though she had been.  She had renewed her powers of physical fascination.  Then she must emerge from the trap and go to fulfil her destiny.  She would do so.  Silently, and as if making the vow to the Egyptian Aphrodite in the darkness of her temple, she swore to do so.  Nigel had brought her there—­had he not?—­that Hathor might bless her voyage.  Moved by a fierce impulse, and casting away pity, doubt, fear, everything but flamelike desire, she called upon Hathor to bless her voyage—­not their voyage, but only hers.  She called upon the goddess of beauty, the pagan goddess of the love that was not spiritual.

And she almost felt as if she was answered.

Yet only the enormous bats cried fiercely to her from far up in the dimness.  She only heard their voices and the beating of their wings.

“Let’s go, Ruby.  I don’t know why, but to-day I hate this place.”

She started at the sound of his voice close to her.  But she controlled herself immediately, and replied, quietly: 

“Yes, let us go.  We are only disturbing the bats.”

As they went out, she looked up to the column from which Hathor gazed as if seeking for her worshippers, and she whispered adieu to the goddess.

As soon as they were on board of the Loulia Nigel gave the order to cast off.  He seemed unusually restless, and in a hurry to be en route.  With eagerness he spoke to the impassive Reis, whose handsome head was swathed in a shawl, and who listened imperturbably.  He went about on the sailors’ deck watching the preparations, seeing the ropes hauled in, the huge poles brought out to fend them from off the bank, the gigantic sail unfurled to catch the evening breeze, which was blowing from the north, and which would take them up against the strong set of the current.  And when the water curled and eddied about the Loulia’s prow, and the shores seemed slipping away and falling back into the primrose light of the north, and into the great dahabeeyah there came that mysterious feeling of life which thrills through the moving vessel, he flung up his arms, and uttered an exclamation that was like a mingled sigh and half-suppressed shout.  Then he laughed at himself, and turned to look for Ruby.

She was alone on the upper deck, standing among some big palms in pots, with her hands on the rail, and gazing towards him.  She had taken off her hat and veil, and the breeze stirred, and the gold of the departing sun lit up the strands of her curiously pale yet shining hair.  He sprang up the companion to stand beside her.

“We’re off!” he said.

“How glad you seem!  You called me a child.  But you’re like a mad boy—­mad to be moving.  One would think you had—­No, that wouldn’t be like a boy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was going to say one would think you had an enemy in Keneh and were escaping from him.”

“Him!  Her, you should say.”