On the following morning Daniel received a message from Lord Blair asking him to come into the study, and he presumed that the question of his relationship to Muriel was to be discussed, for in his present state of upheaval he could hardly imagine that there was anything else in the world to talk about. He was deeply troubled in his mind, for he felt that this fever of love which had kept him awake half the night, and which hourly was growing more intense, was a menace to his happiness and to hers. A thousand times he had told himself that their two lives were incompatible, and yet their unity was now to him the vital object of his existence. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Lord Blair received him with a whimsical smile, and waved him to a chair as though formally introducing him to it. “Sit down, my dear Daniel,” he said. “I want to know if you can throw any light upon this extraordinary letter which was delivered here this morning, by hand.”

He held up a large pink envelope inscribed in green ink, and handed it across the table; and, while Daniel examined it, he sat watching him benevolently, the tips of his thin fingers pressed together.

The document was written in English, and the wandering handwriting was not unlike that of a child. The address upon the envelope was arresting in its simplicity. “His Excel. The Lord’s Deputy,” it read.

“Frank Lestrange opened it,” said Lord Blair; “for he presumed that the ‘Lord’ referred to was myself and not the Almighty, and that the ‘Deputy’ indicated a secretary. But the letter itself was an enigma to him, and the enclosure a mystery.”

He held up a carefully folded pocket-handkerchief which the envelope had contained, and Daniel glanced at it with sudden recognition.

The document was as follows:

Dear sir we are sorry one assassnated you yesterday because you came to us and we see you for the brave gentilman and the Egyptian rispect the Chivalry herewith please find and oblige

Your Wishwellers.

“Well?” asked Lord Blair.

Daniel burst out laughing. “Oh, what children they are!” he exclaimed. “I think that if we all packed up and went home, and sent out half a dozen schoolmasters in our place, the Egyptian question would be solved.”

“Why?—what is the meaning of the letter?” asked his lordship.

“I’d much rather not tell you,” Daniel replied.

“But I must insist,” said Lord Blair. “I must indeed insist.”

Daniel felt awkward: the story was so silly. “It was nothing much,” he explained. “A wretched boy came here yesterday to kill me, and in taking his revolver away from him I unfortunately broke his wrist. So I made a sling with my handkerchief and took him to the doctor. He was in great pain, poor chap.” He paused and reread the letter.

“Go on with the story,” said Lord Blair. “‘This is very serious, very serious indeed.”

“Oh, no, it’s not,” replied Daniel. “I guessed where he came from and took him home, and had a talk to the whole gang of them. They were all very young and very ardent. But there’s nothing more to hear from them now. Poor lads!—I think they were mighty glad the bullet went wide.”

“D’you mean to say you bearded them in their den?”

“Yes; luckily I found them assembled at their dinner.”

Lord Blair sat back in his chair and toyed with a paper-knife, while Daniel gave him a few more details of the occurrence. There was a curious expression on his face as he listened, and his dark eyes seemed to be shining very brightly. When the brief tale was finished, he rose to his feet, and made a flitting expedition to the window; drummed on the pane; and then, coming round in front of his friend, put his hands upon his broad shoulders.

“My dear fellow ...” he said, and hesitated. Then: “Dear me, dear me, Daniel.” Suddenly he drew himself up, and, thrusting forward a stiff arm, grasped the other’s hand and wrung it shyly but fiercely.

Daniel looked at him in surprise, for he appeared to be battling with some powerful emotion; and, feeling that the situation no longer required his presence, he rose to go.

Lord Blair stopped him. “Wait,” he said; “there is another matter about which I want to speak to you.”

Daniel guessed what was coming, and waited with impatience for Lord Blair to open the subject. It seemed to him that his relationship to Muriel was the only thing worth discussing. But the Great Man’s thoughts were still occupied with the tale which Daniel had unfolded, and for some time he continued to ask questions and to make ejaculatory comments.

At length, however, an awkward silence and some signs of nervousness indicated that the all-important subject was about to be introduced; but Lord Blair, as was his wont, circled round the outskirts of the matter for some time, speaking of his advancing years and of a father’s duty to his only child.

Daniel was impatient to get to grips. “I take it,” he said, interrupting him, “that you want to ask me what my intentions are in regard to Lady Muriel.”

Lord Blair smiled nervously. “Or shall we say,” he suggested, “that I want to know what Muriel’s intentions are in regard to you. I have noticed the growing intimacy between you, and you will perhaps have observed that I have not discouraged it. But today, it is my duty to tell you, I saw you ... er ... ahem ... I saw you kiss one another good morning.”

Lord Blair, having thus delivered himself, sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the younger man.

“Yes, that’s so,” the latter replied; “and I wish to Heaven you’d tell me what is to be done about it. I am afraid I have got to tell you that I love Muriel.” He leant forward and knitted his brows. “I’m sunk,” he groaned, running his hand through his hair. “It’s no good fighting against it any longer.”

Lord Blair drummed his fingers on the table. “Dear me, dear me!” he muttered. “And what does Muriel say about it?”

“I haven’t asked her,” Daniel replied. “I suppose she believes she cares for me, too; but that’s just the trouble: I’ve been wondering all night whether she knows her own mind. You see we are so totally unsuited to one another.”

“What makes you say that?” Lord Blair asked, obviously pained.

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m a serious-minded sort of fellow, and Muriel seems to enjoy all this Society business which I detest.”

“She is young,” was the reply.

“And then I’m a comparatively penniless nobody, and I’ve heard her described as one of the most eligible young women in England.”

“Tut, tut,” Lord Blair ejaculated. “It is true that she will inherit whatever I am able to leave; but an alliance between the Lanes and the Blairs does not seem to me to be open to criticism. After all, our respective names have figured side by side in many pages of English history.”

Daniel did not wish to pursue this aspect of the matter. He wanted Muriel, but he wished her to be sure of her love before he bound her to him by a formal engagement: this summed up his attitude in a single sentence. He therefore discussed the question along these lines; but it was apparent that he was labouring under great mental and emotional stress. He begged Lord Blair not to influence his daughter in one direction or the other, but to leave the solution of the problem in the hands of Providence.

“I just want her to feel,” he explained, “that I am an intimate chum of hers; and then if the thing carries us both off our feet, why we’ll come to you and say we want to get married. If not—well, I’m not going to bind her unless it’s clear she is as head over ears in love with me as I am now with her.”

“You may lose her,” said Lord Blair, shaking his head wisely.

“If that is going to be at any time likely,” Daniel answered, “I would rather it happened now than after we are married.”

When the interview was at an end Lord Blair sat for some time in deep thought. He was somewhat disappointed that Daniel was not more impetuous, and he saw no reason why Muriel should be treated with such careful consideration, lest she should make a mistake and suffer for it later. He regarded his daughter as decidedly flighty, and, since she was his heiress, he wanted to see her married as soon as possible to the man of his choice, a man of strong will who would keep her well in hand: but that, to his surprise, was just what the mighty Daniel seemed disinclined to do.

Lord Blair did not believe in a man pandering to the whims of the woman he loved: his own experience had been too devastating for that. He would have liked to have heard Daniel say to him: “Your daughter wants mastering: I will take her in hand, and turn her into a dutiful wife and a God-fearing mother of your Blair-Lane grandsons.” But instead of this he had said in effect: “Since I shall always want her, if she wants me she can have me when she wants;” and this seemed a poor policy, bordering on self-abnegation.

Muriel’s own attitude was interesting. During this and the day following she waited breathlessly for a proposal of marriage, and when none was forthcoming, she decided that she would give him one week and then lose her temper. But the week went by, and nothing happened, except that their intimacy grew and their eyes sought one another more frequently.

His work kept him very busy, but daily he found some moment in which he could be alone with her; and at these times he put his arms about her and looked into her face with such tenderness in his eyes that she could have cried. He seemed to be searching her heart, to be trying to assure himself of her love; and when he kissed her he appeared to restrain the passion which she knew was consuming him.

Once he came so near to a definite offer of marriage that she held her breath. Yet what he said was but this: “Life is short, and there is no time for a mistake. Think, Muriel, think!—You and I will soon have to make a decision which cannot be altered. Think of all those things in my method of life which you don’t like or don’t understand. Because the choice is close at hand.”

And in her bedroom, in the darkness of the night, she had thought; but her thoughts had travelled in circles, leading her nowhere. Perhaps, she said to herself, he wished to hint that there were ugly aspects of his life which she ought to take into consideration: perhaps he was referring to those Bedouin women who were said to have been his mistresses in the desert; or perhaps his frequent visits to the bazaars and to native houses were not entirely dictated by the needs of his work. She knew that women of the poorer classes often came to see him at the Residency; and the stories which had come to her ears of his goodness to widows and destitute paupers might have their origin in less worthy circumstances than was supposed. It looked as though his conscience were smiting him.

He had said to her: “The woman who loves me must give up much.” Was he suggesting, she wondered, that she should defy the conventions and fly with him into the desert? Perhaps he had no thought of marriage: he only wanted her to ride beside him over the limitless wilderness, and to sleep with him under the stars. His words might be interpreted as meaning that since one day they would grow tired of one another and he would leave her to fish for herself, she ought to consider carefully whether the adventure were worth while. But, no: that could hardly be his meaning, though his refraining from a definite proposal of marriage was suspicious.

Another matter greatly puzzled her. He did not seem to be jealous of her familiarity with other men; and though during the last few days she had rather enjoyed the novel experience of asking his permission, more or less, when she was going out on what she termed a “joy-ride,” she had observed that he assumed no authority over her. He appeared to be quite indifferent to her exits from, and interested only by her entries on to, the stage of life.

Daniel, as a matter of fact, was determined to eradicate all those fierce feelings of jealousy which shamefully he was aware she had aroused in him. The green-eyed monster was a prehistoric beast, unfitting the fair pastures of a philosopher’s mind; and he would have none of it. He believed passionately in freedom; and he was resolved to regard love not as a prison but as a sphere of unbounded liberty—for man and woman alike.

He was wroth with himself when he wished to break the heads of the young men who hovered around her. He had not believed himself capable of such disturbances; and his control was exerted to so much purpose that Muriel mistook it for indifference.

Fortunately he was usually back in the solitude of his camp by mid-afternoon, and he did not have to watch Muriel setting out for her almost nightly dinners, dances, or opera-parties; and when, next day, she used to relate her adventures, he would oblige himself to show amusement and interest, though only black unrest could have been found in his heart. He was impatient for the time when she should grow weary of her amusements, and thus show that her heart was full of sweeter interest, but he had no wish to force her to leave all, as it were, and come to him.

Muriel, on her part, was increasingly annoyed at his apparent indifference; and matters reached a crisis one afternoon at the end of the first week in January. An expedition to the ancient necropolis of SakkÂra had been arranged, the party consisting of Muriel, Daniel, Mr. and Mrs. Bindane, and John Dregge, one of the younger Secretaries at the Residency. The Tombs of SakkÂra stand at the edge of the desert, some ten miles south of Mena House; and the excursion was made on horseback, servants having been sent on ahead to prepare tea at the little rest-house in the necropolis.

During the outward journey Benifett Bindane rode close to Daniel, cross-questioning him in regard to the possibilities of agricultural development in the Oases. He had decided to make a journey at the end of February through the great chain of these oases; and Lord Blair, who, as has been said, was keenly interested in the project, had already begun to make arrangements for the expedition. Daniel was surprised to find that Mr. Bindane had fully grasped all the essentials of the scheme, and, in spite of his lethargic appearance, seemed to be making himself master of the facts.

The subject was very interesting to both men, and Kate Bindane, who rode with them, put in some shrewd observations; but meanwhile Lady Muriel was left to ride ahead with John Dregge, and their two horses could be seen moving close abreast, while Muriel’s laughter frequently floated back to them with the suggestion that she was enjoying herself thoroughly.

This, however, was not the fact. She did not like her companion, who was a very proper young man with a sallow face, side whiskers in the Byronic style, a button of a mouth, and small, watchful eyes.

She was growing decidedly cross—“turning nasty” as they say; and though she laughed loudly so that Daniel should hear, she made two or three remarks to Mr. Dregge which were neither kind nor clever. The three o’clock sun was extremely hot, the glare was intense, and her horse—a borrowed one—had an objectionable habit of ambling when she wished him to trot and of walking when she attempted to correct the amble.

When at last their destination was reached, and all five of them were together again, she would not so much as look in Daniel’s direction. Tea was served at a tressel-table on the veranda of the rest-house, an island of cool shadow in the golden sea of sand; but Muriel enjoyed neither the meal nor the view. Nor did she give any great attention to the beauties of the sculptured tombs and mausoleum which they subsequently visited; and she felt only impatience when Daniel spoke with enthusiasm of the grace of the ancient figures.

“We haven’t advanced much in these thousands of years, have we?” he said to her.

“No,” she answered, “and judging by the progress made in the last ten days, it’ll be many thousands of years more before anything happens.”

Daniel glanced quickly at her, with an inward chuckle, but she turned from him with her head in the air.

The return journey was begun some time after the sun had set, and complete darkness descended upon them while they were still two or three miles from the hotel. Daniel now rode beside Muriel; and the others having pushed ahead, they presently found themselves completely alone, moving through the indigo of the night like two phantom riders wandering over the uninhabited plains of the moon.

The air was cold, and sharp; and the stars gleamed overhead, so numberless, so vivid, that the tremendous sky was densely spangled and jewelled, in brilliance unknown to the western eye. It is only in clear, dry air such as this that one actually sees the heavens as a vault, an inverted bowl of deep royal blue, with the Milky Way arched across like a vaporous white rainbow, and the greater stars and planets standing out in bold patterns amidst the glittering atoms powdered over the whole amazing area.

The pathway was obscure, and Daniel had to guide himself by the great Pyramids which were silhouetted on the horizon against the stars; but riding became altogether dangerous while yet there was over a mile to go, and he proposed that they should dismount and lead their stumbling horses.

Muriel followed his lead without protest; and Daniel, taking hold of her arm with one hand, and leading the horses with the other, piloted her slowly over the rough ground. He was very tenderly solicitous, anxiously enquiring whether she were cold or tired; and she, stirred by the marvel of the night, very largely forgot her anger. This trudging through the intense darkness was having an extraordinary effect upon her mind: she began to feel that her safety, indeed her very existence, depended upon the giant of the desert who held her arm so firmly.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” she said to him. “I should be frightened with anybody else.”

“Frightened?” he asked. “But don’t you feel, as I do, that the desert at night is protective? Down there in the inhabited lands there are robbers and murderers of body or mind; but up here I’m in my own kingdom: I go wherever I like, do whatever I like, and there’s nobody to disturb me and nobody I disturb except a shy little jackal or two.”

Presently Muriel paused. “Wait a minute,” she said. “My boot has got some sand in it.”

She sat down upon the ground and pulled it off; while Daniel, being in no hurry to return to the world, tethered the horses by rolling a small boulder on to the trailing ends of the reins. This done, he came to her, and, sitting beside her, helped her to put on the boot once more.

She was tired physically, and tired also of being angry. The astonishing solitude caused her heart, as it were, to go to him for companionship. Here in this tremendous silence, in this enveloping obscurity, she seemed to belong to him, to be his property.

He put his arms about her. “Why have you been so unfriendly to me today?” he asked, reproachfully.

She leaned her head back, and her hand went up around his neck. “Because I love you, Daniel,” she whispered.

She drew him down to her. At that moment she had no morals: she had shaken the conventions from her like so many pieces of useless armour. Her education had ever taught her to put small value upon such methods of protection; and now, with a mental shrug, they fell wholly from her. She wished only to be his, body and soul: here couched in the lap of this great Mother Earth, and in the presence of the starry host of heaven.

For a moment Daniel held her tightly within his arms; and the tempest of his passion carried him forward to the brink of heedless disaster. But mentally, as well as physically, he was a mighty man; and now his philosophic training in control did not fail him.

Roughly he threw her arms from him, and, rising to his feet, gripped her wrist. “Get up,” he commanded her. “For God’s sake get up!”

He dragged her up to him, and his fingers must have left bruises upon her arm.

“O Daniel,” she murmured, and in her abandonment there was almost laughter in her words, and almost tears. “I’m yours—yours to do what you like with. You can put me in your harÎm if you want to.”

He turned from her, and fetched the horses. “Fool, fool!” said his body to his mind. “Again, misunderstanding the meaning of life, you have robbed me.” “Be silent, rebel,” said his mind to his body. “Give me time to see if her passion be love.” “Is there any difference?” sneered his body; and his mind replied, “Had I not thought so, you should have had your way.”