She drew her veil over her face rather quickly, and walked down the passage, through the arch in the screen, and out to the brilliant sunshine that flooded the sailors’ deck.  For though the Nubians had spread an awning over their heads, they had not let down canvas as yet to meet the white and gold of the bulwarks forward.  And there was a strong sparkle of light about them.  In the midst of that sparkle Hamza stood, a little away from the crew, who were tall, stalwart, black men, evidently picked men, for not one was mean or ugly, not one lacked an eye or was pitted with smallpox.

As Mrs. Armine came up the three steps from the cabins, walking rather hurriedly, as if in haste to get to the sunshine, Hamza sent her a steady look that was like a quiet but determined rebuke.  His eyes seemed to say to her, “Why do you rush out of the shadows like this?” And she felt as if they were adding, “You who must learn to love the shadows.”  His look affected her nerves, even affected her limbs.  At the top of the steps she stood still, then looked round, with a slight gesture as if she would return.

“What is it, Ruby?” asked Nigel.  “Have you forgotten anything?”

“No, no.  Is it this side?  Or must we have the felucca?  I forget.”

“It’s this side.  The Loulia is tied up here on purpose.  The donkeys, Hamza!”

He spoke kindly, but in the authoritative voice of the young Englishman addressing a native.  Without changing his expression, Hamza went softly and swiftly over the gangway to the shore, climbed the steep brown bank, and was gone—­a flash of white through the gold.

“He’s a useful fellow, that!” said Nigel.  “And now, Ruby, to seek the blessing of the Egyptian Aphrodite.  It will be easily won, for Aphrodite could never turn her face from you.”

As their tripping donkeys drew near to that lonely temple, where a sad Hathor gazes in loneliness upon the courts that are no longer thronged with worshippers, Mrs. Armine fell into silence.  The disagreeable impression she had received here on her first visit was returning.  But on her first visit she had been tired, worn with travel.  Now she was strong, in remarkable health.  She would not be the victim of her nerves.  Nevertheless, as the donkeys covered the rough ground, as she saw the pale facade of the temple confronting her in the pale sands, backed by the almost purple sky, she remembered the carven face of the goddess, and a fear that was superstitious stirred in her heart.  Why had Nigel suggested that they should seek the blessing of this tragic Aphrodite?  No blessing, surely, could emanate from this dark dwelling in the sands, from this goddess long outraged by desertion.

They dismounted, and went into the temple.  No one was there except the chocolate-coloured guardian, who greeted them with a smile of welcome that showed his broken teeth.

“May your day be happy!” he said to them in Arabic.