What was she to do?  What was she to do?

Secretly she cursed with her whole heart now the coldly practical, utterly self-interested side of Baroudi’s nature.  But she was afraid to defy it.  She remembered his words: 

“We have to do what we want in the world without losing anything by it.”

And she saw him—­how often!—­going in at the tent-door through which streamed light, to join the painted odalisque.

She was reaching the limit of her endurance.  She felt that strongly to-night.

On the day of their return to the villa Hamza had mysteriously left them, without a word.

Two or three times Nigel had asked for him.  She had said at first that he had gone to see his family.  Afterwards she had said that he stayed away because he was offended at not being allowed any more to wait upon his master:  “Doctor Isaacson’s orders, you know!” And Nigel had answered nothing.  Where was Hamza?  Mrs. Armine had asked Ibrahim.  But Ibrahim, without a smile, had answered that he knew nothing of Hamza, and in Mrs. Armine’s heart had been growing the hope that Hamza had gone to seek Baroudi, that perhaps he would presently return with a message from Baroudi.

And yet could any good, any happiness, ever come to her through the praying donkey-boy?  Always she instinctively connected him with fatality, with evil followed by sorrow.  The look in his eyes when they were turned upon her seemed like a quiet but steady menace.  She had a secret conviction that he hated her, perhaps because she was what he would call a Christian.  Strange if she were really hated for such a reason!

Once more she stood still by the edge of the river.

She heard the sailors still singing on the Loulia, the faint barking of dogs, perhaps from the village of Luxor.  She looked up at the stars mechanically, and remembered how Nigel had gazed at them when she had wanted him to be wholly intent upon her.  Then she looked again, for a long time, at the blue light which shone from the Loulia’s mast-head.

Behind her the bushes rustled.  She turned sharply round.  Ibrahim came towards her from the tangled darkness.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.  She spoke almost roughly.  The noise had startled her.

“My lady, you better come in,” said Ibrahim.  “Very lonely heeyah.  No peoples comin’ heeyah!”

She moved towards the bank.  He put his hand gently under her elbow to assist her.  When they were at the top she said: 

“Where’s Hamza, Ibrahim?”

Ibrahim’s boyish face looked grim.

“I dunno, my lady.  I know nothin’ at all about Hamza.”

For the first time it occurred to Mrs. Armine that Ibrahim and Hamza were no longer good friends.  She opened her lips to make some enquiry about their relation.  But she shut them again without saying anything, and in silence they walked to the house.