Daniel’s work at El HamrÂn was soon accomplished. When he returned there with the police, he was not empowered to use the aid of the law further than to restore order, to release the camels which had been seized, and to liberate IbrahÎm from his illegal semi-captivity. The officer in command of the troopers, however, was aware that the messengers who had been dispatched at top speed to Cairo would bring back instructions to him to act in accordance with the Englishman’s dispositions; and thus IbrahÎm had been recognized already as Sheikh by the time that the official confirmation of his appointment arrived, and when the men who had made the journey to El Khargeh returned home, the abortive revolt was a thing of the past.

Daniel, however, was unable to reconcile the two parties, and the feud thereafter continued its tedious course, though now in a more underground manner. He was disappointed in the failure of his attempts at conciliation, and was disgusted at the bickerings and the petty insults exchanged between the one faction and the other. The tranquillity of the desert had been rudely disturbed.

It was, thus, with a feeling of relief that he packed up his belongings once more, and turned his face towards Cairo. It was now the middle of April, and he crossed the desert in a blaze of burning sunshine, but his mind was so much occupied with his thoughts that he took little notice of his surroundings. The shimmer of heat rising from the sand, the haze of the distances, and the red dusk of the warm evenings, seemed but to carry his sad heart into the region of speculation; and, at nights, the stars and the crescent of the new moon lifted him into a sphere in which his brain worked with terrible clarity.

He saw his life spread out before his inward consciousness like a tale written in a fair hand upon an open scroll, wherein his mistakes and his shortcomings were inscribed in bolder letters, very apparent to the eye. It seemed to him that his attitude towards Muriel, towards humanity, had been illiberal, too one-sided. There had been need of so much greater tolerance: he had been too inclined to be impulsive, to jump to a conclusion.

In teaching Muriel the lesson that the love between a man and a woman should be a thing of frankness and permanence, not snatched at in secret, nor lightly conceived, he had learned as much as he had taught. He had found in her all manner of qualities to which he had paid insufficient regard—dignity, control, bravery in face of danger, and courage to act according to the dictates of her heart.

He saw now that while she had walked the pathways of that world which he had despised, he had taken refuge, like a coward, in the desert; yet she, in spite of the pitfalls and the sloughs which he had shunned, was not at heart contaminated. She had honestly believed that he had wished her to come to him in the desert, and she had obeyed him. A less impulsive man would have treated her mistake gently, and with more understanding, as being something for which her lax education and not her brave heart was to blame.

In an agony of mind he asked himself whether he had really lost her. He would go to her; he would make her look right into his mind, so that she should see how greatly he had need of her. But would she have pity on him?

Would she have pity on him?... Suddenly an essential aspect of the relationship of man and woman flashed before him. Man, mighty man, was but a lonely, blundering wanderer, a weak thing, a dweller in the desert, seeking where to lay his head. With all his strength, with all his masterful handling of events, man was yet a vagabond in the world, until he had found his mate; and woman, in spite of the greater sway of her thoughtless instincts, held for him the keys, as it were, of his heart’s home. From the summit of her weakness she could look down upon his strength, and could smile at his struggle to surmount the obstacles which he had placed in his own path. In the loneliness of his soul she could look down and pity him, and take him to her breast, and heal his wounds.

Over and over again he asked himself whether she would turn from him when he came to her now, or whether she would forgive and be forgiven. He was feeling mentally and physically tired, yet he found no respite from his dark thoughts as he jogged along; and when at last he came into sight of Cairo and the Pyramids he was nigh exhausted by his anxiety to know what was to be his fate.

He reached his old camping-ground at about three o’clock in the afternoon, and in a short time one of the tents had been erected, wherein he was able to have a wash and a change of clothes. He then left his retainers to pitch the other tents and to arrange the camp, and, mounting his camel once more, rode to Mena House, where he boarded the electric tram for Cairo.

Weary though he was, he was desperately impatient to find Muriel and to get this matter settled at once. Nothing else was of the slightest importance.

At the terminus of the tramway he jumped into a carriage, calling to the coachman to drive “like the wind” to the Residency; and, arrived there, he handed to the bowab at the gate a generous sum, telling him to keep the driver waiting for a good half-hour before paying him off, so that the sweating horses should have a rest after their exertions.

In the hall he asked a footman whether Lord Blair were in, and was surprised to hear that he had not yet returned from the Sudan. Lady Muriel, he was told, was in the garden with Lord Barthampton: the man thought that they were in the alcove beside the river. Mr. and Mrs. Bindane were out driving, and the Secretaries had all gone home.

Daniel hastened through the house, and out by the door at the back. His legs were aching, but he went down the stone steps of the terrace two at a time, and hurried across the lawn, his heart full of foreboding. He could not understand why Muriel should be entertaining his cousin.

At the rose bushes which screened the alcove, however, he paused; for the thought came to him with renewed terror that he might be an unwelcome visitor.

But, even as he came to a halt, he heard his cousin’s voice, and for a moment he could not help playing the eavesdropper.

“Yes,” he was saying, “you’ll have to marry me, or I shall tell all I know, and then there’ll be a fine old scandal. Come on, now, give me a kiss.”

Daniel did not wait to hear more, but ran round the bushes on to the terrace beyond. At a glance he took in the situation. Lord Barthampton, his back turned to him, was endeavouring to take Muriel in his arms; and from behind the screen of his burly form, the girl’s figure was partly visible, struggling to escape.

Daniel leaped forward and grasped him by the scruff of the neck, flinging him aside so that he staggered across the terrace. He saw Muriel’s wide frightened eyes; and hardly realizing what he was doing, he put his arm about her.

She, too, forgot her relationship to him: she only knew that he had intervened between her and a half-drunken bully; and she clung to him, clung desperately, her hands clutching at his coat.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Daniel exclaimed, angrily staring at his cousin, who seemed to be about to spring upon him.

“What the Hell do you want here?” Lord Barthampton roared, his face scarlet.

Muriel pointed her finger at the furious man. “You’d better go,” she said. “Go and tell everybody whatever you like—I don’t care.” She turned to her protector. “There’s a lot of gossip about my having stayed at El HamrÂn.”

Daniel stared from one to the other. “Well, and what is your answer to it?” he asked her, and, waiting for her reply, he seemed to hold his breath.

“I hav’n’t denied it,” she said, looking at him full in the face.

He uttered an exclamation, a sort of suppressed shout of joy. “Good for you!” he cried; and, forgetting all else, he snatched off his battered hat and flung it up into the air. Catching it again, he turned to his cousin. “I take it,” he said, “that you are trying to blackmail Lady Muriel. Is that it?”

“I have asked her to be my wife,” he answered, his fists clenched, “and it’s no damned business of yours.”

“Well,” said Daniel, “you’ve got your answer now, so you’d better go.”

Lord Barthampton was trembling with passion; he was beside himself. “Yes, I’ll go,” he shouted, “and you’ll very soon find, dear Cousin Daniel, that you and Lady Muriel will be cut by all Cairo, and Lord Blair will have to leave the country. I know enough to ruin the lot of you.”

Daniel looked at him steadily. “Don’t forget that I know something about you, too,” he replied; “and if you do what you say you’re going to do, I shall not consider you worthy to hold your present position any longer. And you’ve been drinking again, too: you’re half drunk now.”

“Very well then, dispossess me, you swine!” his cousin blurted out, coming close to him and shaking his fist so menacingly that Muriel took fresh hold upon Daniel’s coat. “Take the title and the money, and be damned to you! I’d rather be a penniless bastard than the smug pillar of society you’re trying to make of me. Good God!—I’ve stood enough from you, you pious hypocrite.”

Daniel laughed aloud. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “I’ve told you that so long as you behave yourself you’re quite safe. It surely isn’t so difficult as all that to be a gentleman.”

With a snort, Lord Barthampton lurched round, and, without another word, took his departure.

Muriel stepped back. “I don’t know what I’m clinging on to you like that for,” she said, with a smile. “What on earth does he mean about your taking his title and his money?”

“Oh, I’ll explain later,” he answered, rather listlessly. “It’s only that by law I ought to have inherited when his father died, not he. It’s a great joke, because, you see, he thinks I’ll dispossess him if he misbehaves himself; but, of course, really he’d have to go altogether to the dogs before I’d do such a thing. I don’t want the bother of being a peer, and I would be hopeless with a lot of money.”

Muriel looked up at him with wonder in her face. Quietly and naturally she linked her arm in his, “I’ve been wanting so much to be beastly to you, Daniel,” she said, and her voice was husky; “but it’s no good, my dear. When a man like Charles Barthampton curses you and tells you to take his money, and you simply laugh and say you don’t want it, what chance have I got of upsetting this disgusting unworldliness of yours? I should only hurt myself, not you.”

“No, you’re wrong there,” he answered. “You will hurt me more than I can bear, more than I can bear, Muriel, if you keep up this quarrel any longer. I don’t feel that I can stand it.”

There was a weariness in his voice which startled her, and, looking at him, she saw an expression in his eyes which made an instant and overwhelming appeal to her.

“Somehow,” he said, speaking hardly above a whisper, “I feel that all these misunderstandings are so superficial. D’you know, I believe that if you were to remain implacable I should simply collapse. I’ve never felt such a thing before in my whole life.”

It was the first time she had ever heard him speak in this way, and all her woman’s heart responded. “Oh, my dear,” she answered, putting her arm about his neck, “it’s no good pretending that we don’t belong to one another, is it?”

He looked at her with joy in his face, and led her towards the marble seat under the palms. “We’ve got a great deal to tell each other,” he said.

They had, indeed, so much to tell that the sun went down behind the Pyramids while yet they were talking, and the dusk gathered about them.

At length they arose and walked back to the house; but now they were laughing like two children, and as they crossed the lawn their arms were still linked together.

Kate Bindane, having returned from her drive, was standing at the drawing-room window as they approached the house.

“Great Scott!” she exclaimed, turning to her husband. “Come here, Benifett: just look at that!”

He arose from his chair, laying aside the Financial News which he had been reading; but he gave no more than a single glance through the open window. Then he returned to his newspaper, and looked at it with listless eyes and open mouth.

Two days later a telegram was received saying that Lord Blair would arrive from the south by special train on the following morning at ten A.M.

Soon after breakfast next day, therefore, Daniel presented himself at the Residency to take Muriel to the station. He was dressed in a suit of grey flannels; and as he crossed the hall, he was carrying his now famous old felt hat in one hand and his pipe in the other.

Here, to his dismay, he came upon Sir Frank Lestrange and John Dregge, both dressed as though they were about to attend a London wedding, and carrying their gloves and silk hats in their hands.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you rigged out like that for?”

“We’re going to the station,” replied Lestrange, somewhat stiffly. “Aren’t you coming too?”

“Sure,” said Daniel.

“I’m afraid you’ll be rather out of the picture,” remarked the punctilious Mr. Dregge, and he uttered a short laugh. “Two of the Princes, and most of the Ministers and Advisers will be there, not to mention the General in full war-paint.”

“Gee!” muttered Daniel. “In this hot weather, too! I guess I’ll look the only sane person on the platform.”

John Dregge glanced at his companion, and he at him, as Daniel, waving his hat to them, went towards the dining-room to find Muriel; but they were too startled even to exchange glances when, at the door of that room, the Great Man’s daughter made her appearance, and stood on tiptoe, holding up her face to be kissed by Daniel.

The scene at the railway-station, half an hour later, was very disconcerting to a man so recently come from the wilds; but Daniel either managed somehow to conceal his embarrassment or felt none at all. Upon the platform the inevitable piece of red carpet was spread, and under the draped British and Egyptian flags several frock-coated celebrities were standing, the Europeans wearing silk hats, the Egyptians the more becoming red tarboushes. A guard of honour of British and native troops was drawn up near the iron palings; and at intervals down the whole length of the platform stood brown-skinned policemen, their hands looking curiously farcical in white cotton gloves.

Muriel’s cool pink dress, her shady hat, and her parasol, gave by contrast a remarkable appearance of discomfort and heat to the assembled males; and Daniel appeared to be the only man present who could turn his head or swing his limbs with ease. Strange to say, his unceremonious clothes were inappropriate only in European eyes. The native mind regarded them as perfectly suitable to one who was already recognized as a kind of court philosopher: a Mohammedan holding a similar office would probably have been garbed in the coarse robe of a derwÎsh. It was thus noteworthy that while the Westerners regarded him askance, the Orientals greeted him with particular respect, so that even John Dregge presently began to walk beside him and to converse with him—in marked contrast to his earlier attitude of distant disdain.

At length the white, dusty train panted into the station; and the black-faced engine-driver, by means of a desperate struggle with the breaks, managed to manoeuvre the entrance of the saloon to a reasonable proximity to the red carpet.

“Now for the little surprise for Father,” said Muriel, and suddenly she linked her arm in Daniel’s, allowing her hand to rest upon his own.

Lord Blair, hat in hand, stepped on to the platform, and, at a sharp word of command, the guard of honour presented arms.

He did not seem to see the crowd of waiting dignitaries: he stared at Muriel and Daniel, a wide smile revealing the two even rows of his false teeth.

“Dear me, dear me!” he exclaimed, kissing his daughter’s cheek. “My dear Muriel! How are you, Daniel? This is capital, capital! You two, arm in arm....”

“Yes, Father,” Muriel laughed, “we’re going to be married, ... please.”

“Aha!” chuckled Lord Blair. “I knew it, I knew it! A little bird told me. Well, well!—I’m delighted. A Lane and a Blair: capital, splendid!”

Frank Lestrange stepped forward anxiously glancing at the native Princes. “Their Highnesses, sir, ...” he whispered.

“Ah, yes, to be sure,” said Lord Blair, turning to them, and holding out his hand. “I beg you to excuse me for speaking first to my daughter and my future son-in-law.”

THE END

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