The small felucca of the Loulia was alongside.  Hamza took her by the arm.  Although his hand was small and delicate, it seemed to her then a thing of iron that could not be resisted.  She got into the boat.  Where was she going to be taken?  It occurred to her now that perhaps Baroudi had some plan, that he did not choose to keep her on board, that he had a house at Luxor, or—­

The Villa Nuit d’Or!  Was Hamza going to take her there in the night?

Hamza sat down, took the oars, pushed off.

Yes, he was rowing up stream against the tide!  A wild hope sprang up in her.  The Loulia diminished.  Always Hamza was rowing against the tide, but she noticed that the felucca was drifting out into the middle of the Nile.  The current was very strong.  They were making little or no headway.  She longed to seize an oar, to help the boat up stream.  Now the eastern bank of the river grew more distinct, looming out of the darkness.  It seemed to be approaching them, coming stealthily nearer and nearer.  She saw the lights in the Villa Androud.

“Hamza!” she murmured.  “Hamza!”

He rowed on, without much force, almost languidly.  Never could they go up against the tide if he did not pull more strongly.  Why had they not two of the Nubians with them?  The lights of the villa vanished.  They were hidden by the high and shelving bank.

“Hamza!” she cried out.  “Hamza!”

There was a slight shock.  The felucca had touched bottom.  Hamza, with a sort of precision characteristic of him, stepped quietly ashore and signed to her to come.

She knew she would not go.  And, instantly, she went.

Directly she stood upon the sand, near the tangle of low bushes, Hamza pushed off the felucca, springing into it as he did so, and rowed away on the dark water.

“Hamza!” she called.

“Hamza!  Hamza!” she shrieked.

The boat went on steadily, quickly, and disappeared.

* * * * *

Nearly an hour later there appeared at the edge of the garden of the Villa Androud a woman walking unsteadily, with a sort of frantic slowness.  She made her way across the garden and drew near to the terrace, beyond which light shone out from the drawing-room through the tall window space.  Close to the terrace she stood still, and she looked into the room.

She saw Nigel sitting crouched upon a sofa, with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.  He was alone, and was sitting quite still.

She stood for some time staring in at him.  Then at last, as if making up her mind to something, she moved, and slowly she stepped upon the terrace.

Just as she did this, the door of the drawing-room opened and Ibrahim came in, looking breathless and scared.  Behind him came Meyer Isaacson.

The woman stood still on the terrace.