His Hour | Page 4

bound, and Tamara, who
had always admired Tom on a horse, knew that she had never seen
anyone who seemed so much a part of his mount as this quaint
foreigner. "I suppose he is an Austrian," she said to herself, and then
added with English insular arrogance, "Only Austrians are like us."
The young man appeared quite indifferent to anything she thought. He
prepared to lead the way down beyond the Sphinx, apparently into the
desert.
Now that he was in front 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