked
girl-ghosts, with floating hair (if there were enough to float
effectively: others made a virtue of having it put up): and middle-aged
female ghosts, with transformations apparently hind-side in front.
No ghost's looks mattered much, however, for good or ill, once the
slowly moving _Enchantress_ had swept aside a purple curtain of
distance and shown us such a stagesetting as only Nature's stupendous
theatre can give.
It was a stage still dimly, but most effectively revealed: lights down:
pale blue, lilac and cold green; a thrilling, almost sinister
combination: no gold or rose switched on yet. Turned obliquely toward
the river, facing slightly northward, four figures sat on thrones,
super-giants, immobile, incredible, against a background of rock whence
they had been released by forgotten sculptors--released to live while
the world lasted. These seated kings gave the first shock of awed
admiration; then lesser marvels detached themselves in detail from the
shadows of the vast façade; the frieze, the cornice, the sun-god in his
niche over the door of the Great Temple: the smaller Temple of Hathor,
divided from her huge brother by a cataract of sand, whose piled gold-dust
already called the sun, as a magnet calls iron.
The stage-lights were still down when the _Enchantress_ moored by the
river bank, within a comparatively short walk of the mountain which
Rameses II had turned into a temple, as usual glorifying himself. But
though the walk was comparatively short, on second thoughts elderly
ghosts already chilled to the bone, funked it on empty stomachs. They
made various excuses for putting off the excursion (the boat was to
remain till late afternoon), until finally the sun-worshippers were
reduced to a party of ten.
Since Philae, Biddy had kept out of my way when she could do so without
being actually rude; but as our small, shivering procession formed, she
suddenly appeared at my side. Thus we two headed the band, save for a
sleepy dragoman who knew the rather intricate paths through scaly dried
mud, sand, and vegetation.
"I want to say something to you, Duffer," she murmured; and the
roughness of the way excused me for slipping her arm through mine.
"Not as much as I want to say something to you," I retorted fervently.
"But this is _serious_," she reproached me.
"So is--"
"Please listen. There isn't much time. I heard this only last night, or
I'd have spoken before, and asked you what you thought. Do you happen
to know whether Captain Fenton wrote a note to Monny, asking her to
wait for him in the inner sanctuary of the temple till after the people
had gone, as he wanted to see her alone about something of great
importance?"
"I don't know," I said. "Anthony hasn't mentioned Miss Gilder's name to
me since Philae. As a matter of fact he's been particularly taciturn."
"You haven't quarrelled, surely?"
"Anthony and I! Thank goodness, no. But I'm afraid he misunderstands,
and is a bit annoyed. Miss Gilder of course told him we'd overheard a
certain conversation, and he's never given me a chance to explain.
After Khartum it will be all right, if not before, but meanwhile--"
"I see. Then let me tell you quickly what's happened. When we came back
on board the boat, after climbing about the fort of Kasr Ibrim, Monny
found on the table in her cabin a note in French, typewritten on
_Enchantress Isis_ paper. It had no beginning or signature, only an
urgent request to grant the writer five minutes just after sunrise, in
the sanctuary at Abu Simbel, _as soon as every one was out of the way_.
There's only one typewriter on board, isn't there?"
"Yes, Kruger's."
"And nobody but you and he and Captain Fenton ever use it, I suppose?"
"Nobody else, so far as I know."
"Captain Fenton didn't land with us to see the fort, but came up later,
just as we were ready to go down. Well, for all these reasons and the
note being in French Monny thinks it was written by Antoun Effendi. It
was only in chatting last night about the sunrise expedition that she
mentioned finding the letter. I begged her to make certain it _was_
from him, before doing what it asked; because, you see, I'm still
afraid of anything that seems queer or mysterious. But she laughed and
said, 'What nonsense! Who else could have written it except Lord
Ernest, unless you think Mr. Kruger's in a plot.' And she refused to
question Antoun, because if he'd wanted the thing to be talked over,
he'd have spoken instead of writing. As for doing what he asked, she
pretended not to have made up her mind. She said she'd 'see what mood
she was in,' after the others had finished with the sanctuary. Well,
what I want, is for you and me to stay in the place ourselves when the
others have gone."
"With the greatest of pleasure on earth!" said I.
"Don't be foolish. You aren't to torment me there."
"That depends on what you call 'tormenting.' If I'm to be made a
spoil-sport for Fenton and Miss Gilder, a kind of live scarecrow, I mean
to get something out of it for myself."
There was no time for more. We had arrived at the foot of the long
flight of stone steps which lead up to the rocky plateau of the Great
Temple. In the east, a golden fire below the horizon was sending up
premonitory flames, and the procession must bestir itself, or be too
late. The whole object of arriving at this unearthly hour would be
defeated, if, before the sun's forefinger touched the faces of the
altar statues, we were not in the sanctuary. No time to study the
features of the Colossi, or to search for the grave of Major Tidwell.
These things must wait. The dark-faced guardian examined our tickets,
and let us file through the rock-hewn doorway, whose iron _grille_ he
had just opened. As we passed into the cavernous hall of roughly carved
Osiride columns, the huge figures attached to them loomed vaguely out
of purple gloom. There was an impression of sculptured rock walls, with
splashes of colour here and there; of columns in a chamber beyond, and
still a third chamber, whence three rooms opened off, the side doorways
mere blocks of ebony in the dimness. But already the sun's first ray
groped for its goal, like the wandering finger of a blind man. We had
only time to hurry through the faintly lit middle doorway, and plaster
ourselves round the rock walls of the sanctuary, when the golden digit
touched the altar and found the four sculptured forms above: Harmachis,
Rameses, Amen and Ptah. Night lingered in the temple, a black, brooding
vulture. But suddenly the bird's dark breast was struck by a golden
bullet and from the wound a magic radiance grew. The effect, carefully
calculated by priests and builders thousands of years ago, was as
thrilling to-day as on the morning when the sun first poured gold upon
the altar. The sightless faces of the statues were given eyes of an
unearthly brilliance to stare into ours, and search our souls. But with
most of the party, to be thrilled for a minute was enough. As the sun's
finger began to move, they found it time to move also. There was the
whole temple to be seen, and then the walk back to the boat before
dressing for breakfast.
Soon Biddy and I had--or seemed to have--the sanctuary to ourselves.
Even the sun's ray had left us, mounting higher and passing above the
doorway of the inner shrine. The momentarily disturbed shadows folded
round us again, with only a faint glimmer on the wall over the altar to
show that day was born.
"Did you notice that Monny wasn't with the others?" asked Brigit, in a
low voice. "She lingered behind, I think, and never came near us. I
wasn't sure till I watched the rest filing out of this room. Then I saw
she wasn't among them. Neither was Captain Fenton."
"If they're together, it's all right," I assured her.
"Yes, but are they? That affair of the typewritten note has worried
me."
"You're very nervous, darling. But no wonder!"
"You mustn't call me 'darling.'"
"Why not? It's no worse than Duffer. I like your calling me that."
"I wonder if we ought to go, as she never came--or stay and wait?"
"If we go, we shall be playing into Miss Gilder's hands. If we stay, we
shall be playing into mine. Which do you prefer?"
"Oh, I suppose we'd better stay--for fear of something. But you must be
good."
Then abruptly I attacked her with a change of weapons. I had fenced
lightly, knowing that Biddy liked a man who could laugh. But now I
threw away my rapier and snatched a club. I told her I would stand no
more of this. Did she want to spoil my life and break my heart? She was
the one thing I needed. Now she would have to say whether she'd put me
off because she didn't love me and never could, or because of that
trash about not wanting to involve me in her troubles. No use
prevaricating! I should know whether she lied or told the truth by the
sound of her voice. But I might as well confess before she began, that
I'd rather be loved by her and refused, than _not_ loved and refused.
Women seemed to think the unselfish thing was to pretend not to care,
if a man had to be sent away; because in the end that made it easier
for him. But in real life, with a real man, it was the other way round.
"I think you're right, Duffer," Biddy said softly. "That's why I
wouldn't answer you for good and all, that night at Philae. I felt then
it might be kinder to tell you I could never care. But I've thought of
nothing else since--except a little about Monny--and I decided that if
it were _me_, I'd rather be loved, whatever happened. Men can't be so
very different where their hearts are concerned. So I'm going to tell
you I _do_ love you. It was hard to give you to Monny. But I thought it
would be for your happiness. I nearly died of love for you when I was a
little girl. I kept every tiniest thing you ever gave me. I was in love
with your memory when you went up to Oxford. And it was then Richard
O'Brien came. He swept me off my feet, and made me think my heart was
caught in the rebound. When it was too late, I realised that it hadn't
been caught at all. Only hypnotized for a while. I've loved you always,
Duffer dear. The thought of you was my one comfort, often, although I
hardly expected to see you again: or maybe, for that very reason. No,
don't touch me! please let me go on now, or I'll not tell you any more.
I wonder if you never guessed what I had in that chamois-skin bag
you're so worried about?"
"Why, yes, I did guess, Biddy, right or wrong."
"And I'll _bet_ you it was wrong! What did you think, when I wouldn't
understand any of your hints to tell what I wore over my heart?"
"I thought then," I answered after a moment's deliberation, "that you
kept--compromising documents which might be of interest to the
organization you and I have talked about. Now I think differently. I
think you kept a lock of my childish hair, or my first tooth."
"You conceited Duffer!--not so bad as that, because I had never a
chance of getting either. Once I _did_ keep in that bag just what you
said: compromising documents, that the organization would have given
thousands of dollars to get. And my life wouldn't have stood in their
way for a minute, I'm sure. But that was before Richard died. He was
afraid--I mean, I thought it would be better and less suspicious if _I_
had charge of the papers. And if the Society had ever got hold of him,
he believed the letters and lists of names I had, might have bought
back his safety, if I played my hand well. He'd told me just what to
do. But when he was ill, he had a nurse whom I began to suspect as a
spy. Once when I was called into Richard's room suddenly, half dressed,
the chamois-skin bag showed, as my wrapper fell open at the breast. I
caught her looking at it with an eager look; and that very night I had
it locked up in a bank. It was only a few days later that Richard died;
and with him gone, I felt there was no more need to keep papers which
might cost the lives or liberty of men. Richard had wronged his
friends, and I wanted none of them to come to harm through me, though
they'd made me suffer with him. I burned every scrap of paper I had,
every single one! And it wasn't till there was an attempt to kidnap
Esmé that I asked myself if I'd been right. Still, even now, I am not
sorry. I wouldn't hurt a hair of their heads. For a while the bag was
empty; but coming away from America and feeling a bit lonesome, I
thought it would do me good to look now and then at the only love-letter
you ever wrote me. It was on my ninth birthday--but I don't
believe you could write a better one now. There was a photograph, too,
of my lord when he was seventeen. I stole that, but it was all the
dearer. At this very minute, the letter and the picture are lying on my
heart. So now you know whether I care for you or not; and you can
understand why I wouldn't put the bag into a bank."
"Oh, Biddy darling," I said, "you've made me the happiest man in the
world."
"Well, I'm glad," she snapped, twisting away from me, "that it takes so
little to make you happy."
"So little, when I'm going to have you for my wife?"
"But you're not. You said you'd rather be loved and refused--"
"I would, if I had to choose between the two. That's not the case with
me, for I shall marry you, now I know the truth, in spite of fifty, or
fifty thousand, refusals, or any other little obstacles like that."
"Never, Duffer! Not for all the world would I be your wife, loving you
as I do, unless the organization would forget or forgive Esmé and me.
And that I can't fancy they'll ever do, till the millenium. I shall be
past the marrying age then! Oh, Duffer, I _almost_ wish you had fallen
in love with Monny as I wanted you to do--'
"Honest Injun, you really wanted that to happen?"
"Well, I tried to want it, for your sake; and in a way for my own, too.
If I'd seen you caring for Monny, I should have found some medicine to
cure my heartache. Oh, it would have been a very good thing all around,
except for your friend, Anthony Fenton."
"And I was half afraid he was in love with you! I can tell you I've had
my trials, Biddy. It's my turn to be happy now, and yours, too. Just
think, nearly everybody in the world is engaged, but us--or next door
to being engaged. Miss Gilder and Anthony--who's the only man on earth
to keep her in order: and Rachel Guest and Bailey; and Enid Biddell and
Harry Snell; and even your stepdaughter, Esmé O'Brien--"
"Duffer, she's _married_!"
"What, to young Halloran? How did they manage it?"
"I don't know yet. I've had only a telegram. It came to Assuan too
late, and Sir Marcus Lark brought it to the boat. I found it that night
when we got back from Philae. But I haven't told, because I dared not
be with you alone long enough to speak of private affairs, till I could
decide whether to let you know I loved you, or make believe I didn't
care a scrap."
"As if I could have believed your tongue, unless you had shut your
eyes! So Esmé is married, and off your hands?"
"Not off my hands, I'm afraid. This may be visited on me. They must
have known of her meeting Tom Halloran at St. Martin Vesubie, last
summer. They find out everything, sooner or later. Probably they
thought I'd whisked her off to Egypt with me (helped by my rich friend
Miss Gilder, for whom they took Rachel Guest) in order to let her meet
Tom Halloran again, and marry him secretly. Well, she has _married_ him
secretly. When they discover what's happened, they're sure to put the
blame on poor me. And indeed, it is a shocking thing for the son of
that man in prison, and the daughter of the man who sent him there, to
be husband and wife."
"I don't see that at all," I argued. "Why shouldn't their love end the
feud?"
"It can't, for strong as it may be, it won't release prisoners, or
bring back to life those who are dead."
"Anyhow, don't borrow trouble," said I. "If Esmé's married the more
reason for us to follow her example. After Khartum, when Miss Gilder--"
"Who's taking my name in vain?" inquired the owner of it, at the
sanctuary door.
"Oh, then you _have_ come, Monny!" Brigit exclaimed. "I--I'd given you
up."
"I haven't come for the reason you thought," returned the girl
promptly. "I was sure you meant to head me off. And I've learned
without asking, that Antoun Effendi didn't write that note."
"I told you so! Who did?"
"He's trying to find out. Probably it was a silly practical joke some
one wanted to play on me. There are _lots_ quite capable of it, on
board! Antoun Effendi said the sunrise was much finer really, from on
top of the great sandhill, so we climbed up. And it came out that he
hadn't asked me to meet him here. If any one not on the boat wrote the
letter, some steward must have been bribed to sell a bit of writing-paper,
and allow a stranger to come on board, while we were away at
Kasr Ibrim. There was a steam dahabeah moored not far off, if you
remember, with Oriental decorations; so we fancied it must belong to an
Egyptian or a Turk."
"It could easily have been hired at Assuan," Biddy exclaimed. "And it
could have beaten us. We've stopped at such heaps of temples where
other boats only touch coming back."
"If there were a plot, as you are always imagining, the dahabeah would
have to be near here, too," Monny laughed incredulously.
"And so it may be. We haven't seen round the corner of the Great Temple
yet."
"One would think to hear you talk, that you'd expected this poor little
sanctuary to be stuffed with murderers, or at the least, kidnappers."
"Ugh, don't speak of it!" Biddy shuddered, "Let's go out into the
sunlight again, as quick as ever we can!"