But there were envious eyes in the villa—­eyes which watched her go each morning, which greeted her on her return at sundown with a searching light of curiosity.  For years she had not been obliged to care what her maid thought about her.  But now she had to care.  Obligations swarm in the wake of marriage.  Marie knew nothing, had really no special reason to suspect anything, but, because of her mistress’s personality, suspected all that a sharp French girl with a knowledge of Paris can suspect.  And while Mrs. Armine trusted in the wickedness of Ibrahim and Hamza, she did not trust in the wickedness of Marie.

The Loulia had vanished from Luxor with its master.  Mrs. Armine, left alone for a little while, naturally spent her time, like all other travellers upon the Nile, in sightseeing.  She lunched out, as almost every one else did.  There was no cause for Marie to be suspicious.

Yes, there was a cause—­what Mrs. Armine was, and was actually doing.  Truth often manifests itself, how no one can say, not even she who sees it.  Mrs. Armine knew this at evening when she saw her maid’s eyes, and she wished she had brought with her an unintelligent English maid.

And then, from the Fayyum, a shadow fell over her—­the shadow of her husband.

Eight days after her meeting with Baroudi among the flame-coloured rocks she was taken by Ibrahim and Hamza to the orange-gardens up the river which Baroudi had mentioned to Nigel.  They lay on the western bank of the Nile, between Luxor and Armant, and at a considerable distance from Luxor.  But it chanced that the wind was fair, and blew with an unusual briskness from the north.  The sailors set the great lateen sails of the felucca, which bellied out like things leaping into life.  The greenish-brown water curled and whispered about the prow, and the minarets of Luxor seemed to retreat swiftly from Mrs. Armine’s eyes, as if hastening from her with the desire to be lost among the palm-trees.  As the boat drew on and on, and reach after reach of the river was left behind, she began to wonder about this expedition.

“Where are we going?” she asked of Ibrahim.

“To a noo place,” he answered, composedly.  “To a very pretty place, a very nice place.”

“We must not go too far,” she said, rather doubtfully.  “I must not be very late in getting back.”

She was thinking at the moment angrily of Marie.  If only Marie were not in the Villa Androud!  She had no fear of the Nubian servants.  They were all devoted to her.  Already she had begun to consider them as her—­not Nigel’s—­black slaves.  But that horrid little intelligent, untrustworthy French girl—­

“I have tell the French mees we are goin’ to see a temple in the mountains—­a temple that is wonderful indeed, all full of Rameses.  I have tell her we may be late.”

Mrs. Armine looked sharply into the boy’s gentle, shining eyes.

“Yes; but we must be back in good time,” she said.