would be like that now. Someone would come to tell her that
everything was all right and laugh with her at her foolish fright.
But underneath this strain of fervent reassurance ran a cold little
current like an underground brook, a seeping chill of dread and
vague fear and strange amazement that she should be here in this
lonely palace, peering out of darkened windows, waiting and
listening.

This time it _was_ the Captain's steps, coming up the stairs.
Perceptive of her impatience, he had left her to herself, till he
could bring word. Now she stood, listening to the nearing jingle
that accompanied his footsteps, her hands clasped involuntarily
against her breast in rigid tension. And when she saw his face
through the dusk, saw the courteous deprecation of it, the
solicitous sympathy, she did not need his words to tell her that it
was not yet all right.

There was nothing to be done. Legal and medical authorities united
in insisting that no one, not even the guest, should leave the
palace until the fear of spreading the infection was past. This
might be modified in a day or two, but for the present they were too
frightened to make exceptions.

And they were going up the Nile Friday morning, Arlee remembered
numbly. And this was Thursday night.

"Did the Evershams--did they answer my letter?" she said with dry
lips.

The Evershams, it seemed, had not been at the hotel. Perhaps when