"Most precious Mother," he was saying, as he stood flicking the pages
of the latest illustrated paper just arrived from Cairo, but which was
really a volume of the Book of Life written, printed and published by
Fate. "If it pleases you to stay when I am gone, will you do so just
as long as you find happiness in my dwelling?"

"You are going, Hugh,--so soon--for long?"

"There has come a report of lion in the Nubian Desert, as far north as
Deir el-Bahari. I can hardly believe it, for it is years and years
since a lion has been seen even in the Khor Baraka. However, a runner
from Nubia came in this morning, so there may be something in it. God
grant it, for the sport and the danger would be great, killing or being
killed, in the rocks and ruins of the Temple. Also I could visit my
Tents of Purple and of Gold. How long shall I be gone, sweet Mother?
That is known only to Allah, to whom our goings and our comings are as
the drifting of the sands."

"Your tents are very beautiful, my son. The servants are waiting for
your orders before pitching the--the--middle one. Without asking
permission, I went to inspect them. Just before your return, just to
see if everything was quite all right. One can never quite trust the
servants."

Jill might have been sitting on a rectory lawn, talking about her
linen-cupboard or spring-cleaning with a neighbour, instead of one of
the wonders of modern Egypt. In fact, so quaint was it that the man
laughed and swung her onto the balustrade.