“But——­”

And she ripped the corner of her veil between perturbed fingers when, upon the clapping of hands, a slave ran swiftly to learn his master’s pleasure, then hastened away to find the head body-woman of the guesthouse assigned to women-visitors.

After which the sweet thrumming of the guitar instantly stopped.

On more than one night they talked under the stars, sitting on satin cushions, or leaning on the marble fret-work of the balustrade looking due east to where, so many miles away, flows the blue-green Nile, as it has flowed through the centuries, all unheeding of the passing of mighty kingdoms.

And yet had the mother learned nothing of the hurt reflected in her firstborn’s eyes.

“Most precious Mother,” he was saying, as he stood flicking the pages of the latest illustrated paper just arrived from Cairo, but which was really a volume of the Book of Life written, printed and published by Fate.  “If it pleases you to stay when I am gone, will you do so just as long as you find happiness in my dwelling?”

“You are going, Hugh,—­so soon—­for long?”

“There has come a report of lion in the Nubian Desert, as far north as Deir el-Bahari.  I can hardly believe it, for it is years and years since a lion has been seen even in the Khor Baraka.  However, a runner from Nubia came in this morning, so there may be something in it.  God grant it, for the sport and the danger would be great, killing or being killed, in the rocks and ruins of the Temple.  Also I could visit my Tents of Purple and of Gold.  How long shall I be gone, sweet Mother?  That is known only to Allah, to whom our goings and our comings are as the drifting of the sands.”

“Your tents are very beautiful, my son.  The servants are waiting for your orders before pitching the—­the—­middle one.  Without asking permission, I went to inspect them.  Just before your return, just to see if everything was quite all right.  One can never quite trust the servants.”

Jill might have been sitting on a rectory lawn, talking about her linen-cupboard or spring-cleaning with a neighbour, instead of one of the wonders of modern Egypt.  In fact, so quaint was it that the man laughed and swung her onto the balustrade.

“I’m not surprised Father worships the ground your ridiculous little feet tread on, Mater,” he said, causing his mother to gasp, so English did he sound, so Oriental did he look.

“Dear!” she said gently, as she scrutinised him with a mother’s eyes and touched his face and patted his cheek and pulled a bit here and there at his fine white linen coat, upon which in coarse thread was embroidered the Hawk of Old Egypt.  “Dear! don’t you think you would be happier if you were to marry and—­settle down?”

And it was then that there came to her the full explanation of the hurt reflected in her firstborn’s eyes.

“I shall never marry, dear,” very gently replied the man, so fearful was he of causing pain to the woman who had borne him.  “I—­I—­you see, I cannot.”