His Hour | Page 4

of her, Tamara could not help admiring the lines of his figure. He was certainly a very decent shape, and certainly knew how to ride.
Then it came to her that this was a most singular adventure, and the faint pink mounted to her clear cheeks when she remembered how dreadfully shocked Millicent would be--or any of the family! But it was her night of rebellion, so things must take their course.
The young man rode in front until they were on the flat desert, then he drew rein and waited for her.
"You see," he said, "we skirt these rocks and then we shall ride through the village. One can very well imagine it has been the same always."
They entered the little town. The streets were extremely narrow and the dark houses gave an air of mystery--a speculation--what could be going on behind those closed shutters? Here and there a straight blue-clad figure slunk away round a corner. There was a deep silence and the moonlight made the shadows sharp as a knife. Then a shaft of red light would shoot from some strange low hovel as they passed, and they could see inside a circle of Arab Bedouins crouching over a fire. There seemed no hilarity, their faces were solemn as the grave.
Presently, in the narrowest and darkest street, there was a sound of tom-toms, strains of weird music and voices, and through the chinks of the half-opened shutters light streamed across the road--while a small crowd of Arabs were grouped about the gate in the wall holding donkeys and a camel.
"A wedding," said the young man. "They have escorted the bride. What pleasure to raise a veil and see a black face! But each one to his taste."
Tamara looked up at the window. She wondered what could be happening within--were the other wives there as well? She would have liked to have asked.
The young man saw her hesitation and said laconically--
"Well?"
"They are having a party," Tamara replied, with lame obviousness.
"Of course," said the young man. "Weddings and funerals--equally good occasions for company. They are so wise they leave all to fate; they do not tear their eyes out for something they cannot have--and fight after disappointment. They are philosophers, these Arabs."
The little crowd round the gate now barred the road, half good humoredly, half with menace.
"So, so," said the young man, riding in front. Then he laughed, and putting his hand in his pocket, brought out a quantity of silver and flung it among them with merry words in Arabic, while he pointed to the windows of the house.
Then he seized the bridle of Tamara's camel and started his horse forward. The crowd smiled now and began scrambling for the baksheesh, and so they got through in peace.
Neither spoke until they were in a silent lane again.
"Sometimes they can be quite disagreeable," he said, "but it is amusing to see it all. The Sheikh lives here--he fancies the pyramids belong to him, just as the Khedive fancies all Egypt is his--life is mostly imagination."
Now Tamara could see his face better as he looked up to her superior height on the camel. He had a little moustache and peculiarly chiseled lips--too chiseled for a man, she thought for a moment, until she noticed the firm jaw. His eyes were sleepy--slightly Oriental in their setting, and looked very dark, and yet something made her think that in daylight they might be blue or gray.
He did not smile at all; as he spoke his face was grave, but when something made him laugh as they turned the next corner, it transformed him. It was the rippling spontaneous gaiety of a child.
Two goats had got loose from opposite hovels and were butting at one another in the middle of the road.
He pulled up his horse and watched.
"I like any fight," he said.
But the goats fled in fear of him, so they went on.
Tamara was wondering why she felt so stupid. She wanted to ask her strange companion a number of questions. Who he was? What he was doing at the Sphinx?--and indeed in Egypt. Why he had spoken to her at all?--and yet appeared absolutely indifferent as they rode along! He had not asked her a single question or expressed the least curiosity. For some reason she felt piqued.
Presently they emerged at the end of the village where there was a small lake left by the retirement of the Nile. The moon, almost full, was mirrored in it. The scene was one of extreme beauty. The pyramids appeared an old rose pink, and everything else in tones of sapphire--not the green-blue of moonlight in other countries. All was breathlessly still and lifeless. Only they two, and the camel boys, alone in the night.
The dark line of trees which border the road faced them, and