As soon as he had gone Mrs. Armine undressed, leaving her clothes scattered pell-mell all over the room, and got into her bed.  She kept the lamp burning.  She was afraid of the dark, and she knew she would not sleep.  Although she laughed at Egyptian superstition, as she glanced about the room she was half unconsciously looking for the shadowy form of a ginnee.  All night the wind roared, and all night she lay awake, wondering, fearing, planning, imagining, in terror of the future, yet calling upon her adroitness, her strong fund of resolution, to shape it as she willed.

And she would have helpers—­Baroudi, Ibrahim, Hamza.

When at dawn the wind died down, and at last slumber, like a soft wave, came stealing over her, the last thing she saw with her imagination was Hamza, straight, enigmatic, grave, holding an upright wand in his hand.

Or was it the ginnee, who had come in out of the night to meet “my lord
Arminigel”?

* * * * *

What was that?  Was it the ginnee moving, speaking?

Was it—?  There had surely been a movement in the room, a sound.  She opened her eyes, and saw sunshine and some one by the bed.

“Ruby!”

She blinked, stared, lying perfectly still.

“Ruby!”

She felt a hand on one of her hands.  The touch finally recalled her from sleep, and she knew the morning and Nigel.  He stood beside the bed in loose travelling clothes, dusty, with short, untidy hair, and a radiant brown face, looking down on her, holding her hand.

“Did I frighten you?  I didn’t mean to.  But I thought you must be awake by now.”

There was no sound of reproach in his voice, but there was perhaps just a touch of disappointment.  She sat up, leaning against the big pillow.

“And I meant to be at the station to meet you!” she said.

He sat down close to the bed, still keeping his hand on hers.

“You did?”

“Of course.  It’s this horrid habit I’ve got into of lying awake at night and sleeping in the morning.  And there was such a storm last night.”

“I know.  The ginnee were abroad.”

He spoke laughingly, but she said: 

“How did you know that?”

“How?  Why, in Egypt—­but what do you mean?”

But she had recovered herself, was now fully awake, fully herself, entirely freed from the thrall of the night.

“How well you look!” she said.

“Work!” he replied.  “Sun—­life under the tent!  It’s glorious!  How I want you to love it!  But, I say, shan’t we have some tea together?  And then I’ll jump into a bath.  It’s too cold for the Nile this morning.  And I’m all full of dust.  I’ll ring for Marie.”

He moved, but she caught his hand.

“Nigel!”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ring for Marie.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be any use.”

“What—­is she ill!”