Polly Kirkland and her friends were travelling slowly up the Nile, and had reached Luxor.  A few hundred yards below the village their dahabiyeh was moored to the bank, and, on the deck, Miss Kirkland was watching a scarlet sun sink behind two palm-trees.  By the grace of that special Providence that cares for drunken men, citizens of the United States, and lovers, her friends were on shore, and she was alone.  For this she was grateful, for her thoughts were of a melancholy and tender nature and she had no wish for any companion save one.  In consequence, when a steam-launch, approaching at full speed with the rattle of a quick-firing gun, broke upon her meditations, she was distinctly annoyed.

But when, with much ringing of bells and shouting of orders, the steam-launch rammed the paint off her dahabiyeh, and a young man flung himself over the rail and ran toward her, her annoyance passed, and with a sigh she sank into his outstretched, eager arms.

Half an hour later Ainsley laughed proudly and happily.

“Well!” he exclaimed, “you can never say I kept you waiting.  I didn’t lose much time, did I?  Ten minutes after I got your C. Q. D. signal I was going down the Boston Post Road at seventy miles an hour.”

“My what?” said the girl.

“The sign!” explained Ainsley.  “The sign you were to send me to tell me”—­he bent over her hands and added gently—­“that you cared for me.”

“Oh, I remember,” laughed Polly Kirkland.  “I was to send you a sign, wasn’t I?  You were to ’read it in your heart’,” she quoted.

“And I did,” returned Ainsley complacently.  “There were several false alarms, and I’d almost lost hope, but when the messengers came I knew them.”

With puzzled eyes the girl frowned and raised her head.

“Messengers?” she repeated.  “I sent no message.  Of course,” she went on, “when I said you would ‘read it in your heart’ I meant that if you really loved me you would not wait for a sign, but you would just come!” She sighed proudly and contentedly.  “And you came.  You understood that, didn’t you?” she asked anxiously.

For an instant Ainsley stared blankly, and then to hide his guilty countenance drew her toward him and kissed her.

“Of course,” he stammered—­“of course I understood.  That was why I came.  I just couldn’t stand it any longer.”

Breathing heavily at the thought of the blunder he had so narrowly avoided, Ainsley turned his head toward the great red disk that was disappearing into the sands of the desert.  He was so long silent that the girl lifted her eyes, and found that already he had forgotten her presence and, transfixed, was staring at the sky.  On his face was bewilderment and wonder and a touch of awe.  The girl followed the direction of his eyes, and in the swiftly gathering darkness saw coming slowly toward them, and descending as they came, six great white birds.