“But he seemed so certain.  And he’s got a great reputation in America.”

“But he doesn’t understand.  To-night I feel—­when you were playing ‘Gerontius’ I felt that—­that I must soon go.  ’Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo’—­I felt as if somewhere that was being said to me.”

“Nigel!”

“It’s strange that I, who’ve always loved the sun, should be knocked over by the sun, isn’t it?  Strange that what one loves should destroy one!”

“But—­but that’s not true, Nigel.  You are getting better, although you don’t think so.”

“Ruby”—­the voice was almost stern, and now it was more like the voice that Isaacson knew—­“Ruby, I’m getting worse.  To-day I feel that I’m going to die.”

“Let me telegraph for Doctor Hartley.  At dawn to-morrow I shall send the boat to Edfou—­”

“If only Isaacson were here!”

There was a silence.  Then Mrs. Armine said: 

“What could Doctor Isaacson do more than has been done?”

“He’s a wonderful man.  He sees what others don’t see.  I feel that he might find out what’s the matter.”

“Find out!  But, Nigel, we know it’s the sun.  You yourself—­”

“Yes, yes!”

“To-morrow I’ll wire for Doctor Hartley to come down at once from Assouan.”

“It’s this awful insomnia that’s doing for me.  All my life I’ve slept so well—­till now.  And the rheumatic pains; how can the sun—­Ruby, sometimes I think it’s nothing to do with the sun.”

“But, then, what can it be?  You know you would expose yourself, though I begged and implored—­”

“But the heat’s nothing new to me.  For months in the Fayyum I worked in the full glare of the sun.  And it never hurt me.”

“Nigel, it was the sun.  One may do a thing ninety-nine times, and the hundredth time one pays for it.”

A chair creaked.

“Do you want to turn, Nigel?  Wait, I’ll help you.”

“Isn’t it awful to lose all one’s strength like this?”

“It’ll come back.  Wait!  You’re slipping.  Let me put my arm behind you.”

“Yes, give me your hand, dearest!”

After a pause he said: 

“Poor Ruby!  What a time for you!  You never guessed you’d married a miserable crock, did you?”

“I haven’t.  Any one may get a sunstroke.  In two or three weeks you’ll be laughing at all this.  Directly it passes you’ll forget it.”

“But I have a feeling sometimes that—­it’s a feeling—­of death.”

“When?  When?”

“Last night, in the night.  I felt like a man just simply going out.”

“I never ought to have let Doctor Hartley go.  But you said you wanted to be alone with me, didn’t you, Nigel?”

“Yes.  I felt somehow that Hartley could be of no use—­that no ordinary man could do anything.  I felt as if it were Fate, and as if you and I must fight it together.  I felt as if—­perhaps—­our love—­”