Mrs. Armine was waiting to hear the result of the interview.  Doctor Hartley had taken his departure—­fled, perhaps, is the word—­at an early hour.  In daylight her face looked even more ravaged than it had on the previous night.  But her manner was coldly calm.

“What is the verdict?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I am not prepared to give a verdict.  Your husband is in a very weak, low state.  If it had been allowed to continue indefinitely, the mischief might have become irreparable.”

“But you can put him right?”

“Let’s hope so.”

She stood as if she were waiting for more definite information.  But none came.  After a silence Isaacson said: 

“The first thing to be done is to get him away from here.”

“Get him away!  Where to?”

“You’ve still got your villa at Luxor, I believe?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I suppose it is comfortable, well arranged?”

“Pretty well.”

“And it’s quiet and has a garden, I know.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yes.  My boat was tied up just opposite to it the night before I started up river.”

“Oh!”

“Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to give the order to the Reis to start for Luxor as soon as possible?”

“Very well,” she said, indifferently.

Her whole look and manner now were curiously indolent and indifferent.  Before she had been full of fiercely nervous life.  To-day it seemed as if that life was withdrawn from her.

“I’ll tell him now,” she said.

And without any more questions she went away to the deck.

Soon afterwards there was a stir.  Cries were heard from the sailors, and the Loulia began to move, floating northwards with the tide.  When Nigel asked the reason, Isaacson said to him: 

“This place is too isolated for an invalid.  One can get at nothing here.  You will be much more at your ease in your own home, and I can take better care of you there.”

“We are going back to the villa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad,” Nigel said, slowly.  “I never told her, but I was beginning to hate this boat; all this trouble has come upon me here.  Sometimes—­sometimes I have felt almost as if—­”

He broke off.

“Yes?” Isaacson said, quietly.

“As if there were something that was fatal to me on board the Loulia.”

“In the villa I shall get you back to your original health and strength.”

The thin, lead-coloured face drooped forward, and the eyes that were full of a horrible malaise held for a moment the fires of hope.

“Do you really think I can ever get well?”

Isaacson did not reply for a moment.  Then he said, “Will you make me a promise?”

“What is it?”

“Will you promise me to obey implicitly everything I order you to do?”

“Do you mean—­as a doctor?”