MAROONED

Had any human fly ever buzzed himself so fatally into the spider-webs of other people's love affairs? I asked myself sternly. As soon as Providence plucked me out of one web, back I would bumble into another, though I had no time for a love affair of my own.

When the Enchantress Isis had slipped past many miles of desert shore, black-striped and tawny as a leopard's skin, and other desert shores so fiercely yellow as to create an effect of sunshine under gray skies, we arrived at Assuan. I had not yet kept my promise to Rachel, though whether from lack of opportunity or courage I was not sure.

Here we were at historic Assuan; and nothing had happened, nothing which could be written down in black and white, since the excitements at Luxor. Nevertheless, some of us were different within, and the differences were due, directly or indirectly, to those excitements.

Now we were nearing Ethiopia, alias the Land of Cush, though Monny said she could not bear to have it called by that name, except, of course, in the Bible, where it couldn't be helped. How would any of us like to "register" at an hotel as Mr. or Miss So-and-So, of Cush? Oshkosh sounded more romantic.

No land, however, could look more romantic than Assuan, City of the Cataracts, Greek Syene, that granite quarry whose red syenite made obelisks and sarcophagi for kings of countless dynasties. "Suan," as the Copts renamed it (a frontier town of Egypt since the days of Ezekiel the prophet), now appeared a gay place, made for pleasure-pilgrims.

Sky and river were dazzling blue, and the sea of sand was a sea of gold, the dark rocks lying like tamed monsters at the feet of Khnum, god of the Cataract, glittered bright as jet, over which a libation of red wine had gushed. The river-front of the town, with its hotels and shops, was brightly coloured as a row of shining shells from a southern sea; tints of pink and blue and amber, translucently clear in contrast with the dark green of lebbek trees and palms, in whose shadow flowers burned, like rainbow-tinted flames of driftwood. Between our eyes and the brilliant picture, a network of thin dark lines was tangled, as if an artist had defaced his canvas with scratches of a drying brush. These scratches were in reality the masts of moored feluccas, bristling close to the shore like a high hedge of flower stems, stripped of blossoms and bent by driving wind.

On the opposite side of the river, the desert crouched like a lion who flings back his head with a shake of yellow mane, before he stoops to drink. And in the midst of the stream rose Elephantine Island, with its crown of feathery palms, its breastwork of Roman ruins (a medal of fame for the kings it gave to Egypt) and its undying lullaby sung by the cataract, among surrounding rocks.

Very strange rocks they were, black as wet onyx, though for thousands of years they had been painted rose by sunrise and sunset; shapes of animal gods, shapes of negro slaves, shapes of broken obelisks and fallen temples; shapes of elephants like those seen first by Egyptians on this island; shapes which one felt could never have taken form except in Egypt.

Over our heads armies of migrating birds made a network like a great floating scarf of beads, each bead a bird: and the blue water round the slow-gliding Enchantress was crowded with boats of so many hitherto unknown sorts, that they might have been visiting craft from another world: feluccas with sails red or white, or painted in strange patterns, or awninged; some with rails like open trellis work of many colours, over which dark faces shone like copper in the sunshine; rowing boats, "galleys" with fluttering flags, and old soap-boxes roughly lined with tin, in which naked imps of boys perilously paddled. Out from the boats rushed music in clouds like incense; wild, African music of chanting voices, beating tom-toms, or clapping hands that clacked together like castanets. Very old men and very young youths thumped furiously on earthen drums shaped like the jars of Elephantine, once so famous that they travelled the length of Egypt filled with wine. The breeze that fanned to us from beyond the palms and lebbeks, the roses and azaleas, was soft and flower-laden. There was a scent in it, too, as of ripe grapes, as if a fragrance lingered from vanished days when wine for the gods was made from Elephantine vineyards, and fig-trees never lost their leaves. We ourselves, and our big three-decked boat were alone in our modernity, if one forgot the line of gay buildings on the shore. Everything else might have been of the time when the world supposed Elephantine to be placed directly on the Tropic of Cancer, and believed in the magic lamp which lit the unfathomable well; the time when quarries of red and yellow clay gave riches to the island, and all Egypt thanked its gods when Elephantine's Nilemeter showed that the Two Lands would be plentifully watered.

Most of us were going to live on board the Enchantress for our three days at Assuan; but, hearing that lords and ladies of high degrees swarmed at the Cataract Hotel with its wild, watery view of tumbled rocks, and at the Savoy in its flowery gardens, some went where they might hope to cross the path of dukes and duchesses.

The Monny-ites were not "wild" about the aristocracy, nor would royalty (of later date than the Ptolemies) have lured Cleopatra from her suite on the boat. But the whole party was eager for shore, and no sooner had the Enchantress put her foot on the yellow sands than she was deserted by her passengers. The bazaars were the first attractions, for "everybody said" that they were as fine in their way as the bazaars of Cairo; so very soon we were all buying silver, ivory, stuffed crocodiles and ostrich feathers from the Sudan, which now opened its gates not far ahead: the Sudan, mysterious, unknown, and vast.

Cleopatra clung to me, with a certain wistfulness, as if in this incarnation she were not so intimately at home in Upper Egypt as she had hoped to be. Perhaps this loneliness of her soul was due to the fact that instead of seeking her society, "Anthony with an H" seldom came near her now. Something had warned him off. He would never tell me or any one on earth: but, unused to the ways of women as he was, I felt sure that he had been uncomfortably enlightened as to Cleopatra's feelings. The cure, according to his prescription, was evidently to be "absent treatment." But there was another which I fancied might be efficacious; the sudden arrival on the scene of Marcus Antonius Lark.

I happened to know that he proposed a dash from Cairo to Assuan by train, for I had received two telegrams at the moment of walking off the boat. The first message announced his almost immediate advent; the second regretted unavoidable delay, but expressed an intention not to let us steam away for Wady Halfa without seeing him. The excuse alleged was business, but I thought I saw through it, and sympathized; for he whom I had once cursed as a brutal tyrant of money-bags now loomed large as a pathetic figure.

Despite the lesson of the lotuses, I believed that his motive was to try his chance with Mrs. East; that life had become intolerable, unless "Lark's Luck" might hold again; and that he could not wait till the cruel lady returned to Cairo. It was a toss-up, as we walked side by side to the incense-laden bazaar, whether I told her the news or left her to be surprised by the unexpected visitor. Eventually I decided that silence would help the cause; and in thus making up my mind I was far from guessing that my own fate and Monny's and Anthony's and Brigit's hung also on that insignificant decision. I was thankful that Mrs. East said no more of bringing her niece and me together, and that, on the contrary, she dropped dark hints about "everything in life which she had wanted" being now "too late, and useless to hope for" in this incarnation. Why she had changed her plans for Monny I could not be sure; enough for me that she apparently had changed them.

Sir Marcus did not appear the next day or the next, and I heard no more. Indeed, between dread of breaking the truth to Bill Bailey, and self-reproach at letting time pass without breaking it, I almost forgot Lark's love affair. I salved my conscience by working unnecessarily hard, and even helping Kruger with his accounts, when Anthony too generously relieved me of other duties.

How I envied Fenton at this time, because no girls asked him what men they ought to marry; or implored him to prevent men from jilting them; or urged him to enlighten handsome sculptors with wavy, soft hair, and hard eyes resembling the crystal orbs which were to become fashionable in Society! Anthony loved Assuan, and apparently enjoyed displaying its beauties. Not knowing that I hid a fox under my mantle, he meant to be kind in "taking people off my hands," giving them tea on the Cataract Hotel veranda; escorting them to the ruined Saracen Castle which, with Elephantine opposite, barred the river and made a noble gateway; leading them at sunset to the Arab cemetery in the desert, and to the Bisharin village where wild, dark creatures (whose hair was pinned with arrows and whose ancestors were mentioned in the Bible) sold baskets and bracelets and what not. There were really, as Sir John Biddell remarked, a "plethora of sights," not counting the magnificent Rock Tombs, since the Set had definitely "struck" against tombs of all descriptions. But even with an excursion to the ancient quarries, for a look at half-finished obelisks, for once I had not enough to do. And Fenton had snatched Biddy from me as well as Monny. Mercilessly he had them sightseeing every moment. And I could no longer scold Rachel for "letting things slide." To blame her would be for the pot to call the kettle black.

It was on the day of the Great Dam that I screwed my courage to the sticking-place, and made Bailey understand that his fiancÉe was nobody but Rachel Guest; that she would be Rachel Guest all her life until she became Mrs. Some One-or-Other: preferably Mrs. Willis Bailey. Somehow it seemed appropriate to do the deed at the Dam. And always in future, when people ask what impression the eighth wonder of the world made upon me, I shall doubt for an instant whether they refer to the American sculptor, or to the Barrage.

The way in which we went was so impressive that it was comparatively easy to be keyed up to anything.

Most travellers make the trip on donkey back; or else, as far as Shellal, in a white, blue-eyed desert train, where violet window-glass soothes their eyes and prepares their minds for a future journey to Khartum. After Shellal they go on in small boats to the wide, still lake which the Great Dam has stored up for the supply of Egypt. But we of the Enchantress Isis were super-travellers. Our boat being of less bulk than her new rivals, she was able to reach the Barrage by passing up through its many locks and proceed calmly along the Upper Nile, between the golden shores of Nubia, to Wady Haifa. We remained on board for the experience; and though I had the task of telling Bailey, still before me, I would not have changed places with a king, as standing on deck, with Biddy by my side, I felt myself ascending the once impassable Cataracts of the god Khnum.

If Biddy had been the only person by my side, I should have risked telling her the secret she ought always to have known. But there were as many others as could crowd along the rail. For once they were reflective, not inclined to chatter. Perhaps the same thought took different forms, according as it fitted itself into different heads; the thought of that marvellous campaign of the boats which fought their way past these cataracts to relieve Gordon. The ascent was a pageant for us. For them it had meant strife and disaster and death. We admired the glimpses of yellow desert: we exclaimed joyously at the mad turmoil of green water, the blood-red and jet-black rocks, below the Dam. For us it was a scene of unforgettable majesty. For those others, the waste of stone-choked river must have yawned like a wicked mouth, full of water and jagged black teeth, which opened to gulp down boats and men.

It was on the brink of the Barrage itself that I spoke to Bailey. And there, looking down over the immense granite parapet, upon line after line of tamed cataracts breathing rainbows, we were so small, so insignificant, that surely it could not matter to a man whether the girl of his heart were an heiress or a beggar maid! There was room in the world only for the mighty organ-music of these waters, and the ever underlying song of love.

I saw by the look in Bailey's eyes, however, as he gazed away from me to the long-necked dragon form of a huge derrick, that it did matter. I had been tactful. I had mentioned the mistake in identity as if it were a silly game played by children, a game which neither he nor I nor any one could ever have regarded seriously. He controlled himself, and took it well, so far as outward appearance went: but soon he made an excuse to escape: and presently I saw him strolling off alone, head down, hands in pockets. Luncheon was being prepared on the veranda of a house belonging to the chief engineer of the Dam. Its owner was a friend of Sir Marcus Lark, and, being away, had agreed to lend his place to our party, Kruger having done no end of writing and telegraphing to secure it. Many of our people had got off the Enchantress Isis in one of the locks, and had walked up the steps to the summit-level of the Barrage, Brigit and I among others. And as we assembled for lunch it was an odd sight to see our white, floating home rising higher and higher, until at last she rode out on the surface of the broad sea of Nile which is held up by the granite wall of the Barrage. She was to be moored by the Dam, and to wait for us there until evening, when we should have exhausted the Barrage and ourselves; and have visited Philae.

By and by luncheon was ready, served by our white-robed, red-sashed waiters from the Isis, but Bailey did not return. Rachel begged that our table might wait for a few minutes. Perhaps he had gone the length of the Dam in one of those handcars, on which some of our people had dashed up and down the famous granite mile, their little vehicles pushed by Arabs. He might be back in a few minutes. But the minutes passed and he did not come. The dragon-derrick stretched its neck from far away, as if to peer curiously at Rachel. The black and red and purple monsters disguised as rocks for this wild, masquerade ball of the Nile, foamed at the mouth with watery mirth at the trouble these silly things called girls had always been bringing on themselves, since Earth and Egypt were young together. The look of the forsaken, the jilted, was already stamped upon Rachel's face. She tried to eat: when the picnic meal could be put off no longer, but could scarcely swallow. Monny glanced at her anxiously from time to time, perhaps suspecting something of the truth. And the eyes of both, girls turned to me now and then with an appeal which made unpalatable my well-earned hard-boiled eggs, and drumsticks. Bother the whole blamed business! thought I. Hadn't I done all I could? Wasn't I practically running the lives of these tiresome tourists, as well as their tour? What did that adventuress out of a New England schoolroom want of me now, when I'd washed my hands of her and her affairs?

But all through, there was no real use in asking myself these questions. I knew what Rachel wanted, and that I should have to do it, if only to please Biddy, who would be broken-hearted if Monny's indiscretions should wreck the happiness of even the most undeserving young female. Darling Monny must be saved from remorse at all costs!

One of the costs to me was luncheon as well as peace of mind. I excused myself from the table. I pretended to have forgotten some business of importance. I whispered to the Enchantress dining-room steward, who had come to look after the waiters, that the meal must be served as slowly as possible. "Drag out the courses," said I. "Make 'em eat salad by itself, and everything separate, except bread and butter." Having given these last instructions, I was off like an arrow shot from the bow, a reluctant arrow sulking at its own impetus. Instinct was the hand that aimed me; the Enchantress Isis was the target; and deck cabin No. 36 was the bull's-eye. As I expected, Bailey was in his stateroom. I had not far to go; only to hurry from the engineer's house, along the riverbank to the landing place, where a number of native boats were lying; jump into one, and row out a few yards. But the heat of noon, after the cool shade of the veranda, was terrific. I arrived out of breath, my brow richly embroidered with crystal beads, just in time to find Bailey squeezing his bath sponge preparatory to packing it, in a yawning kitbag already full. At such a moment he could squeeze a sponge! I hated him for this, as though the sponge had been Rachel's heart.

On his berth lay a letter addressed to her, and another to me. No doubt he told us both that he had received an urgent telegram. He was so taken aback at sight of the task master that he let me withdraw the sponge from his pulseless fingers. I laid it reverently on the washhand-stand, as a heart should be laid on an altar.

"My dear fellow," I began. (Yes, to my credit be it spoken, I said "dear fellow!") "You don't know what you are doing. I speak for your own sake. Think what people will say! Everyone will see why you left her. And you don't want to leave her, you know! Of course you don't! You love Miss Guest. She loves you. Not all the crystal eyes in the world can make you the fashion, if the eyes of your fiancÉe are red with tears because you jilted her, when you found out she was—only herself! People don't like such things. They won't have their artists cold and calculating. It isn't done. You can't afford to squeeze a sp—I mean, break a heart in this fashion. It will ruin your reputation."

So I argued with a certain eloquence, forcing conviction until with a fierce gesture Bailey snatched six collars from his bag and flung them on the bed. Seeing thus clearly what I thought showed him what others were sure to think: and the world's opinion was life itself to Bailey. He was cowed, then conquered. At last I dared to say: "May I?"

He nodded.

Instantly I tore the letters into as many pieces as there were collars. Afterward, when we walked off the boat, arm in arm, I dropped them into the water.

We got back to the engineer's before the picnickers had finished their belated Turkish coffee. Bailey took the vacant chair between Rachel Guest and Monny Gilder. Biddy said that she had asked to have some coffee kept hot for me. I needed it!

That is what delayed our start for Philae and is, I suppose, why everything that took place there afterward happened exactly as it did. If we had left the Dam an hour earlier, there would have been no excuse to stop for sunset at the temple which those who love it call the "Pearl of Egypt." As it was—but that comes afterward.

When Strabo went from Syene to Philae, he drove in a chariot with the prefect of that place, "through a very flat plain," and on both sides of their road (I fear, for their bones, it was a rough one!) rose "blocks of dark, hard rock resembling Hermes-towers." Nearly two thousand years later we were rowed to the same temple, across an immensely deep, vast sheet of shining crystal. We lolled (I am fond of that word, though aware that it's reserved for villainesses) in "galleys" painted in colours so violent that they looked like tropical birds. They were awninged, and convulsively propelled by Nubians whose veins swelled in their full black throats, and whose ebony faces were plastered with a grayish froth of sweat. Each pressed a great toe, like a dark-skinned potato, on the seat in front of him for support in the fierce effort of rowing. Turbans were torn off shaved, perspiring heads, and even skull-caps went in the last extreme. Wild appeals were chanted to all the handiest saints to grant aid in the terrible undertaking. An eagle-eyed child at the steering wheel gazed pityingly at his agonized elders. And then, just as you expected the whole crew to fall dead from heart failure, they chuckled with glee at some joke of their own. There was always breath and energy enough to spare when they wanted it. But what would you? The labourer must be worthy of his hire, and a little something over. When Strabo saw Philae, she was a distant neighbour of the mighty Cataracts. Now, the waters which once rushed down are prisoned by the Great Dam, and stand enslaved, to wall the temple round like a great pearl in a crystal case. She is the true Bride of the Nile; for, as long ago the fairest of maidens gave herself to the water as a sacrifice, so Philae gives herself for the life of the people. She drowns, but in death she is more beautiful than when the eyes of the old historian beheld her, glowing with the colours of her youth, yet already old, deserted by gods and priests and worshippers. Now she has worshippers from the four ends of the earth, and the greatest singers of the world chant her funeral hymn. For in all Egypt, with its many temples of supreme magnificence, there is nothing like Philae. None can forget her. None can confuse her identity for a moment with that of any other monument of a dead religion. And if she were the only temple in Egypt, Egypt would be worth crossing the ocean to see, because of this dying pearl in its crystal case.

Venus rose from the sea. Philae, the Marriage Temple of Osiris and Isis—Venus of Egypt—sinks into the sea of waters poured over her by Khnum, god of the Cataracts. Thus the great enchantress sings her swan-song to touch the heart of the world, her fair head afloat like a sacred lotus on the gleaming water. I think there were few among us who did not fancy they heard that song, as our Nubian men rowed across the sea stored up by the great Barrage. From far away we saw a strange apparition, as of a temple rising from the waters. It seemed unreal at first, a mere mirage of a temple. Then it took solid outline; darkly cut in silver; a low, column-supported roof; a pylon towering high; and to the south, separated from both these, a thing that might have been a huge wreath of purple flowers. We knew, however, from too many photographs and postcards, that this was "Pharaoh's Bed," the unfinished temple of Augustus and Trajan, standing on a flooded island.

Our boat glided close to the flower-like stems of the columns supporting the low roof. Far down in the clear depths we could see the roots of the pillars, or their phantom reflections. And in the light of afternoon, the water was so vivid a green that the colour of it seemed to have washed off from the painted stones. Onto this roof we scrambled, up a flight of steps, and found that we were not to have Philae to ourselves. There were other boats, other tourists; but we pretended that they were invisible, and they played the same game with us. Ignoring one another, the rival bands wandered about, wondered what the place would be like with the water "down," quoted poetry and guide-books, and climbed the pylon. From that height the kiosk called "Pharaoh's Bed" showed a mirrored double, like an old ivory casket with jewelled sides, piled full of a queen's emeralds. We loitered; we explored; and having descended sat down to rest, dangling irreverent feet over beryl depths, splashed with gold. Thus we whiled away an hour, perhaps. Then the Set, impressed at first, had had enough of the mermaid temple's tragic beauty. Sir John Biddell reminded me that it had been a long day for the ladies, and very hot. Hadn't we better get back to the Enchantress before sunset? But that was exactly what some of us did not want to do.

The matter was finally settled by retaining our one small boat, with two rowers, and sending off the two larger "galleys" with their full complement of passengers, excepting only "Mrs. Jones," Miss Gilder, Antoun Effendi, the melancholy Cleopatra, and the guilty shepherd of the flock, who knew he had no business to desert his sheep. He did nevertheless feel, poor brute, that after such a day he had earned a little pleasure, and, accordingly proceeded to snatch it from Fate, despite disapproving glances. Punishment, however, fell as soon as it was due. I had stayed behind with the intention of amusing Brigit. But Monny took her from me, as if she had bought the right to use my childhood's friend whenever it suddenly occurred to her to want a chaperon. Instead of Biddy, I got Cleopatra. And by this time, so far as we knew, all tourists save ourselves had gone.

I knew in my heart that, in accusing Monny Gilder of claiming Brigit O'Neill because she was paying her expenses, I did the girl an injustice. Monny was afraid of herself with Anthony. I saw that plainly, since the fact had been laid under my nose by Mrs. East. She feared the glamour of this magical place, perhaps, and felt the need of Biddy's companionship to keep her strong, not realizing that any one else was yearning for the lady. This was the whole front of her offending; yet I was so disappointed that I wanted to be brutal. Without Biddy, I should wish but to howl at the sunset, as a dog bays the moon. And feeling thus I may not have made myself too agreeable to Cleopatra. In any case, after we had sat in silence for a while, waiting for a sunset not yet ready to arrive, she turned reproachful eyes upon me. "Lord Ernest," she said, "I think you had better go and join Monny."

"Why?" I surlily inquired. "I thought you thought that idea of yours was too late to be of any use now?"

"I do think so," she replied. "Everything interesting is too late now. Still, you'd better go."

"Are you tired of me?" I stupidly catechised her.

"Well, I feel as if I should like to be alone in this wonderful place. I want to think back."

"I see," said I, scrambling up from my seat on the edge of the temple roof, and trying not to show by my expression that I was pleased, or that both my feet had gone to sleep. "In that case, I'll leave you to the spooks. May none but the right ones come!"

"Thank you," she returned dryly; and I limped off, walking on air, tempered with pins and needles. Joy! my luck had turned! At the top of the worn stone stairway, cut in the pylon, I met Biddy. She was dim as one of Cleopatra's Ptolemaic ghosts, in the darkness of the passage; but to me that darkness was brighter than the best thing in sunsets.

"Salutation to Caesar from one about to die!" I ejaculated.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that both my feet are fast asleep, and I shall certainly fall and kill myself if I try to go one step further, up or down."

"You, the climber of impossible cliffs after sea-birds' nests!" she laughed. But she stood still.

"I'm after something better than sea-birds' nests now," said I. "The question is, whether it's not still more inaccessible?"

"Are you talking about—Monny?" she wanted to know, in a whisper.

"Sit down and I'll tell you," was my answer.

"Oh, not here at the top of the steps, if it's anything as private as that," Biddy objected, all excitement in an instant. "Let's come into a tiny room off the stairway, which the guardian showed me a few minutes ago. There's a bench in it. You see, he's up there on the pylon roof now with Monny and Captain Fenton (I can't call him Antoun when I talk to you; its too silly!) and he'll probably be coming down in a minute. Then, if we stop where we are, we'll have to jump up and get out of the way, to let him pass. And he's sure to linger and work off his English on us. I don't think we'll want to be interrupted that way, do you?"

"No, nor any other way," I agreed.

"Oh, but what about the sunset? We may miss it."

"Hang the sunset! Let it slide—down behind the Dam if it likes!"

"I don't wonder you feel so, you poor dear," Biddy sympathized, "when it's a question of Monny, and all our hopes going to pieces the way they are doing, every minute. There isn't a second to lose."

So we went into the little room in the tower, which was lit only by a small square opening over our heads. We sat down on the bench. It was beautifully dark. I began to talk to Biddy. We had forgotten my feet; and I forgot Mrs. East. But I must tell what was happening to her at the time (as I learned afterward, through the confession of an impenitent), before I begin to tell what happened to us. Otherwise the situation which developed can't be made clear.

I left Cleopatra calling spirits from the vasty deep, or rather one spirit; the spirit of Antony. I am morally sure that any other would have been de trop. And sailing to her across the wide water from Shellal came Marcus Antonius Lark.

I can't say whether she considered him an answer to her prayer, or a denial of it. Anyhow, there he was; better, perhaps, than nobody, until she learned from his own lips—tactless though ardent lips—that he had come from Cairo to Assuan, from Assuan to Philae, to see her. Then she took alarm, and remarked in the old, conventional way of women, that they'd "better go look for the others." But Sir Marcus hadn't spent his money, time, and gray matter in hurrying to Philae from Shellal, for nothing. Finding himself too late to catch us at Assuan, he had paid for a special train in order to follow his "Enchantress" (the lady and the boat).

Taking a felucca with a fine spread of canvas and many rowers, which (characteristically) he bargained for at the Shellal landing-place, he sailed across to the moored steamer, only to learn from Kruger that we had gone on our expedition to Philae. That meant a long sail and row for the impatient lover. For us, the longer it was, the better: one of the chief charms of our best day. But for him it must have been tedious, despite a good breeze that filled the sails and helped the rowers.

On his way to the temple, he met the galleys going "home" to the Enchantress Isis. An instant's shock of disappointment, and then the glad relief of realizing that the one he sought was still at the place where he wished to find her. There were only four Obstacles which might prevent an ideal meeting. The names of these Obstacles, in his mind were: Jones, Gilder, Fenton, and Borrow; and being an expert in abolishing Obstacles, the great Sir Marcus began to map out a plan of action.

Luckily for him, our small boat had moved out of Cleopatra's sight, as she sat and dreamed on the low temple-roof, while we four Obstacles disported ourselves on different parts of the high pylon. The two Nubians wished to play a betting game with a kind of Egyptian Jack-stones, and it was not desirable that the pensive lady should behold them doing it. Observing the graceful figure of Mrs. East silhouetted against the sky's eternal flame of blue, and at the same time noticing that she could not see the waiting boat, Sir Marcus got his inspiration. He knew that the four Obstacles were somewhere about the temple. Now was his great chance, while they were out of the way! And if he resolved to play them a trick, perhaps he salved his conscience by telling it that the Obstacles, male and female, ought to thank him.

Cleopatra probably thought, if she glanced up to see his boat: "Oh dear, another load of tourists!" and promptly looked down to avoid the horrid vision. By the time Sir Marcus came within "How do you do?" distance, he had bribed our waiting boatmen to row away. This in order not to be caught in a lie.

With our Nubians and their craft out of his watery way, he was free to fib when the time came. "Go look for the others?" he echoed Mrs. East's proposal. "Why, they've gone. I met them."

"Gone! And left me behind when they knew I was here?" she exclaimed. "They can't have done such a thing."

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," replied Sir Marcus presently. "They certainly have gone. I met the boat. Borrow was expecting me to-day, you know—or maybe you don't know. And when he saw me in my felucca, he stopped his to explain that evidently there'd been a contretemps." (I'm sure Lark mispronounced that word!) "The temple guardian said a gentleman had arrived and taken the lady who was waiting, off in a boat. Of course Borrow thought I had come along, and persuaded you to go with me, after telling the guardian to let him know. I expect the guardian's got mighty little English: and they say white ladies all look alike to blacks. He must have mixed you up with some other lady. I suppose my folks haven't been the only people at Philae since you came?"

Mrs. East admitted that a number of "creatures" had come and gone. But she thought all had vanished before the departure of the galleys.

"You see you thought wrong. That's all there is to it," Sir Marcus assured her. And having taken these elaborate measures to secure the lady's society for himself alone (Nubian rowers don't count) he proceeded to lure her hastily into his own boat, lest any or all of the Obstacles should arrive to spoil his coup.

That was the manner of our marooning.

At the time, we were ignorant of what was happening behind our backs; the sunset for instance, and the only available boat calmly rowing away from the drowned Temple of Philae.

We were thinking of something else; and so was Sir Marcus, or he would not have forgotten the repentant promise he made himself, soon to send back a boat and take us off. We were, therefore, in the position of unrehearsed actors in a play who don't know what awaits them in the next act: while those who may read this can see the whole situation from above, below, and on both sides. Four of us, marooned at Philae, not knowing it, and night coming on.