saw the Nile meander among palm groves and tilled fields. Across his
balcony railings the Egyptian stars trooped down beside his very bed,
shaping old constellations for his dreams; while, to the south, he
looked out upon the vast untamable Body of the sands that carpeted the
world for thousands of miles towards Upper Egypt, Nubia, and the dread
Sahara itself. He wondered again why people thought it necessary to go
so far afield to know the Desert. Here, within half an hour of Cairo, it
lay breathing solemnly at his very doors.

For little Helouan, caught thus between the shoulders of the Libyan and
Arabian Deserts, is utterly sand-haunted. The Desert lies all round it
like a sea. Henriot felt he never could escape from it, as he moved
about the island whose coasts are washed with sand. Down each broad and
shining street the two end houses framed a vista of its dim
immensity--glimpses of shimmering blue, or flame-touched purple. There
were stretches of deep sea-green as well, far off upon its bosom. The
streets were open channels of approach, and the eye ran down them as
along the tube of a telescope laid to catch incredible distance out of
space. Through them the Desert reached in with long, thin feelers
towards the village. Its Being flooded into Helouan, and over it. Past
walls and houses, churches and hotels, the sea of Desert pressed in
silently with its myriad soft feet of sand. It poured in everywhere,
through crack and slit and crannie. These were reminders of possession
and ownership. And every passing wind that lifted eddies of dust at the
street corners were messages from the quiet, powerful Thing that
permitted Helouan to lie and dream so peacefully in the sunshine. Mere
artificial oasis, its existence was temporary, held on lease, just for
ninety-nine centuries or so.

This sea idea became insistent. For, in certain lights, and especially