The Fringe of the 
 Desert 
 
 By 
 
 Rachel Swete Macnamara 
 
 " And the Wise Man said, ' Those who love 
 with passion stand upon the Fringe 
 of the Desert,' and they who heard 
 laughed and passed on their way." 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York and London 
 fmicfterbocfeer press 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913 
 
 BY 
 RACHEL SWETE MACNAMARA 
 
 Ubc Iknfcfterbocfcer press, IRcw HJorfe
 
 So 
 
 T. E. M. 
 
 BECAUSE SHE LIKED IT AND 
 BELIEVED IN IT, AND BECAUSE 
 OF A CERTAIN GREY NOVEMBER 
 MORNING, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 
 2136941
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. "UNKNOWN, UNKISSED" . 3 
 
 II. REEDS BECOME DARTS . 19 
 
 III. "No OFFENCE MEANT" . . 3 2 
 
 IV. ON THE SHOCKING OF OYSTERS . . 43 
 V. "SUMLESS TREASURES" ... 58 
 
 VI. BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS . 69 
 
 VII. MAY DEW ... .80 
 
 VIII. THE TENNIS PARTY 9 2 
 
 IX. THE CAGE OF DREAMS . . .106 
 
 X. WILD FRUIT ... . 114 
 
 XL GHOSTS 130
 
 vi Contents 
 
 PART II 
 THE FATHER 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE WISHING CAP . . . 145 
 
 II. THE KEYHOLE OF EGYPT . . .157 
 
 III. THE PAST CAN NEVER DIE . . 171 
 
 IV. THE NILE-SONG FROM AFAR . .182 
 V. LIFE'S WHEEL . . . . .193 
 
 VI. THE LUCKY DAY .... 204 
 
 VII. "To-DAY Is SWEET" . . .220 
 
 VIII. BELHASARD . . . . 232 
 
 IX. DRIFTING 241 
 
 X. TEMPLES 252 
 
 XL IVORS FINDS THE LOVE-COLOUR . . 267 
 
 XII. "HE WHO Is NOT A FOOL SOMETIMES 
 
 Is A FOOL ALWAYS" . . . 283 
 
 XIII. THE TOLL . 290
 
 Contents vii 
 
 PART III 
 THE LOVERS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. "THERE Is No ARMOUR AGAINST FATE" 301 
 
 II. "WHERE Is YOUR To- MORROW?" . 310 
 
 III. THE FRINGE OF THE DESERT . .319 
 
 IV. THE MAGIC CIRCLE . . . . 329 
 V. GEZIRET-EL-SAADA .... 339 
 
 VI. THE GOLDEN BALL . . . .352 
 
 VII. A VOICE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS . 362 
 
 VIII. TO-MORROW 378 
 
 IX. MANY WATERS . . . .389 
 
 X. ANOTHER ASPECT OF THE PROBLEM . 399 
 
 XL THE SOLUTION 411 
 
 XII. LOVE TRIUMPHANT .... 420
 
 PART I 
 
 THE MOTHER
 
 THE 
 FRINGE OF THE DESERT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 "UNKNOWN, UNKISSED" 
 
 TJILDRED IVORS leaned back against the 
 fl cushion of the railway carriage, and looked 
 through the window with unseeing eyes. 
 
 In vain for her Spring lit the green fires of April 
 in hedge and woodland, or woke the orchards to a 
 blush of rose half-hidden in the virginal veil of pear- 
 or cherry-bloom; in vain the shepherd wind drove 
 flocks of cloud-sheep across a field of blue as vivid in 
 colour as the grass of the daisied meadows beneath, 
 where here and there some ancient smock-frocked 
 Lubin guarded woolly mothers and frolicsome lambs, 
 whose caprices brought a faint echo of the footsteps 
 of long ago Aprils dancing through the cobwebbed 
 corridors of his memory an echo which evoked a 
 vision of a curly head, perhaps, or a plump pink cheek, 
 the flash of an eye, or the roundness of a trim waist, to 
 be dismissed with a shake of a grizzled head and a 
 
 3
 
 4 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " Dust to dust ! " together with an entire forgetfulness 
 of the fact that out of the dust of dead yesterdays are 
 born the young Aprils of to-day. 
 
 In vain Spring tried to show the girl how she had 
 come to the towns; how she had touched the murky 
 trees and wakened the dingy back-gardens to a bur- 
 geoning of yellow and purple and white ; how here the 
 wind played the piper as he set the quaint shapes 
 on the clothes-lines dancing with a careless abandon 
 which was only restrained from full flight by the 
 capturing clothes-pins; how he hummed and sang 
 among the telegraph wires which rose and fell by the 
 side of the rushing train, burnished as gossamer 
 threads in the sunshine. The swaying and interlacing 
 of the glistening wires caught and held Hildred's 
 attention, for an instant vaguely piercing through the 
 cloud of thought which enwrapped her, but only for 
 an instant. Nature, Spring, the sweet influences of her 
 own youth were swept aside by the obsession of her 
 thoughts, of her new responsibilities, of her recently 
 acquired knowledge. 
 
 She had, of course, always known that her parents 
 did not live together. It was an accepted fact of 
 her childhood, unquestioned if occasionally wondered 
 at. 
 
 Her father, Ingram Ivors, the celebrated painter of 
 Eastern life, whose subtle harmonious pictures were 
 always boldly signed "Ego!" wintered in Egypt and 
 summered in various blue and sun-filled places, as his 
 chest was delicate. The dry air of the East, so she 
 had been led to believe, did not suit her mother, who 
 had a cottage at Burnaby; and the responsibilities 
 of parenthood apparently agreed with neither.
 
 "Unknown, Unkissed" 5 
 
 Money, the great non-essential, had not been 
 lacking; Hildred had never known material want. 
 Affection, too, had wanned her young life, for the two 
 elderly cousins with whom she had lived since she was 
 five years old had done their best to fill the pitiful 
 gaps of which the child was unaware. The Misses 
 Bering, mutual cousins of her father and mother, while 
 disapproving of the conduct of the Ivorses, had tried, 
 in their gentle conventional way, to create in Hil- 
 dred's mind an atmosphere of tenderness through 
 which their figures should loom mellow and devoid of 
 disfiguring angles; but unless such an atmosphere be 
 sun-illumined it is prone to thicken into fog. The fog 
 had always obscured her mother, save for a stilted 
 letter at Christmas-time in which a cheque was the 
 medium of remembrance between her and hers sin- 
 cerely H. D. Ivors. The slip of paper crackled 
 aggressively in Hildred's ears; it whispered of an irk- 
 some duty well fulfilled if only the amount dispatched 
 were sufficiently large. 
 
 There had been a lifting once which had revealed her 
 father, a figure of some personal charm, who had taken 
 her to the Zoo and the National Gallery, feasted her 
 on chocolates and ice-cream, lavished expensive trifles 
 on her, and parted from her with an ill-concealed air 
 of relief. 
 
 "My mother sends me cheques which hiss at me, 
 and my father gives me money which clinks like a bite," 
 thought the child Hildred. "What did I ever do to 
 make them dislike me so much?" 
 
 She had asked Cousin Antoinette the question, but 
 Miss Bering had the old-fashioned belief that what is 
 ignored is invisible, and therefore by a circuitous
 
 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 process of reasoning becomes non-existent; besides 
 she was loyal to those who had reposed the trust of 
 the child in her, so she made some vaguely non- 
 committal answer. 
 
 " I suppose it is because I was born at all, " Hildred 
 had pursued, unsatisfied. "I suppose some people 
 don't like children to be born." 
 
 "Hildred, it is God who sends the children," said 
 Miss Antoinette. 
 
 "I wonder why on earth He sent me," returned 
 Hildred, and had to learn a very long collect for 
 irreverence. 
 
 The fog closed round her father again; Hildred 
 felt that it would have lifted occasionally if she had 
 been beautiful or even pretty. She came to this 
 conclusion without rancour, accepting it rather as a 
 natural fact than a tangible source of grievance, for 
 young as she had been at their meeting, she realised 
 that in her father's eyes the supreme duty of woman 
 was to be beautiful; his other requirements of the sex, 
 as a sex, she had yet to discover. 
 
 The Misses Bering carefully superintended her 
 education; morally, mentally, and physically her 
 development had progressed as far as their limita- 
 tions allowed. She had had a year in Germany, 
 a year in Italy, and a year in France, and she had 
 returned to her cousins' house in Essex, prepared 
 to settle down, for a summer at least, to the ordi- 
 nary holiday life of the ordinary English girl. For 
 the winter she had the germ of plans which were yet 
 to mature. 
 
 And lo! on her twentieth birthday a bombshell! 
 Her placid, delightfully ordered existence was over,
 
 " Unknown, Unkissed " 7 
 
 and she came into contact with hitherto hidden 
 principalities and powers. 
 
 The bombshell took the innocent, if unexpected, 
 form of a letter from her mother. It was undated, as it 
 had been enclosed in one sent to Miss Dering the 
 previous Christmas, with a request that she would 
 give it to Hildred on her twentieth birthday "which 
 is sometime in April, I believe. " Strange irony that 
 the Festival of the Christ Child, the season of peace 
 and good-will, should be the only data on which Mrs. 
 Ivors remembered the existence of her own rejected 
 offspring ! The letter ran : 
 
 "WmXECOT, BURNABY. 
 
 "DEAR HILDRED, 
 
 "Your father and I, though we differed on 
 many points, agreed on one thing, the subject of your 
 education. You 'have had every chance of develop- 
 ment; you have seen a good deal of the world, and 
 you ought by this time to be fitted to have the ordering 
 of your own life. We " (the conjunction seemed 
 incredible to Hildred) "have made no claims upon 
 you hitherto, but we decided years ago that when you 
 attained the age of twenty you were to divide between 
 us the last year of your dependent life. You will, 
 therefore, come to me for six months as soon as you 
 conveniently can. In the autumn you are to go to 
 your father for six months, at the end of which period 
 you will be free to choose for yourself. You will be 
 at liberty to live with either of us, if you wish, or to 
 follow some individual career of your own choosing. 
 An adequate provision will be made for you in either 
 case.
 
 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Let me know what day and hour you will arrive. 
 There is a good train which reaches Burnaby at about 
 five. Don't forget to change at Ledwych. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "H. D. IVORS." 
 
 Phrases from this curious letter set themselves to 
 the recurrent beat of the wheel-music, as the train bore 
 Hildred to her destination. The days since its arrival 
 seemed dreamlike, unreal. Her known world had 
 tumbled in chaos about her; what strange Phoenix 
 was to rise from the ashes of her dreams? 
 
 There was no possibility of appeal ; she had not been 
 asked, she had been ordered to go. It was not as if 
 the reproachful ghosts of the unclaimed years had 
 stirred remorse or regret in either parent. No, there 
 was no savour of sweetness in this command. It was 
 the result of long laid-aside concurrence; Fate had 
 had her in a net throughout these happy careless- 
 seeming years a vast invisible net, of which she 
 suddenly felt the mesh. 
 
 A dull resentment burned in the girl's heart as she 
 looked at the flying landscape with unseeing eyes. 
 What did she owe of the duty and affection inculcated 
 by Cousin Antoinette to either parent? 
 
 "We decided" "You will therefore come" "We 
 decided" "You will therefore come." The puppet 
 words beat again and again upon her brain. They 
 pulled the strings, first her mother and then her father, 
 and she must dance as they wished. Well, they should 
 see what sort of a tune she would dance to! She set 
 her lips in a hard line ; then her mood melted a little. 
 After all, nothing had been asked of her. If they had
 
 " Unknown, Unkissed " 9 
 
 not given throughout these past years, which now 
 loomed magical through a glow of rose, neither had 
 they demanded anything. It should not be too diffi- 
 cult to be a polite and considerate guest for a time in 
 the house of this stranger- woman, supposing that both 
 ignored realities and claimed no more or no less than 
 mutual courtesy. 
 
 She had that happy faculty, which belongs but to 
 youth and the grasshopper-natured, of living abso- 
 lutely in the present and curtaining the doors of the 
 future so that neither sight nor sound could penetrate 
 to disturb. 
 
 As for her father, his " She has not even a feature ! ' ' 
 still rang in her ears with so loud a clanguor as to 
 drown any memory of his subsequent charm. He still 
 was behind the curtain. So be it. 
 
 Yet there were undeniable charms in the face, which 
 at its fledgling worst "had not even a feature. " There 
 was much to attract in the steadfast look of the thickly 
 lashed grey eyes, in the soft fair hair, in the clear pure 
 skin. If the nose were blunt rather than Grecian it 
 was not ill formed, and if the mouth were not curved 
 enough for beauty no meannesses lurked in its firm 
 lines. Hildred's face was square rather than oval, and 
 the contour of the cheek and chin showed sense and 
 determination. If a compensating softness lay in her 
 eyes the fringe of brown lashes made the discovery 
 difficult. Long ago she had learned to keep her fancies 
 and feelings to herself; an unchildlike reticence had 
 been superimposed upon a frank and fearless nature, 
 and the years, in thus disciplining her, had taught her 
 self-reliance also. Hildred's eyes and lips kept her 
 vague girl-secrets well. The Misses Bering never
 
 io The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 guessed at the insurgent soul behind the barrier of 
 calm words and ways. 
 
 They considered dear Hildred placid and reliable, 
 adaptable and affectionate, one to be led by the lightest 
 whisper of those in authority a classification to 
 which Hildred 's firm lips and somewhat obstinate chin 
 gave an emphatic denial. 
 
 She thought over the phrasing of her mother's letter 
 as she leaned her head back against the fawn-coloured 
 cushions; the unsoftened bluntness, the terse com- 
 mand, the clear decision of every word. Immutable as 
 Fate, drained of the faintest essence of personal desire 
 or emotion it seemed to Hildred that the only individ- 
 ual note in the whole letter was struck by the three 
 business-like sentences at its end. The curt directions 
 as to train-times and changes premised at least a 
 human being, not an aloof spinner of the threads of 
 destiny. 
 
 The train whistled, slackened, stopped at Ledwych 
 Junction. 
 
 Hildred rose with reluctance, her supposed freedom 
 shackled by another link in the unseen chain. 
 
 The train for Burnaby stood waiting at a distant 
 platform, puffing with a fussy importance, though ten 
 minutes should elapse before its departure. Hildred 
 chose an empty carriage and her favoured corner, 
 opened a magazine and glanced at its pages; then let 
 it fall listlessly upon her lap, her thoughts too busy 
 with the tide of her own affairs to take even a passing 
 interest in any romance of fiction. 
 
 Presently she looked at her watch to see how much 
 solitude yet remained to her. 
 
 "The train is due to start," she thought. "Evi-
 
 " Unknown, Unkissed " n 
 
 dently they are not particular as to time on these small 
 branch lines. I have half an hour left still, thank 
 goodness." 
 
 At the moment there was a bustle on the platform, 
 a stirring of the waters of peace which had engulfed 
 the station with the departure of the London Express ; 
 and to Hildred's annoyance two people were ushered 
 into her compartment by an officious porter. At 
 least she now considered him officious, although in his 
 attendance on her she had thought him both civil and 
 obliging. So much for the point of view. 
 
 She glanced at the newcomers with some interest. 
 Her years in foreign countries had cured her of the 
 average English person's detestation of the society of 
 his unknown fellow-beings either at home or abroad. 
 Her present resentment at the invasion of her solitude 
 was more for the occasion than the event. As people 
 they interested her; as intruders she could have dis- 
 pensed with them. 
 
 "Unmistakably 'county,'" was her rapid mental 
 summing-up. "No one but an English county lady 
 would dare to wear those boots and those rough tweeds 
 on a day like this. There is the courage of centuries 
 behind that hairdressing, too that calm conviction of 
 being of the salt of the earth which makes one rise 
 superior to such follies as fashion. The man is evi- 
 dently her husband. His clothes and air spell turnips. 
 Probably he never reads anything but the Times and 
 a sporting paper. Yet they look nice somehow, and 
 wholesome and open-air. I wonder if my mother is 
 anything like that. " 
 
 She had never even seen a photograph of Mrs. 
 Ivors. Early questioning had only elicited from Miss
 
 12 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Bering the facts that she had been as "straight as a 
 rush, " and had had "a fresh complexion. " The same 
 description could easily be applied to the woman 
 opposite, whose face had a somewhat hard, weather- 
 beaten look which added several years to her toll of 
 thirty- two. 
 
 Presently she began to talk to her husband, at first 
 in low tones, then, with a careless disregard of the 
 unknown auditor, a little louder, with a crispness of 
 enunciation which made non-hearing impossible. The 
 husband answered and laughed in what Hildred called 
 to herself "a turnippy way." The subject of their 
 conversation was somebody named "Harry," whose 
 doings they discussed with considerable freedom, 
 ignoring the possibility of Hildred's having any 
 acquaintance with the said Harry with the assured 
 contempt of the said salt for those deemed in any way 
 below it, or rather not of it. Hildred was not of it, 
 decidedly. Even a cursory glance revealed an un- 
 county-like smartness about her hat, hair, and shoes. 
 She looked "French," the lady had decided. That 
 was enough. No one whom she knew could possibly 
 be going to have a French-looking visitor. It was not 
 even the season for changing governesses, she reflected, 
 so with a complacent sense of security she continued 
 to discuss the absent Harry's peculiarities. 
 
 Hildred only caught a word or two at first. 
 
 "Harry's latest captaining a hockey-team at 
 Mudford. Would n't play goal, if you please, too dull 
 should rush into the fray if the ball came near." 
 
 " Ball, " murmured the husband. " Any thin' in the 
 shape of a ball is in old Harry's line, except the sort 
 you dance at." He chuckled, amused at his own
 
 " Unknown, Unkissed " 13 
 
 joke. "That sort of ball is n't much in Harry's line, 
 is it, old girl?" 
 
 They both laughed, and with the cosmopolitan 
 detachment of one who has spent three years among 
 the capitals of Europe, and the hasty judgment of 
 youth, Hildred decided that the average English person 
 was ready to be amused by the veriest trifle in a way 
 which showed a deplorable lack of a true sense of 
 humour. 
 
 "Every kind of ball except the one," pursued the 
 man. "Each in its season, hockey, tennis, croquet, 
 golf, and what 's the name of the thing that had such 
 a run about ten years ago?" 
 
 "Diabolo, " suggested the wife. 
 
 "Diabolo isn't a ball, you goose! No; what was 
 it? Tiddly-winks no, ping-pong. That 'sit." 
 
 The wife brightened. She sat up straighter in her 
 corner, and laughed again as if at some reminiscence. 
 
 "Yes. I remember the ping-pong craze. It was 
 before we were married. Harry was cracked about it 
 and ransacked the parish to get people to play. First 
 thing after breakfast and last thing at night Harry was 
 at it if a partner was to be had. I, though I was n't 
 much good, was once commandeered. I remember the 
 mannish look of the room, the cigarettes, the tantalus 
 and siphons on the sideboard, the racquets and things 
 all about the place. I remember I felt quite embar- 
 rassed, almost as ^ I was in a bachelor's rooms. It 
 was very funny." 
 
 They both laughed, and Hildred wondered a little. 
 If Harry were not a bachelor, he must be either a 
 married man or a widower. What was the point of 
 the joke?
 
 14 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Poor old Harry!" said the man. "Jack of all 
 trades and master of none. It 's the same at every 
 game, so far and no farther. A bit of a failure, but a 
 good old sporting sort all the same. " 
 
 The train slackened at a small wayside station, and 
 the two got out. Hildred saw them mount into a 
 four-wheeled dog-cart which awaited them on the 
 road outside, but the train moved on again before 
 their departure, as the man was making determined 
 inquiries of a rather agitated station-master. 
 
 "Some precious parcel that's missing," Hildred 
 supposed with a slight curl of her lip. The episode of 
 her travelling companions and the triviality of their 
 conversation had served to divert the current of her 
 thoughts for a time, and, as she looked at her watch 
 and consulted the Bradshaw with which Miss Bering 
 had presented her, she realised with a start that Burna- 
 by was the next station, and that her train was due to 
 arrive there in, to be precise, exactly two minutes. 
 
 She rose, put her magazine and Bradshaw back into 
 her travelling-bag, took down her coat and umbrella 
 from the rack, and waited in that painful readiness 
 which every traveller knows. In Hildred's case the 
 lagging moments were tinctured with the balm of 
 reprieve. Her hands felt cold; her heart beat in 
 absurd irregular throbs ; a mist of nervousness blurred 
 the green landscape through which she was being 
 borne to her fate. 
 
 "We decided You will therefore come." Once 
 again the wheels in their turning beat out that refrain 
 of command, in time, it seemed, to the beating of 
 her heart. The train whistled and began to slow 
 down.
 
 " Unknown, Unkissed " 15 
 
 "What 's the use of being nervous?" she chid her- 
 self. " It 's inevitable, and in a moment I shall know." 
 
 The train stopped. With an effort the girl looked 
 out of the window. With the exception of a few 
 rustics the only person visible was a spare, dark-clad 
 form at the far end of the platform. 
 
 Hildred got out and gave her bag to a porter. ' ' Yes, 
 there are two trunks in the van and a hat-box," she 
 said. "Is there any one to meet me? I am Miss 
 Ivors. " 
 
 "Here's Mrs. Ivors, miss," answered the porter. 
 "Am I to fetch your boxes up to Whitecot presently?" 
 
 "Wait a moment." 
 
 Hildred turned to meet her mother, who had come 
 near during the interlude. 
 
 "You are Hildred, I suppose?" said Mrs. Ivors, 
 holding out her hand. "How do you do?" 
 
 "Yes, I am Hildred," replied the girl, taking it. 
 "I am very well, thank you." 
 
 The same grey eyes, clear as rain, looked at each 
 other from the opposing faces. It was a moment 
 which should have been compact of emotion, the 
 meeting of unknown mother with unknown daughter, 
 but the air was charged with an electricity of conflict 
 rather than communion, and there was a flash, as of 
 steel, from glance to glance. 
 
 "Straight as a rush" and as spare. Yes, that 
 description still applied. The fresh complexion had 
 become fixed in a dull red mesh, and the colourless 
 hair, once a soft brown, was cropped close as a man's, 
 and surmounted by a man's straw hat with a black 
 ribbon band. Mrs. Ivors was dressed in a dark grey 
 coat and skirt, severely cut, a white shirt with a stiff
 
 1 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 collar fastened by a small black bow, which was pinned 
 crooked, and black brogued shoes. 
 
 "I 've told Johnny to bring up your boxes pre- 
 sently, " she said. "We '11 walk up to Whitecot. It 's 
 only a stone's throw. I hope you are a good walker." 
 
 She spoke with the air of one to whom social ameni- 
 ties came with difficulty, as she flashed a quick glance 
 at Hildred's shoes. 
 
 The girl caught the glance, apprehending disparage- 
 ment. 
 
 "I can do eight or ten miles a day," she returned, 
 "and I have two pairs of strong boots in my box." 
 
 "Are you a golfer, by any chance?" asked Mrs. 
 Ivors, with a glimmer of interest. 
 
 "No, I have never even seen it played." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! There are good links not far from Burnaby . ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps I could learn." 
 
 "It is always 'perhaps' as regards golf," said Mrs. 
 Ivors, dubiously. "Even I, enthusiastic as I am, find 
 it as disheartening as it is fascinating. Do you mind 
 coming along this lane? It is a short cut to White- 
 cot, and I don't want to go through the village. " 
 
 "I love short cuts," answered Hildred, feeling for 
 the first time a faint spark of sympathy with her 
 mother. She could well understand why she did not 
 wish to go through the village with a hitherto unheard- 
 of daughter in her train. 
 
 As they turned into the lane Mrs. Ivors pulled off 
 her coat, and Hildred noticed that the stud had fallen 
 out of the back of her collar, leaving a line of tanned 
 neck exposed ; also that the end of the safety-pin which 
 connected skirt and shirt protruded from beneath her 
 black leather belt. It was a white safety-pin, too.
 
 4 ' Unknown, Unkissed " 17 
 
 Conversation languished. There seemed nothing 
 to say. The round world seemed suddenly empty 
 of anything that could provoke remark. In silence 
 they came to a gate, which Mrs. Ivors opened. 
 
 "Here we are," she said, with a sigh of unmistak- 
 able relief. 
 
 They entered an untidy place, shaggy of grass and 
 overgrown of shrub, divided by a path once gravelled, 
 but now beaten bare down the centre while the gravel 
 lay in ridges on either side. Whitecot itself loomed 
 in front of them, as coldly whitewashed, as repellently 
 bare as any wind-swept coastguard station. 
 
 The hall door stood open. There was no sign of life 
 about the place. Hildred, sensitive to impressions, 
 felt as if this was unusual. The round patches on the 
 grass and near the shrubs looked as if animals habitu- 
 ally rested there, but otherwise there was no hint of 
 their presence. 
 
 "I told Katherine to lock up the dogs," said Mrs. 
 Ivors, oddly answering her thoughts. "Oh, no, 
 not on account of you, but because of Johnny the 
 porter. They hate him and he is terrified of them. 
 I am always afraid that they '11 bite him." 
 
 "And that you '11 be obliged to have them 
 destroyed." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors nodded. "If they bit Johnny it would 
 disagree with them in some way or other." She 
 opened a door leading off the hall. "Will you go in 
 there for a minute, please, while I just look in at the 
 dogs to see that they 're all right ?" 
 
 She was gone before Hildred could answer. The 
 girl stopped on the threshold, and looked about the 
 room with a sense of surprise. It seemed oddly
 
 1 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 familiar and yet it was quite unlike any room she had 
 ever seen, with its plain bare furniture, its shabby 
 leather-covered arm-chairs, a pair of rusty foils on the 
 wall, a case of golf-clubs, so brilliantly polished that, 
 like Blake's tiger, they seemed "burning bright," a 
 dusty tennis racquet in a press, a rubber-handled cro- 
 quet mallet of peculiar shape, cigarette-boxes on the 
 table, an ash-tray or two, newly painted golf -balls dry- 
 ing on the window-ledge, a tantalus, and soda-water 
 siphons on the sideboard. Where had she seen it all 
 before? Where read of it? Where heard of it? 
 Swift on the thought flashed the clue, and she remem- 
 bered the lady in the train. 
 
 This was the room she had laughingly sketched for 
 her husband, and her mother yes, her mother must 
 be the Harry at whom they had mocked. 
 
 H. D. Ivors. Harriet Bering Ivors Harry. The 
 transition was absurdly easy. Hildred's face burned 
 suddenly, but her lips trembled.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 REEDS BECOME DARTS 
 
 T IILDRED stood still for a moment, a riot of 
 JTl sensations linked about her preventing motion. 
 A chasm seemed to separate her from the ordered 
 security, the eventless calm of the past. What had 
 she, with her studies of the culture of larger Europe, 
 her cosmopolitan experiences, to do with this futile 
 devotee of bat and ball? If she had led the life of 
 the average English hockey-playing girl, she thought 
 bitterly, she would have had more in common with her 
 mother. She was tired and pricked with disappoint- 
 ment. The reality differed sharply even from her 
 vaguest expectations. 
 
 She looked again at the dusty tennis racquet, the 
 gleaming golf-clubs, and the sight unchained her. 
 She moved towards the empty fireplace and sank 
 down into one of the shabby chairs. The leather 
 was rubbed into holes in places, through which 
 sprouted tufts of black horsehair; the spring of 
 the seat was broken and sank into a canvas bag 
 underneath, but the chair was comfortable and 
 adapted itself consolingly to the human frame in a 
 lounging posture, a condition of things more often to 
 be noted in the chair of a man than of a woman. An 
 
 19
 
 2O The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ash-tray stood on a carved stool beside it, and an 
 instant vision of feet on the chimney-piece seen 
 through a haze of cigarette-smoke flashed vividly 
 across Hildred's mind. 
 
 The door swung ajar behind her. Through it the 
 evening air struck a little chill. Hildred would have 
 been glad of a fire the flame that so often warms 
 mentally as well as physically. 
 
 From the hall outside came the introductory sound 
 of heavy footsteps and murmuring voices, leading up 
 to a fugue of bumps and thumps, which was chorused 
 by the faint far barking of dogs. 
 
 "My trunks," thought the girl. "Evidently the 
 dogs hear, and hunger for the blood of Johnny the 
 porter. I suppose some one is with him, and that I 
 need n't worry about the things." 
 
 Some one was with him. In a moment a woman 
 stalked into the room a veritable Grenadier in petti- 
 coats, raw-boned and weather-beaten and demanded 
 a shilling. 
 
 " For what? " asked Hildred. 
 
 "For Johnny the porter, miss. He 's just brought 
 up your boxes the whole lot of them." Her tone 
 suggested a waggon-load, rather than the three which 
 Hildred considered quite a modest allowance. 
 
 "Is a shilling enough?" she inquired. 
 
 "Tis what he asked, miss. Pay him no more." 
 She took the shilling and strode out of the room, 
 the strings of her cap fluttering absurdly as she 
 went. 
 
 A butterfly on a block of granite had more congruity 
 and less contrast in its placing than that ridiculous 
 white bow on Katherine Saunders's head. It was a
 
 Reeds Become Darts 21 
 
 concession to convention demanded by herself, and 
 she was fortunately unaware of its ludicrous effect. 
 
 Tired and depressed as she was, Mildred could not 
 help smiling when Katherine came in again, this time 
 bearing a tea-tray with a cup and saucer, a dumpy 
 brown teapot, and some slices of bread and butter on a 
 plate patterned with rosebuds. 
 
 The smile woke a flicker in Katherine's gaunt face 
 as she removed the ash-tray and set the other on the 
 stool beside the girl. 
 
 "There! You '11 want your tea. My duty to you, 
 miss. I suppose you don't remember Katherine." 
 
 The tone was dry, drained of expectation or emotion, 
 yet Hildred found herself wishing that she could rake 
 up some lost memory from the forgotten past to which 
 Katherine evidently belonged. 
 
 "I 'm afraid I don't. I was very little when 
 she stopped abruptly and flushed. "Were you my 
 nurse long ago?" 
 
 " No, miss. I was your grandmamma's housemaid. 
 When she died I came to live with your mamma. 
 This is the little plate you used to have when you came 
 to Hurst, miss. ' Baby 'osy p'ate ' you used to call it." 
 
 The sound of baby words from those thin lips had 
 no incongruity for Hildred. Here was some one who 
 remembered, who perhaps had loved her in her lost 
 childhood. A rush of tears flooded her eyes. She 
 shut the thick fringe of her lashes upon them, but one 
 or two clear drops forced their way through, trembling 
 before they fell silently, and rolled, uncommented 
 upon, down her cheeks. When she opened her eyes 
 Katherine had poured her out a cup of tea with blobs 
 of cream on the top.
 
 22 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "I didn't put in any sugar. Some people don't 
 like it." 
 
 "I like a little," Hildred answered. "What deli- 
 cious tea ! I never tasted anything so good. I believe 
 it 's because 't was made in a brown teapot. It never 
 tastes so nice out of any other kind. " 
 
 " Now eat up that bread and butter, every bit of it, " 
 commanded Katherine, "or I '11 cut you a slice less 
 next time. You should have had the silver teapot 
 only your mamma could not remember where she had 
 put the key of the plate-chest. " 
 
 "I 'd much rather have the brown one. I 'm sure 
 it was out of a brown teapot Mother Elder came." 
 Hildred spoke simply and naturally as to an old friend, 
 not realising any oddity in the situation. 
 
 Katherine stood beside her, looking down at her 
 with a face devoid of any expression but a truculent 
 friendliness. 
 
 " There you go with your whimsies just as when you 
 were a baby child! You 'd pretend to pick the roses 
 off of that plate and smell them, and give some to me 
 and say, 'One for Kat'in.' ' 
 
 "Were you fond of me then, Katherine?" 
 
 Katherine shied at emotion. ' ' Fond ? What fond ? 
 I 've no time for nonsense, " she said, picking up the 
 tea-tray. " I 'd better tell your mamma that Johnny 
 has gone and that she can let out them dogs. I '11 put 
 a can of hot water in your room, for you '11 be glad of a 
 wash after your journey, miss. Will you come with 
 me? Or perhaps your mamma would like to take you 
 up herself." 
 
 "I'll wait for her, thank you, Katherine," said 
 Hildred, warmed more by the first touch of humanity
 
 Reeds Become Darts 23 
 
 she had encountered than by the material comfort of 
 the tea. 
 
 As Katherine marched away, her cap-strings seemed 
 to the girl like the vanishing flutter of a flag of truce. 
 There was nothing really rude about her brusquerie; 
 it merely marked the uncompromising attitude 
 towards life of a strong personality. Hildred felt that 
 she had found a friend ; that whatever hidden chord of 
 feeling her baby hands had touched was ready to 
 vibrate again at her need. 
 
 A distant barking and yelping was followed by what 
 seemed to the girl a veritable tornado of dogs, a cy- 
 clone of leaping, barking, excited creatures of which 
 she was the centre. Yet, when the whirlwind sub- 
 sided and resolved itself into its panting elements she 
 saw that there were but four, a fox-terrier, an Irish 
 terrier, a retriever, and a queer mongrel, black, shaggy, 
 and fierce-looking, which Mrs. Ivors had once rescued 
 from drowning, and which had been ever since her 
 slave and her shadow. 
 
 "These are Nip, Pat, and Como, " she named them ; 
 then her eyes softened a little as she gently hit the 
 mongrel's head, "and this is Tartar, the best watch- 
 dog in the world. I saved his life and he 's never 
 forgotten it. I believe it was Johnny the porter who 
 tried to drown him and that 's why they all have a 
 grudge against him. This fellow shows every white 
 tooth in his head when he sees him, eh, don't you, you 
 old savage? Go over and make friends with Miss 
 Ivors." 
 
 The big beast rose and went slowly over to Hildred, 
 smelled her hand and sniffed at her skirt, and then 
 returned to his mistress. The other dogs had already
 
 24 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 responded to her advances. Indeed, Nip, the fox- 
 terrier, had calmly curled himself up against her foot, 
 prepared for slumber. 
 
 "You 've a way with dogs, I see," said Mrs. Ivors, 
 in her curt fashion. 
 
 "I am fond of animals." 
 
 " I distrust any one who is n't. There must be some 
 black spot in them. Most women spoil dogs horribly. 
 I don't." 
 
 "What do you mean by spoiling?" 
 
 " Pampering, over-feeding, under-exercising, making 
 puppets of them and not treating them as the rational 
 beings they are. These fellows only get one meal a 
 day, with an odd bone now and again. Look at their 
 condition ! You can feel their ribs. They have none 
 of the wheezy puffiness of women's dogs. They 're 
 not the soft fat beasts that lie about on cushions. 
 They 're as keen as mustard on sport and exercise. 
 People here borrow them for rat-hunts, but a rat- 
 hunt is a thing I bar. " She flung her hat aside, as a 
 man would on entering a room, looked for matches and 
 lit a cigarette, then sat down in the chair opposite 
 Hildred. "No, I bar the taking of life," Mrs. Ivors 
 continued, drawing in the smoke with evident enjoy- 
 ment. "Life, such as it is, is given to every created 
 thing, and no one has any right to take it wantonly. " 
 
 "What about fishing?" asked Hildred. 
 
 "That's not taking it wantonly. The fish are 
 killed to be eaten a very different matter. ' Live and 
 let live' is one of my mottoes. Apropos of which, 
 that 's my favourite chair you are sitting in, and I 
 never feel really comfortable in any other. " 
 
 Hildred rose, flushed and uncomfortable.
 
 Reeds Become Darts 25 
 
 "I am very sorry. I could not possibly know 
 
 "No, how could you?" said Mrs. Ivors, with a 
 sudden odd little chuckle. "Now, don't get red and 
 offended. ' No offence meant, none taken, ' is another 
 of my mottoes, and if you 're not looking out for other 
 people's corns you are far less likely to tread on 'em. 
 We 11 have a straight talk this evening, you and I, and 
 then we '11 start fair to-morrow." 
 
 "I should like to go to my room now and unpack 
 if you don't mind." 
 
 "Why should I mind? Off with you. There is no 
 standing on ceremony at Whitecot, as you '11 soon find 
 out." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors rose and ensconced herself in the vacated 
 chair, while Hildred, who thought she was following 
 her, moved towards the door. On the threshold she 
 turned to see her fleeting vision crystallised into 
 reality. Through a blue haze of cigarette-smoke she 
 saw her mother reclining in the depths of the chair, her 
 feet, if not exactly on the chimney-piece, resting on the 
 top ledge of the grate, Tartar's black head against her 
 knee, her whole attitude instinct with lazy content. 
 It was a pose so contradictory to the declaration of 
 energy made by the clubs and racquets that Hildred 
 felt for the first time how much she had still to learn 
 of her own sex, dubbed by the caustic Foote " a micro- 
 cosm. " She regretted the vague impulse which had 
 led her to refuse Katherine's offer in order to wait for 
 her mother, who was not even looking in her direction, 
 but seemed intent upon the symmetry of the smoke- 
 rings she was blowing into the air. The aloof absorp- 
 tion of the pose chilled the girl afresh. She had opened
 
 26 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 her lips for an inquiry, but closed the gates of speech 
 with a mental clang as she turned away. 
 
 There were no architectural complexities at White- 
 cot ; the hall narrowed at the stairway into a passage 
 which led directly into the kitchen, where a cheery 
 clattering and clanking premised the presence of 
 Katherine. 
 
 Hildred stood at the door and looked in. It was a 
 pleasant concentration of comfort and cleanliness, 
 with its cream walls and red hearthplace, its tiled 
 floor inviting entry, its brasses and coppers winking 
 welcome, and a canary in the sunny window trilling 
 fioriture, with a delicious ease which a Tetrazzini 
 might have envied but never hoped to equal. 
 
 Katherine was chopping spinach at the table facing 
 the door, and looked up when she saw Hildred. The 
 girl smiled instinctively, though there was no apparent 
 provocative or response in the hard gaunt face. It 
 was rather an intuitive perception of a deeply hidden 
 tenderness, an unconscious illogical sympathy which 
 some mysterious inexpressible radiation from Kather- 
 ine evoked than any outward realisation of attraction. 
 
 "You have n't taken off your things yet, miss," 
 Katherine asserted gruffly, with a perfect grasp of the 
 situation. " Come along up with me this minute and 
 give me your keys and I '11 take out some of your 
 traps for you." 
 
 "Will that thing spoil by being left?" asked Hildred 
 pointing to the spinach. 
 
 "That thing indeed! It 's easily seen you 're not 
 country-bred to call my beautiful spinach that thing! " 
 
 ' ' Is that spinach ? ' ' The girl delicately touched one 
 long green leaf. " I never saw it in that stage before. "
 
 Reeds Become Darts 27 
 
 "You will again, miss, before you 're much older. 
 I grow it out in the garden beyond. " 
 
 " Oh, is there a garden ? I love a garden." 
 
 " Only a kitchen-garden, miss. I grow my own pot- 
 herbs and as many vegetables as I can manage. " 
 
 " Does my mother ? " 
 
 "Bless you, no, miss. Your mamma has no head 
 for gardening, nor no hands either. As likely as not 
 she 'd stick things root uppermost. I found her 
 planting some primroses upside-down once, but she 
 said it was because she wanted them to come up pink ! " 
 
 "What an extraordinary idea!" cried the girl, who 
 thought it the conception of a lunatic. 
 
 " Folks about here say it 's true, but these ones had 
 never a chance, for them dogs scratched 'em all up 
 again. " 
 
 "Perhaps you 'd let me help you with the garden 
 sometimes." 
 
 "Perhaps I would," returned Katherine, "but this 
 won't unpack your boxes and I 'm a busy woman. " 
 
 She stalked out of the kitchen, sniffing disapprov- 
 ingly as she passed the dining-room door. Hildred felt 
 a mischievous inclination to probe for her opinions 
 on smoking, but knew that in the circumstances the 
 impulse was unseemly. Her restraint was rewarded 
 by one emphatic utterance from Katherine, addressed 
 apparently to the top of the stairs, as she looked 
 neither to right nor to left as she mounted rigidly 
 upwards. 
 
 "I don't hold with women copying men's habits. 
 They 've enough messy ways of their own without 
 picking up theirs. This is your room, miss." She 
 threw open a door on the landing.
 
 28 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 It led into a narrow slip of a room which ran the 
 length of the house and had a window at either end, 
 one of which looked into a neat kitchen-garden, the 
 other on the untidy, overgrown front. Its walls were 
 papered in white with a trellis pattern of rosebuds, and 
 the short casement-curtains were of a soft pink through 
 which the sunshine at the western window filtered in a 
 rosy glow. There were rosebuds on the bedspread, 
 and a rose-chintz covered the low basket-chair. It 
 was all fresh, fragrantly symbolic of the opening rose 
 of womanhood for whom it had been planned. 
 
 Katherine stood on the threshold and looked about 
 her with grim pride. Hildred's quick glance scanned 
 the room from end to end. She was surprised, charm- 
 ed, and oddly touched. Here, surely were mother- 
 thought, mother-care, subtly, unobtrusively expressed. 
 She drew a long breath, realising, as she saw the pretty, 
 dainty room, that she was tired, and that here in this 
 strange house was a haven, an oasis, a well-spring of 
 rest. In imagination she saw one or two of her 
 favourite pictures on the walls, some of her best- 
 beloved books on the little bow-legged table. 
 
 Katherine's voice broke harshly upon her pleasant 
 musings. 
 
 "I suppose it 's nothing like as grand as you 're 
 accustomed to, but it 's the best we can do here for 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, Katherine, it 's lovely! " cried the girl in warm 
 repentance for her abstraction. "It's perfectly 
 charming. No one could desire a prettier room. " 
 
 " H'm. You took long enough to say so, miss. " 
 
 "I was day-dreaming a silly habit of mine." 
 
 "There's not much to encourage day-dreams at
 
 Reeds Become Darts 29 
 
 Whitecot," Katherine returned. "Give me your 
 keys." 
 
 Hildred handed them over, and sat down in the 
 chair near the west window. Over the low garden 
 wall she saw a green field starred with daisies and 
 sheltered with trees just bursting into greenest film 
 of leaf. Through the thin brown branches she caught 
 a glimpse of dim blue hills, a gracious rolling outline 
 towards which the sun was slowly sinking. The 
 fruit-trees in the little garden beneath were breaking 
 into a mist of bloom, though the rosy buds of the 
 gnarled apple-tree beneath her had not yet unfolded 
 their incense-filled cups to the sun. On its topmost 
 branch a thrush fluted, answering one in the distant 
 elms whose roulades were thinned to the elfin silver 
 of an echo. 
 
 Hildred listened, chin on hand, while the balm of 
 evening stole softly into her heart. 
 
 "Dinner's at half -past seven," said Katherine, 
 rising from her knees. "I 've taken out all you '11 
 want for the present, and if you leave the rest I '11 
 do them after dinner. We don't dress, " she added as 
 an afterthought. 
 
 "Don't we? Thank you very much, Katherine, 
 but please don't bother about the rest. I am quite 
 used to looking after myself. " 
 
 "So much the better, " said Katherine gruffly. 
 
 She went to the washstand to put away Mildred's 
 sponge-bag, then she fidgeted a little with the girl's 
 silver and ivory toilet-set ; then she laid a pink dressing 
 gown in readiness on the end of the bed a Japanese 
 cre"pe with a design of storks in flight. 
 
 "You 'd think you got this to match the room,"
 
 30 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 she said, lingering unaccountably. "It's a funny 
 pattern all them birds. " 
 
 "Yes," answered Hildred softly. "I love a pink 
 and white bedroom. How did my mother know, I 
 wonder?" 
 
 "Your mamma?" Katherine paused on the thresh- 
 old in an attitude of arrested expectancy. " She takes 
 no account of them things, bless her!" 
 
 "Who chose it all, then?" 
 
 "Well, miss," mumbled Katherine, as embarrassed 
 at the desired question as if she had been taxed with 
 some misdemeanour, "it was myself." 
 
 "You, Katherine? How how very clever of 
 you!" 
 
 "What clever?" sniffed Katherine. "Your 
 mamma give me a good cheque, and said to do 
 the best I could with it, as she knew nothing 
 about them things. So I got one of them 'Hints 
 on House Decoration' books, and a nice wall-paper 
 recommended in ' Room for a Young Lady ' and did 
 the rest myself." 
 
 "What? Not the papering and painting?" 
 
 "Every dash of it." 
 
 "You 're wonderful, Katherine." 
 
 " Oh, no, miss, there was nothing wonderful about it. 
 You see, my poor father was a sailor, so I was born 
 handy so to speak. Don't look too close at them 
 little curtains, for the stitches are n't as small as I 'd 
 wish." 
 
 " But how did you guess my tastes so exactly? " 
 
 Katherine fumbled with the door-handle, and gave 
 a contemptuous little grunt. 
 
 "It 's fair ridiculous the way trifles will stick in a
 
 Reeds Become Darts 31 
 
 person's mind." She was half-way out of the room 
 as she spoke. "You see, miss, I I remembered the 
 rosy plate. " 
 
 She shut the door behind her with a bang.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 "NO OFFENCE MEANT" 
 
 T TILDRED'S mind was in a whirl as she went 
 11 downstairs to dinner. She had changed her 
 coat and skirt for a simple frock of palest grey, whose 
 turned-back collar of lace was fastened with a knot of 
 deep rose. A ribbon to match was twisted through 
 her soft masses of hair. Her cheeks were lit by an 
 inner excitement, and her throat rose round and 
 white above the cobweb lace. She looked, as far as 
 external appearance went, a daughter of whom any 
 mother might well feel proud. 
 
 She had been since her arrival the pendulum of her 
 own emotions, whose alternations made her feel a 
 mental dizziness. A sensation of warmth stole about 
 her heart when she thought of the crusty Katherine, 
 and a barrier of chill aloofness loomed forbiddingly 
 when her fancy strayed towards her mother. 
 
 The sunny kitchen and the Mother Elder teapot 
 seemed to typify the one feeling, the cheerless sitting- 
 room with its smoke-obscured occupant the other. 
 She felt an unwonted nervousness as she turned the 
 handle of the door and went in, to meet with yet 
 another contradiction of expectancy. 
 
 A fire crackled invitingly in the grate; the curtains 
 32
 
 "No Offence Meant" 33 
 
 were drawn; the table, sparkling with glass and silver, 
 was lit by scarlet-shaded candles in branching cande- 
 labra. Comfort, hitherto absent from the room, 
 now radiated an invitation to enter. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors stood on the hearthrug, her back to the 
 fire, her hands clasped behind her. Her concession 
 to the social code consisted of a black brocade skirt of 
 antique cut, and a white silk shirt adorned at the neck 
 with a cream lace tie whose ends were caught together 
 with a gold brooch in a design of crossed golf-clubs. 
 No pin fastened the tie to the shirt at the neck, where 
 an angle of silk neck-band had already worked its way 
 out from beneath it; the patent-leather belt which 
 incongruously connected bodice and skirt was much 
 tighter than the waistband of the latter, which was 
 visible all the way round. 
 
 "You look very smart," she said to Hildred, with 
 her odd little chuckle. "Very smart and very 
 feminine." 
 
 An obvious retort trembled upon the girl's lips, 
 but she restrained it, and answered quietly: 
 
 "I am glad you like my frock. Cousin Antoinette 
 liked it best of all my new ones." 
 
 " Oh, I did n't say I liked it. I only said it looked 
 smart." 
 
 "Well, that 's what one generally aims at in dress, 
 is n't it?" 
 
 "Is it? I 'm sure I don't know. I never trouble 
 my head about such things. To be decently and 
 comfortably clothed is all that is necessary to my 
 mind." 
 
 " Meredecency is n't enough surely," Hildred began, 
 every feminine instinct afire. 
 
 3
 
 34 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "No, it 's too much for the present taste," put in 
 Mrs. Ivors, with her dry chuckle. " Here 's Katherine 
 with the soup, thank goodness. I 'm as hungry as a 
 hawk." 
 
 She sat down without waiting for Hildred, as 
 Katherine placed the silver soup-tureen on the table. 
 
 "Clear soup? You know I don't like clear soup, 
 Katherine." 
 
 "I thought young miss might," said Katherine. 
 
 "And you want to please the visitor, eh? You 
 ought to feel flattered, Hildred." 
 
 " We may as well try to, any way," retorted Kather- 
 ine, as she whisked a soup plate in front of Hildred. 
 
 "I like any kind of soup," began the girl, "from 
 bouillon to " 
 
 "Please talk English," Mrs. Ivors interrupted. 
 "I don't understand any language but my own, and 
 not all of that either." 
 
 "What part?" asked Hildred, interested at the 
 unexpected ending of the sentence. 
 
 " The artistic jargon and cult-of-beauty piffle," 
 she returned with a frown. "I suppose you are full 
 of it after your three years abroad." 
 
 "I enjoyed the picture-galleries, certainly," replied 
 Hildred quietly, though a flush stole over her face. 
 The words jarred the ivory doors of some inner shrine. 
 
 "No need to get red because a person's tastes don't 
 coincide with yours. How narrow people's minds 
 would become if they only talked to those who agreed 
 with every word they said! Argument is the spice 
 of life." 
 
 "And contradiction the pepper." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors chuckled. " I like that. Yes, the more
 
 "No Offence Meant" 35 
 
 the hotter of course. I believe we shall get on, after 
 all, if you are not too soft to creep out of your shell 
 of convention." 
 
 Katherine strode in with a dish of lamb. 
 
 "Young miss likes her room," she said, dumping it 
 in front of her mistress. 
 
 "Does she? That's right. For myself I don't 
 care about that sort of thing. Rooms to me are 
 places to eat and sleep in when they belong to myself, 
 to be fiendishly bored in when they belong to other 
 people. Tea-parties, for instance, where you are 
 expected to sit up and wag your tail." 
 
 Hildred laughed. It was a long time since so 
 youthful a sound had echoed through that room. It 
 was as if a breath of spring had suddenly materialised. 
 
 "I cannot imagine you either begging or wagging 
 your tail. 
 
 "No, can you? Neither I nor my dogs are 
 puppets." 
 
 "Where are the dogs, by the way?" 
 
 " Tartar is here at my feet. The others are out 
 adventuring." 
 
 "Like the three Musketeers," said Hildred, her 
 face lit up by the spark of her fancy. 
 
 "Who are they?" 
 
 "Oh people in a book," returned the girl lamely. 
 "A book of Dumas's " 
 
 "Another of your foreigners, I suppose. Well, I 
 hardly ever read books. I don't believe in 'em. 
 They say it is a bad bird that fouls its own nest, but 
 one of those writing fellows did so chap named 
 Spencer, I think. He said that book-knowledge was 
 knowledge at second-hand. Decent people have no
 
 36 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 use for second-hand goods. I don't know what else 
 the fellow wrote, but if he wrote the greatest rot in 
 the world he also wrote one of the most sensible things 
 a man ever said. Get your knowledge, as you must 
 get your experience, at first-hand, or not at all." 
 
 "But when one has not the opportunity " 
 
 "You can always make the opportunity for what- 
 ever you want." 
 
 "But in the whole range of literature and 
 science " 
 
 "What good do literature and science do if you 
 come across a dog with a broken leg?" asked Mrs. 
 Ivors triumphantly. Like many people she only 
 enjoyed an argument when it marched victoriously 
 along one side of a subject, and that her own. When 
 the banners fluttered in the other direction the vaunted 
 "spice of life" lost its savour. 
 
 Dimly Hildred realised this, and determined to 
 pursue the topic no farther. 
 
 "We must compromise," she said, with determined 
 lightness, "or else agree to differ." 
 
 "We '11 agree to differ then," returned Mrs. Ivors. 
 "I '11 have nothing to do with compromises. No," 
 she added, drawing her brows together, "I 've done 
 with compromise for ever." 
 
 Some memory seemed to darken her thoughts. 
 She frowned heavily as she ate the crisp lettuce- 
 leaves which stood near her in a cut-glass bowl. At 
 last she looked up and met the clear young gaze of 
 eyes so like her own that she might have been looking 
 into a mirror. 
 
 " Your name was a compromise," she said suddenly. 
 "I wanted to call you Helena after my mother;
 
 " No Offence Meant " 37 
 
 your father wished to call you Mildred after his. He 
 said we would compromise, so you were christened 
 Mildred! You see how much I got by the com- 
 promise!" She gave a hard little laugh. 
 
 Hildred was silent. The abrupt lifting of the veil 
 of the past was poignant to the point of speechless- 
 ness. It was as if she were suddenly poised upon a 
 peak of judgment with an abyss yawning upon either 
 side. 
 
 "One little letter," continued Mrs. Ivors, with a 
 concentrated bitterness. " That is about all I have 
 ever got by compromise." 
 
 Looking downwards from Hildred 's peak she saw 
 that mists obscured the depths, and realised in a flash 
 that without clarity of vision there could be no just 
 perception of reality. Whether the mists were of 
 prejudice or ignorance none but those clear-sighted 
 enough to penetrate them dare presume to judge. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Ivors. "You don't say any- 
 thing?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say." 
 
 " It' s a charity to find a modern girl who has sense 
 enough to remain silent in such a case instead of 
 rushing into speech with unconsidered drivel." 
 
 Though the words premised a vague commenda- 
 tion Hildred could not feel sure that approval really 
 rang in her mother's tone; a vague vibration of dis- 
 appointment seemed to sound through the rough 
 sentences. It was a relief when Mrs. Ivors rose, and 
 taking a handful of nuts from a green dish plunged 
 towards her favourite chair. 
 
 "Have some, too," she said to the girl. "Bring 
 'em along to the fire and eat 'em here."
 
 38 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred put a few on a plate and did as she was 
 requested, first handing her mother the nutcrackers. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors indignantly waved them away. 
 
 " What do I want them for while my teeth are sound 
 and strong?" she asked cracking a nut as she spoke. 
 
 "They won't remain so long if you continue to do 
 that." 
 
 " They '11 last out my time, or as long as I want 'em 
 to." She cracked another and threw the shells into 
 the fire. 
 
 Hildred shivered. It was a slight but irrepressible 
 movement. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors stared fixedly at her, a nut poised 
 midway between lap and mouth for a tense second; 
 then it fell upon the silk skirt with a tiny dull noise. 
 
 "Good God, how like your father you are when you 
 do that!" she whispered. 
 
 Hildred was startled. The words of reminiscence 
 cut; there was no softening balm of memory to heal 
 the wounds they made. 
 
 "When I do what?" she asked dully. 
 
 "Shiver like that. Heavens, that little shiver and 
 the eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. How 
 you bring it all back!" Mrs. Ivors stared into the 
 fire for a moment, her lips drawn into a thin hard 
 line. Then she rose, shook the nut-shells into the 
 grate, got a cigarette, lit it, and put her feet upon 
 the ledge. 
 
 " It 's not your fault, child," she said at last, with 
 an evident desire to be absolutely fair. "You can't 
 help it. We '11 change the subject. I 'm not in the 
 humour for spirit-raising to-night." 
 
 "I must say one thing before we change the sub-
 
 " No Offence Meant " 39 
 
 ject," Hildred answered. She looked very fair and 
 young in her grey gown as she leaned against the 
 chimney-piece looking down at the sleek cropped head 
 of her mother, haloed, unsaintly, by the cigarette- 
 smoke's hazy blue. 
 
 "And that is?" Mrs. Ivors made a ring with 
 elaborate care. 
 
 "That is that it cannot be such a surprise to you to 
 find that I am like my father." Hildred's voice 
 trembled a little ; she paused for a second to steady it. 
 " There is nothing startling in the fact that a child 
 should resemble one or other of its parents, even 
 parents whom it has never seen." 
 
 "Sound, if slightly inaccurate," Mrs. Ivors re- 
 turned, with a careful air of detachment. "Trite if 
 true; but sarcasm is unbecoming to you, my dear 
 Hildred." 
 
 "I had no intention of being sarcastic." 
 
 " No need to get red over it. Perhaps you had n't. 
 I 'm nothing if not fair. You '11 find me just to deal 
 with, Hildred, if nothing more. I 'm always honest. 
 I say what I mean and mean what I say. The naked 
 truth is good enough for me. I don't want trimmings 
 or fripperies." 
 
 " The naked truth may be very indecent. There 
 is perhaps a necessary garment of reticence." 
 
 "I don't know that I admit that." 
 
 "You won't leave her a rag, then?" Hildred felt 
 again that tingle of amusement which her mother's 
 former argument had provoked, despite the sensation 
 of hurt annoyance which pricked her. 
 
 "She ought n't to need one." 
 
 " Then it 's sheer curiosity on your part," cried
 
 40 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred with spirit. "Poor Truth! No wonder she 
 dives to the bottom of a well!" 
 
 "You're a good sort after all!" said Mrs. Ivors, 
 pulling the other chair near. " Sit down there and be 
 sociable. I don't care what you do or say so long as 
 you don't shiver disapproval at me. That I cannot 
 stand. By the way I forgot to ask you if you smoked. " 
 
 Hildred shook her head as she sank into the chair, 
 a well-stuffed, stiff, scarcely used replica of its dis- 
 reputable but comfortable fellow. She felt suddenly 
 tired and lonely, with a sense of having been cut 
 adrift in the dark. 
 
 " No? It 's the one bad habit I learned from your 
 father. He taught me first, and then when I had got 
 to look upon it more as a necessity than a luxury he 
 but I said I did n't want spirit-raising to-night, 
 did n't I?" 
 
 She leaned forward and poked the fire so vigorously 
 that the grey ashes and embers rained through the 
 bars, leaving but a fragment of fire which fell apart 
 in disconsolate fading brightnesses. 
 
 With the poker still in her hand she bent towards 
 Hildred, spilling cigarette ashes on the rubbed brocade 
 of her skirt. " Be honest with me. That 's all I ask. 
 No pretence, no embroideries. 'No offence meant, 
 none taken. ' No looking out for slights, no huffiness, 
 no sarcasm. ' Give and take, ' is my motto, but don't 
 do one if you 're not prepared to do the other. All 
 giving is very nearly as bad as all taking." She 
 paused abruptly. "Now would n't you like to go to 
 bed? You 're looking tired, though I don't approve 
 of young people being tired. I was never tired when 
 I was young. "
 
 " No Offence Meant" 41 
 
 "Were you ever young?" asked Hildred quietly. 
 She knew that the question savoured of imperti- 
 nence, but she was filled with a numb resentment 
 against Fate in general, and beside that cold sense as 
 of nothing mattering she was faintly and maliciously 
 desirous of testing Mrs. Ivors's remarkable theories. 
 
 The dull fixed red of her mother's complexion 
 became suddenly transformed to a glow, and she 
 looked up with eyes that were lit by the quick fire 
 of youth itself. 
 
 Hildred had an instant vision of alert vivacious 
 twenty peeping from behind the hard mask of two- 
 score years and ten. 
 
 " 'No offence meant, none taken,' I hope," she 
 quoted softly, with an odd flash of sympathy, inex- 
 plicable, almost undesired. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors laughed. The glow faded; the vision 
 vanished. Sweet and Twenty was dead; slain long 
 ago by the inexorable years, her epitaph engraved in 
 ever-deepening lines by the hieroglyphic hand of 
 Time. She hesitated for a moment. 
 
 "None taken," she repeated. "Off with you, 
 Hildred. Breakfast at half -past eight. Good-night. 
 Would you like a dog to sleep with you?" she added 
 in hospitable after-thought. 
 
 "No, thank you," the girl answered, her indecision 
 as regarded leave-taking crystallised to the omission 
 of ceremonial by her mother's curt dismissal. " Good- 
 night." 
 
 The hall-door was open; she stood there for a 
 moment drawing in deep breaths of the cold, sweet 
 night air. The sky was a vast blue darkness pricked 
 with trembling stars, a far aloof immensity. She
 
 42 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 turned away with a little shiver and mounted the 
 stairs wearily to her own room. A thread of light 
 gleamed from beneath the door, widening into a wel- 
 come glow as she pushed it open and entered, to find 
 the rosy curtains drawn, a little lamp burning brightly 
 and oh, feminine luxury! a warm hot-water bottle 
 nestling between the cool slipperiness of lavender- 
 scented linen sheets. The outer world was shut out. 
 Here was sanctuary, warmed and scented, and sacred 
 from the intrusion of anything save winged thoughts 
 that would not be debarred.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ON THE SHOCKING OF OYSTERS 
 
 HILDRED woke at dawn, lapped, forgetfully, in 
 all the soft observances of custom. She turned 
 drowsily upon the other side, thinking, as far as her 
 sleepy consciousness permitted, that presently she 
 would hear Cousin Antoinette's cuckoo-clock send 
 forth five or six sweet hollow calls to wakefulness, 
 that she would have another delicious hour or two of 
 drowsiness before Mary brought up her early tea 
 and prepared her bath, that Her thoughts merged 
 towards slumber again, while the outside world held 
 its breath in the dewy silence of that one still mystic 
 moment which comes before its awakening. The 
 grey dawn crept in a tide of pale light farther and 
 farther up the sky, and the sigh of awaking day 
 breathed imperceptibly from horizon to meadow, 
 through dew-drenched lanes and perfumed orchards, 
 faintly stirred the curtains of Hildred's casement, and 
 stole across her face like a spirit-breath. 
 
 She moved; she awoke to full consciousness this 
 time; to the realisation of her vanished past and 
 unfamiliar present; awoke with a dull ache of un- 
 recognising wonder, of half -conscious, half-checked 
 resentment, and lay there in her straight white bed, 
 
 43
 
 44 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 gazing round the dimly seen pretty room, as yet 
 unimpressed by the personality of its occupant. It 
 was a grey moment unlit by any shaft of sunlight. 
 
 Then, sudden and beautiful as when the first 
 morning-stars sang of the first morning mysteries, a 
 black-bird's song, "richest carol of all the singing 
 throats," clove the silence with a golden spear of 
 sound. It fell apart, shattered in an exquisite 
 "mosaic of the air," bird-music that rang from leaf- 
 filmed tree to flowering bushes heavy with dew, while 
 an undercurrent of pipe and twitter shrilled faintly 
 from packed hedge and eave and garden. 
 
 The rose of dawn unfolded in the sky to the lyric 
 rapture of herald larks, and on the cottage roof the 
 first swallows preened themselves and sang their soft 
 love-songs that sound so like twittering bird-kisses. 
 
 Hildred's room was suffused with a rose-light, day 
 gleaming through the drawn curtains. Her heart 
 lifted, swelled, thrilled, to the music that owned an 
 ecstasy unknown to the songs of fuller day. Her 
 world had not turned topsy-turvy after all; it was 
 only circumstances which had changed vagrant 
 circumstances which had no real power to bind or 
 chill. The rose-red citadel of her imagination was left 
 unbeleaguered ; she leaned from its ramparts and 
 caught a faint vision, tempered to mortal eyes as the 
 wonder of stars in a pool, of the glory of God. 
 
 " The angels keep their ancient places; 
 Turn but a stone, and start a wing! " 
 
 she quoted softly. 
 
 Her eyes were wet, but there was no sting in those
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 45 
 
 tears. They were tributary to the beautiful rather 
 than the sorrowful, and distilled all essence of bitter- 
 ness from the girl's heart through their crystal dew. 
 
 The murmured shamefaced prayer of youth for 
 greater tolerance and a wider understanding of her 
 mother's puzzling personality ascended to the Throne 
 on the winged thanksgiving of the larks, and Hildred, 
 healthily sleepy still, turned from the glowing eastern 
 window to the more subdued radiance of the west, 
 and slept until Katherine aroused her with a hard 
 cold hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Tea for the soft of the earth, as your mamma 
 says, miss." Katherine's voice shattered iridescent 
 dreams. 
 
 Hildred sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes with her 
 knuckles as a child might, and looking very young 
 for her twenty years with her fair hair tumbling 
 about her shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, Katherine, is it time to get up? Why did you 
 trouble to bring me tea if no one else takes it?" 
 
 "What trouble? I had to boil the water for your 
 bath, and I thought you might like it." 
 
 "I love it," cried Hildred, clasping her arms round 
 her knees. "But is there no bath-room here?" 
 
 "Miss, you're not in London. You're in the 
 heart of the country. In fact, being at the far end 
 of the village you might almost say we was ' county ' ! " 
 Katherine gave a grim laugh at her own humour. 
 "County we was once, and I suppose once county 
 always county. Except them Miss Derings now. 
 They went too near London, and when you go too 
 near London you get to be what do you call the 
 word, miss?"
 
 46 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Do you mean suburban, I wonder?" asked 
 Hildred, amused. 
 
 "Yes, that 's the word, suburbian. So I 've heard 
 your mamma say, at least." 
 
 "Is she up yet?" 
 
 " What, up? She had her cold tub and some grape- 
 nuts an hour ago, and she 's in the dining-room now 
 polishing them golf sticks of hers as if her life depended 
 on it." 
 
 Katherine's voice, in speaking of Mrs. Ivors, always 
 rang on the same note, a note of half-fierce, half- 
 grudging affection, or resentful toleration, of perpetual 
 judgment tempered with a regretful leniency. It 
 seemed to Hildred as if she reserved all rights of 
 criticism to herself, and would resent very keenly 
 any infringement upon copyright of condemnation. 
 
 Meanwhile with quick abrupt movements she had 
 pulled back the curtains and arranged the girl's bath. 
 With her, conversation never implied waste of time, 
 for her tongue moved in concert with other physical 
 activities. 
 
 "Johnny, the porter, brought me a string of trout 
 this morning. Don't be long now, for they '11 be spoilt 
 if they' re not eaten hot off the pan." 
 
 "Is he a friend of yours, Katherine?" 
 
 "A friend of mine? That loon? I paid him for 
 them, of course." 
 
 Katherine stalked indignantly out of the room, 
 while Hildred sprang from her bed with a laugh that 
 echoed through the open doorway and penetrated 
 down the little stairs as far as the dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors sat in the window polishing a heavy 
 putter to the last degree of brightness. At the sound
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 47 
 
 of that ripple of laughter she let it fall heedlessly. 
 It struck Tartar, who lay at her feet as usual, and he 
 sprang aside with a quick yelp at the unexpected hurt. 
 Mrs. Ivors took no notice; her senses seemed con- 
 centrated upon the one effort of listening. But 
 silence followed upon the closing of the bedroom door, 
 and she turned to her work with an odd little noise 
 between a sigh and a grunt. 
 
 "Queer sound for this house," she said, and she 
 l?egan to whistle a popular air quite incorrectly 
 between half -shut teeth. It was a little idiosyncrasy 
 which she shared in common with many unmusical 
 persons, that desire, in moments of perturbation or 
 emotion, to hum or whistle formless, tuneless tunes, 
 until the very teeth of the hearers are set on edge. 
 
 In this case the only auditor was Tartar, whose 
 musical education had been presumably neglected, 
 for the tattered air was as a siren's lure to his shaggy 
 body, which crept back closer and closer to his mistress 
 until he was near enough to push a moist nose into 
 her hand and mutely beg forgiveness for a fault which 
 she had committed. 
 
 She patted his head as she looked into his pleading 
 eyes. 
 
 "Good old fellow! Foolish old boy," she said in 
 her gruffest dog- voice. " Must n't get in the way, 
 you know." 
 
 And Tartar curled up at her feet again with a happy 
 snort, in glorious ignorance of the rigid principles of 
 his mistress's great gospel of Give and Take. 
 
 She looked up later from her polishing when Hildred 
 entered, comprehending with one quick glance the 
 daintiness without the details of the girl's attire
 
 48 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "frippery," as she mentally phrased it. Yet the 
 dark blue alpaca was simplicity itself, having for sole 
 adornment delicately stitched lawn collar and cuffs 
 fastened with tiny black bows. Hildred's hair was 
 well brushed and well arranged, and shone with the 
 soft gloss of youth; her step was light and alert; a 
 faint tinge of the morning's glow lingered in her cheeks. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors's thick cropped hair was still wet from 
 her bath; she had not troubled to dry it properly, and 
 it showed at the back the hasty dividing marks of the 
 comb. She wore a flannel shirt whose collar lacked 
 a sufficiency of fastening in the rear, a deficiency 
 which she had striven to supply with the aid of a 
 crooked black pin. 
 
 "Good-morning," said Hildred, entering with a 
 bodyguard of dogs. "You look busy." 
 
 "I am busy," returned Mrs. Ivors. "I 'm due for 
 a round with the pro. at ten o'clock and the links are 
 four miles off." 
 
 "Four miles off?" Hildred caught at the one 
 intelligible phrase. " That 's a long way. How do 
 you get there?" 
 
 "Bicycle. Do you ride?" 
 
 "No. I never cared to learn somehow." 
 
 "H'm. Lethargic, I suppose! That puts your 
 golfing out of the question unless you care to walk 
 to the links." 
 
 A tincture of relief in Mrs. Ivors's tones pricked 
 Hildred to quick retort. 
 
 "I shouldn't mind the walk in the least, but I 
 don't think I 'd care about the golf when I got there." 
 
 " With that feeling to start on you 'd never make a 
 golfer."
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 49 
 
 "I 'm not very keen on games." 
 
 "Golf is not a game." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "It 's a pursuit." 
 
 "Yes," returned Hildred, "I 've seen it defined in 
 a penny paper as the pursuit of pale pills by purple 
 people." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors sniffed; her eyes flashed quick wrath at 
 the vulgar impertinence of such a comment on such 
 a subject. The amour propre of the enthusiast was 
 stung, but repartee failed her for once. The only 
 available retort implied ground-shifting. 
 
 "I wonder you read such trash," was all she per- 
 mitted herself to say. 
 
 "Even great minds such as mine need occasional 
 relaxation," Hildred replied, with a little tilt of her 
 nose. "I didn't realise that golf was such a sacred 
 subject. I '11 keep off the grass greens you call 
 them, don't you? for the future." 
 
 "I never knew a game so trying to the temper," 
 pursued Mrs. Ivors, melting at the other's conces- 
 sion. "When you get into a bad bunker or are 
 stymied " 
 
 "There! it 's a new language!" cried Hildred. "I 
 don't understand a word of what you 've said, what 
 a bunker is, or a pro. or a stymie. The only golf 
 word I know is one which seems entirely applicable 
 to the whole game, I beg its pardon, pursuit! and 
 that is bogey!" 
 
 Mrs. Ivors gave her queer little chuckle. "Come 
 to breakfast, you ignorant, impertinent child, and 
 don't talk of what your infantile mind cannot even 
 grasp!" Her tone was one of high good-humour,
 
 50 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 as she carefully laid her clubs aside, jumped up, and 
 went towards the table. 
 
 In spite of open windows the smell of smoke lin- 
 gered in the room mingled with a suggestion of dogs 
 and leather, but above this distinctly unfeminine 
 atmosphere rose the delicious aroma of frying trout. 
 
 "What a heavenly smell!" cried Hildred, sniffing 
 appreciatively. " I am developing a country appetite 
 already, and feel inclined to call down blessings on 
 the head of Johnny, the porter, for having caught 
 those trout." 
 
 "Did he? I'm afraid I never trouble much 
 about the commissariat. I leave all those things to 
 Katherine." 
 
 "She was quite annoyed with me when I asked her 
 if Johnny were a friend of hers. I thought perhaps 
 he had brought the fish as an offering." 
 
 "An offering to Katherine? No man living would 
 be bold enough to venture on such an act. Her atti- 
 tude towards men is that of the female spider, who 
 looks upon the male sex as necessary for one object 
 only, and devours her lovers as soon as that is 
 accomplished." 
 
 Hildred reddened at Mrs. Ivors's unconsidered 
 speech. With her cousins, Nature, in what they 
 considered her grosser forms, had been ignored to the 
 point of exclusion from speech if not from actual fact. 
 They belonged heart and soul to that short-sighted 
 generation which exists in every age, who, unable to 
 see beyond their noses, and lacking spectacles, declare 
 that what is invisible to their purblind eyes does not 
 exist. 
 
 Hildred's quick flush was one of innocence not
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 51 
 
 prudery, and it deepened at Mrs. Ivors's prompt 
 comment : 
 
 "Ha! I 've shocked you. Look, Katherine, I Ve 
 made my daughter blush!" 
 
 "Better a blush on the face than a spot on the 
 heart," retorted Katherine, as she dashed the dish 
 with the trout on the table in front of Hildred, and 
 flounced out of the room. 
 
 "No, you haven't shocked me," said Hildred, 
 when she had gone. "But I 'm not used to much 
 plain speaking. At Wilmerhurst things were always 
 wrapped up so that one was afraid of appearing 
 indelicate " 
 
 " If you uncovered so much as the toe of the naked 
 truth," shot in Mrs. Ivors, jubilant. "Yes. I know. 
 Makes you sick of wrappings and coverings. Feel 
 you must tear them away, or, or " 
 
 "Bust!" suggested Hildred vulgarly. 
 
 Grey eyes met grey eyes and laughter twinkled in 
 them. 
 
 "She's not shocked after all, Katherine," said 
 Mrs. Ivors, as Katherine marched in with the tea 
 and toast. 
 
 "That surprises me, ma'am," retorted Katherine, 
 "for sometimes the things you say is enough to 
 shock an oyster!" 
 
 "Are oysters easily shocked, Katherine?" asked 
 Hildred mischievously. Her three years' sojourn in 
 countries where the relations between mistress and 
 maid lack the starched formality of English house- 
 holds made the frank intercourse with Katherine 
 seem natural to her, and even homelike. The Misses 
 Bering, gentle, well-bred women, would have been
 
 52 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 horrified at ^Catherine's unconventional familiarity 
 towards her mistress. 
 
 Katherine turned from the door at the girl's ques- 
 tion, her hand on her hip. Her smooth hair boasted 
 no butterfly incongruity this morning, and in her neat 
 print dress and linen apron she owned a working-day 
 trimness, which was lacking in Mrs. Ivors's attire, 
 severe though it purported to be. As her gaze met 
 Hildred's twinkle she deliberately shut her left eye 
 in a desperate attempt at a wink. 
 
 " If you ever hear of one that is, I '11 be glad to know 
 of it," she said, and left with the honours of war. 
 
 "One to Katherine," exclaimed Mrs. Ivors, attack- 
 ing the trout with gusto. "Now what are you going 
 to do with yourself to-day?" 
 
 Hildred felt the thread of her days hang loosely as 
 yet. Hitherto she had not known much freedom of 
 action; her hours had been filled, her amusements 
 chosen, her few accomplishments fostered with a 
 sedulous care that left but odd moments for the 
 occupation of the rose-red citadel of dreams. She 
 was conscious that her mother expected an answer as 
 prompt and decisive as her question had been, and 
 the knowledge spurred her to uncalculated response. 
 
 "I shall first unpack my boxes and put away my 
 things." 
 
 "Your clothes?" 
 
 "Yes, and my treasures," said the girl with a little 
 shamefaced laugh at the implied sentiment. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors's brow darkened, and a hard little laugh 
 followed Hildred's like a mocking echo. 
 
 "Your treasures? I know the sort. Photographs 
 of stiff Madonnas, dirty little bits of pottery or en-
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 53 
 
 amel, rags of brocade of beautiful colours." She put 
 quotation marks in her voice about the "beautiful 
 colours," and the words stung with a disproportionate 
 keenness. 
 
 Hildred's ready flush fluttered flags of distress, but 
 there was to be no hauling down of her colours. 
 
 "You needn't see them," she returned quietly. 
 " In fact I 'd rather you did n't." 
 
 The words seemed to hurt Mrs. Ivors oddly. 
 
 "You 'd rather I did n't see your little rubbishes?" 
 she repeated, with the same ring in her voice. Through 
 the bitterness was a vibration of pain, Hildred thought, 
 and pain of any sort touched a heart that beat ten- 
 derly under its mantle of quiet reticence. 
 
 "Only if they irritate you," she answered softly. 
 "Besides you must remember they are not trumpery 
 to me. I said treasures, remember, and there are no 
 real dust-collectors among them." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors pounced on the word with avidity. 
 "No dust-collectors! I 'm glad of that, I hate dust. 
 And I don't understand Art, or sympathise much 
 with it either." 
 
 Evading hinted personalities Hildred tried to turn 
 the conversation towards the general. 
 
 "One usually implies the other, does n't it?" 
 
 "One what?" asked Mrs. Ivors gruffly, throwing 
 the backbone of a trout to Tartar, who caught it and 
 laid it at her feet in silent disgust. 
 
 "Sympathy implies understanding." 
 
 "Oh, don't talk rot," said Mrs. Ivors rudely. 
 "Bad dog, I won't give you anything else. Life is 
 too short, my dear Hildred, for these abstract discus- 
 sions. Softness and sentiment aren't in my line,
 
 54 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 and I believe they 're only veneered on to you, too." 
 She looked at her watch and stretched her legs out 
 under the table. " Time for a smoke, I declare. 
 What luck!" 
 
 She pulled a chain which was fastened to the buckle 
 of her belt, and by its means drew from her pocket a 
 silver cigarette-case and match-box combined, a bag, 
 and a small pigskin purse. 
 
 "Good idea, is n't it? My own invention entirely. 
 I have all necessaries ready to hand, from smoke to 
 latch-key." 
 
 She held it out for the girl to admire, and as Hildred 
 bent over it and praised the handiness of the contriv- 
 ance she felt that her mother's favourite motto, "No 
 offence meant," should be blazoned in large, compelling 
 letters at the head and foot of every conversation, so 
 that no trick or device of apparent rudeness should 
 cause it to be overlooked or indeed forgotten. 
 
 "This does n't tell me, though, what you 're going 
 to do with yourself all day." 
 
 " I thought, perhaps, if you did n't mind, of tidying 
 up the front garden a little." 
 
 "Mind? I should be delighted. The dogs have 
 made a perfect wilderness of the place with their 
 scratchings and bone-buryings, and I never have time 
 to see to any of these things myself. Katherine says 
 that the kitchen-garden gives her enough to do. 
 You might see, by the way, if she 's cut and rolled 
 the tennis-ground. I told her to do it before you 
 came, on the off-chance of your playing, and I had n 't 
 time to see about it. Do you play tennis, by the way ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes. It 's the one game I 'm really fond of." 
 
 "Good. We'll get up some next week if the
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 55 
 
 weather keeps fine. I '11 send a line to the Waveneys 
 to tell them to come over." 
 
 ' ' That will be pleasant . Who are the Waveneys ?" 
 
 "Cousins of mine of yours too "Mrs. Ivors 
 interpolated awkwardly, "who live at Standish. At 
 least Laura Waveney is a cousin of mine. She was 
 one of the Suffolk Derings." 
 
 "I don't know very much about any of my 
 relations." 
 
 "No, Antoinette and Mary didn't keep up with 
 their people when they left the country." 
 
 "I think it was the other way round," Hildred put 
 in. "Their people seemed to forget them very 
 easily when they lost their money and came down 
 in the world." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. Nothing of the sort. The Suffolk 
 Derings but that 's neither here nor there. Laura 
 married Sir John Waveney some years ago and they 
 live at Standish Court, about eight miles away. 
 Standish is the next station to this." 
 
 A sudden suspicion crept to Hildred's mind. " What 
 sort of looking people are they?" 
 
 "She's a nice, fresh-looking girl well, perhaps 
 hardly a girl now. Nothing particularly striking 
 about her in any way. And he? Oh, he 's just the 
 usual country squire, quite a fine-looking man. I 'm 
 not much good at description." 
 
 No, she was certainly not. Still, the colourless 
 sentences conveyed an impression of the people who 
 had travelled in Hildred's carriage yesterday; an 
 impression which the memory of their conversation 
 strengthened. She held her peace, yet a hot wave of 
 indignation surged over her. How had they dared to
 
 56 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 discuss her mother in such a way in a public railway- 
 carriage? It was monstrous ! Intolerable! 
 
 Mrs. Ivors suddenly jumped up and flung away 
 the end of her cigarette. 
 
 " I quite forgot that I '11 probably have to pump 
 up my bicycle. That is unless Katherine has done 
 it already." 
 
 "Let me do it." 
 
 "You? You 'd soil those dainty cuffs of yours." 
 
 "I 've got straw gardening-cuffs upstairs." 
 
 "Straw gardening-cuffs! What next, I wonder?" 
 Mrs. Ivors chuckled contempt. "Here, out of my 
 way, child. I '11 have it done while you 're looking 
 at it, and wondering where the valve is." 
 
 As she spoke she had the pump already fitted to 
 the wheel and was working vigorously, pinching the 
 tire at intervals to see if it were hard enough, while 
 Hildred stood looking on, feeling helplessly ignorant. 
 
 "There! I think that will do," she said at last, 
 lifting a flushed face. "Where 's my hat? I think 
 I left it on the sideboard last night. No, it 's not 
 there now. Katherine ! Katherine ! Where did you 
 put my hat?" 
 
 "On the hat-rack, of course. Where else?" 
 asked Katherine, emerging from the kitchen for a 
 moment with wet steaming hands. "There it is, 
 under your nose and as plain as it is," she added 
 under her breath. "I suppose you expect me to be 
 a lady's-maid as well as everything else." 
 
 "Jack of all trades and master of none," said Mrs. 
 Ivors, slinging her heavy bag of clubs across her 
 shoulder, and wheeling her bicycle through the 
 doorway.
 
 On the Shocking of Oysters 57 
 
 The words, as Hildred remembered to whom she 
 had last heard them applied, added another prickle 
 to the nettle-sting of her resentment against the 
 Waveneys. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors opened the gate and went out without 
 looking back, Tartar, as usual, close at her heels. 
 The other dogs lay in various attitudes about the 
 door-step, watching Hildred's movements with 
 assumed indifference. 
 
 When, after a moment's breathing of the sweet 
 spring air, she left them and went indoors, they turned 
 languidly, buried nose in paw or stretched out head 
 on gravel as was their wont, and went to sleep, with 
 a sigh and a pretence that that was what they had 
 desired all along.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 "SUMLESS TREASURES" 
 
 IT did not take long for Hildred to unpack and 
 arrange her possessions, which imparted to the 
 pink and white room a note of character hitherto 
 lacking. Her treasures, as she had girlishly called 
 them, were few and only valuable in so far as they 
 recalled the masterpieces of which they were but 
 inadequate reproductions. Wistful Delia Robbia 
 babies framed in painted vellum, Botticelli's Coro- 
 nation of the Madonna within a carven circle of 
 gilded wood, a tiny bronze of the Dancing Faun of 
 Pompeii, cream plaster models of the Venus of Milo 
 and the Victory of Samothrace, an iridescent morsel 
 of glass, blown like a foam bubble by Venetian lips 
 into the clasp of a gold-flecked sea-horse, a Sistine 
 Madonna in a brown Florentine frame, and a small 
 shelfful of books. These, with a casket of beautiful 
 Berlin leather-work, were the treasures which Mrs. 
 Ivors had so bitterly derided, unseen. 
 
 Hildred kissed the Victory shamefacedly before she 
 put it on its shelf. 
 
 "Lend me your wings sometimes, won't you?" 
 she murmured. "I shall often envy them, you free, 
 beautiful creature!" 
 
 58
 
 " Sumless Treasures " 59 
 
 After a while she went downstairs, armed, cap-d-pie, 
 with straw cuffs and gardening-gloves. 
 
 Katherine emerged from the kitchen when she 
 heard the step. 
 
 "You look very grand in yourself," she exclaimed. 
 "Where are you going in them gloves?" 
 
 Hildred explained, ending with: "I am very fond 
 of gardening." 
 
 "Gardening? What gardening? 'T is rough boy's 
 work, that is, not the little planting or weeding that 
 them hands of yours is used to. Picking off dead 
 blossoms maybe, or a bit of quiet lawn-mowing on a 
 little plot where a daisy dare n't show its head ! I 
 know the sort of gardening." 
 
 "Perhaps I 'm not so helpless as you think." 
 
 "Bless you, miss, I don't think you're helpless. 
 'T is too independent maybe you are after all your 
 foreign travel. But it 's easily seen you 're not used 
 to this sort of life, and all I want is for you to take it 
 in bits at a time, and not try to swallow it whole. If 
 you can wait till after lunch I '11 help you. I can 
 dig as good as a man." She stopped, recollected 
 herself, and continued: "What man? I 'd beat the 
 best of 'em, I 'd bet, but the most we can do is a little 
 tidying. Them dogs would make any place into a 
 bear-garden." 
 
 Hildred's face fell at the postponement of her plans. 
 She wanted to be out; she felt the need for action, 
 for occupation. She was unprepared as yet for the 
 filling of empty hours. 
 
 "There are clumps of fern half -choked by rank 
 grass," she demurred. "I could free them at least, 
 and I 'm sure I should find other treasures."
 
 60 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Find away, then," returned Katherine, "but 
 don't attempt any of the rough work till I 'm ready 
 to go. Perhaps when you 've picked enough blades 
 of grass to satisfy yourself you might find a letter to 
 write, or something of that sort to keep you quiet. 
 Can you eat a poached egg for your lunch?" 
 
 "I can but try," answered Hildred with a twinkle. 
 "But won't ?" 
 
 "No, she won't. I put up some sandwiches for 
 her, and her flask, and she 11 spend the day on the 
 links. Links? It 's a silly sort of name for just 
 fields. But all them names what has to do with 
 games is silly. Love and deuce in tennis, and peel 
 and break in croquet! How sensible people !" 
 
 She shook her head, silenced by the colossal folly 
 of the games-playing humankind, and went back to 
 her work. 
 
 It was a tired and rather stiff Hildred who stood 
 in the doorway in her grey gown to greet her mother 
 that evening; but the girl's eyes were brightened, and 
 her colour deepened by her wholesome day in the 
 open air, and she waited with a sense of expectancy 
 for some comment upon her labours. 
 
 Truly the improvement was marvellous. The 
 grass, though still coarse and worn here and there 
 into bare patches by the dogs, was cut close, the 
 edges trimmed, the walks scuffled and raked into 
 neatness. Hildred and Katherine had cleared the 
 clogging undergrowth from the flowering bushes, and 
 raked basketfuls of leaves and twigs and rubbish from 
 the grass. Clumps of ferns raised inquiring fronds 
 here and there above this newer, freer world, and 
 under the delicate green of a beech-tree shed bud-
 
 " Sumless Treasures " 61 
 
 sheaths made patches of rusty gold. Closed blue- 
 bells pushed slender stems above their curving leaves, 
 and in one corner a whitened stump and spray of 
 sawdust showed where they had cut down a half -dead 
 bay which hid an exquisite young almond-tree, rosy 
 as a bride against its filmy background of green. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors, flushed and excited, wheeled her bicycle 
 up the path, commentless. 
 
 " I am hot," she said, resting her bicycle against the 
 wall. "Hot and tired, but I had a glorious day, 
 nevertheless." She took off her hat; flung it towards 
 the hall-table, which it missed, falling upon the tiled 
 floor with a little chatter. She mopped her forehead 
 with her handkerchief. 
 
 "I shall feel better when I have had a drink. I 
 suppose your expensive education hasn't taught you 
 how to mix a whiskey and soda, has it?" she contin- 
 ued, pushing past Hildred and sinking into her chair. 
 "Little whiskey, big soda just a long drink in that 
 big tumbler there on the sideboard. Yes, that '11 do. 
 Not so much whiskey. Pour some back. Now fill 
 it up with soda. Ah! that 's good." 
 
 She drank the mixture with a sigh of relief, and 
 proceeded in terms which were practically unintelligible 
 to Hildred, to expound upon her glorious day. It 
 had had its ups and downs, it appeared. She had 
 bungled an absurdly easy putt at the fourth hole, 
 increasing her score by an unnecessary two, but then 
 at the ninth she had made a marvellous drive, doing 
 the hole in three one less than Bogey. 
 
 "One less than Bogey! Just imagine that!" she 
 cried, sitting upright in her triumph. 
 
 "It sounds very wonderful," Hildred answered,
 
 62 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 trying to assume an unfelt interest. She felt flat 
 and dispirited at the greetingless, commentless return 
 after her day of unwonted hard work. 
 
 "Of course it's Greek to you," continued Mrs. 
 Ivors good humouredly. "But I wish you'd seen 
 that drive. The pro. said that I was the first of his 
 pupils (women, of course) who had ever driven so far. 
 It was such a clean true shot. The ball soared, but 
 not too high. It was like the flight of a bird. I felt 
 I was going to do it somehow. You always know." 
 
 "Afterwards, I suppose," commented Hildred 
 drily. 
 
 The clock on the chimney-piece chimed the half- 
 hour. 
 
 "Heavens! it's dinner-time," cried Mrs. Ivors, 
 " I must go and wash my hands. I won't change." 
 
 She glanced at Hildred as she spoke. The girl 
 looked away, but it seemed to her mother as if the 
 averted gaze pointed a contrast between her own 
 fresh daintiness and the dusty disarray of Mrs. Ivors's 
 flannel shirt. As a matter of fact it was to prevent 
 such an inference that Hildred had refrained from 
 even a cursory glance at her mother's attire; but the 
 comparison was inevitable if unsought, and pricked 
 Mrs. Ivors to unconsidered speech. 
 
 "It's my own house, anyhow," she said with a 
 deliberate gruffness, "and it doesn't matter to any 
 one what I choose to come to dinner in, even if it 's 
 my combinations!" 
 
 Hildred's heart swelled, but her spirit rose. The 
 only way to live amicably with Mrs. Ivors was to 
 meet frankness with frankness. 
 
 "The weather is scarcely hot enough for the latter
 
 " Sumless Treasures " 63 
 
 costume," she retorted coolly, but something bright 
 fell on Nip's wrinkled forehead as she stooped to pat 
 him and pull his ears. 
 
 "Some people are as blind as bats!" 
 
 Katherine's remark was apparently addressed to the 
 soup' tureen as she set it down before her mistress. 
 
 "Why? What is it that I haven't seen, now?" 
 asked Mrs. Ivors, restored to good-humour by the 
 little passage-at-arms, and the assertion of her own 
 independence. 
 
 "You never even cast a glance at the grand things 
 young miss and I did when you were out and away 
 amusing yourself." 
 
 "What did you do? Rolled the tennis-ground?" 
 
 "What rolled? Wait till after dinner, if it 's light 
 enough, and until to-morrow if it is n't, and cast your 
 eye at the front that you walked through to-night as 
 if it was the bear-garden you 'd left it in the morning." 
 
 "My dear Katherine, I did n't leave it any more a 
 bear-garden this morning than any other morning. 
 Still, I 'm glad to hear you Ve tidied it up a bit. A 
 place always looks better for being tidy, and when the 
 Waveneys come next week " 
 
 " Are they coming? " Katherine's tone was instinct 
 with disapproval. 
 
 "Only to tea," Mrs. Ivors hastened to add. "I 
 met them on the links to-day, and they said they 
 would be delighted to come over for tennis on 
 Wednesday. You '11 have to make some of your 
 cream-cakes, Katherine. Sir John loves your cream - 
 cakes."
 
 64 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Yes, and makes no more of a plateful than if it 
 was a mouthful," snapped Katherine. "But it's 
 that Laura I can't abide; no, nor ever could." 
 
 "Why, what harm has she ever done you, you old 
 mass of prejudice?" 
 
 "Peered and pried, no more nor no less," returned 
 Katherine, "and well you know it." 
 
 This disrespectful mention of Lady Waveney 
 amused Hildred, whose sense of humour was young 
 and alert ; her own feelings towards that lady were not 
 altogether tinged with sympathy, so her mood fell in 
 with Katherine's disparagement. 
 
 "How did Lady Waveney come to offend Kather- 
 ine?" she asked when they were alone. 
 
 "Silly old creature!" Mrs. Ivors laughed tolerantly. 
 "It was long ago, before Laura was married, when 
 I lived in Suffolk. I believe she tried to pump 
 Katherine about me and my affairs girl's curiosity, 
 nothing more but Katherine resented it, and has 
 never either forgiven or forgotten it. She 's a good 
 hater, is Katherine." 
 
 "And a good lover, too, I should think." 
 
 "Apart from love in the sentimental sense, I should 
 say yes." 
 
 "You should," returned Hildred calmly. "What 
 would you do without her, I wonder?" 
 
 "Without Katherine?" Mrs. Ivors looked posi- 
 tively startled for an instant. "I'd be perfectly 
 lost. But there 's no fear of her leaving me, thank 
 Heaven!" 
 
 "I don't suppose there is." 
 
 "It 's not playing the game to alarm me like this 
 without a cause. It 's so like " Mrs. Ivors
 
 " Sumless Treasures " 65 
 
 stopped abruptly. "I've made an engagement for 
 you for to-morrow," she continued, after a pause. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Tea with the Miss Lebartes." 
 
 "Who are the Miss Lebartes?" 
 
 "An aunt and niece who live in the village. The 
 aunt was a sister of our late vicar, and used to keep 
 house for him, and she thinks her mission in life is to 
 keep an eye on parochial matters in general, and in 
 particular to put down, with a high hand, anything 
 that savours of ritualism. She looks on any innova- 
 tion of the new vicar's in that light." 
 
 " Pleasant for the new vicar." 
 
 "He 's not so very new. He 's got used to it now 
 after three years of it. Personally, I can't see what 
 it matters whether a man turns to the east or to the 
 west, or wears blue vestments or green, so long as he 's 
 an honest, straightforward fellow, and lives up to his 
 prayers as best he can. But a difference of opinion 
 in the Church seems to upset the religious digestion 
 of a good many so-called Christians. To my mind it 
 would be more really religious if they attended to the 
 prayers they were supposed to be saying instead of 
 peeping through their fingers to see whether the 
 parson was turning to the right or to the left. More 
 pretence! More frippery! Bah! I Ve no patience 
 with it." 
 
 Hildred's religious beliefs, like her innate worship 
 of the beautiful, were hidden away within the ivory 
 shrine of her inmost heart, and any alien touch upon 
 them jarred. She saw the sound common-sense of 
 what her mother was saying, but she was too young, 
 too much enwrapped in her veil of reticence and 
 
 5
 
 66 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 sensitiveness to suffer any intrusion upon so intimately 
 personal and sacred an emotion. She glanced to a 
 side-issue. 
 
 " What sort of person is the younger Miss Lebarte? " 
 
 "Oh, Arabella Arab, every one calls her is a 
 bright, capable sort of girl." 
 
 "A girl?" Hildred's eyes brightened, foreseeing 
 possible companionship. 
 
 "Well, scarcely what you would call a girl, I sup- 
 pose. Arab must be anything from thirty to thirty- 
 five. She 's great at competitions." 
 
 "Golf competitions?" 
 
 "No, no, nothing of the sort. Competitions in 
 newspapers, magazines, that sort of thing. She' s no 
 use at games. She has a good serve at tennis, that 's 
 all, but plays a footling game of croquet. Golf, of 
 course, she can't touch." 
 
 It was easy for Hildred to perceive that at the 
 moment golf reigned king, no, emperor, over any and 
 every other form of game, amusement, pursuit what 
 you will. 
 
 "She and I ought to get on in that case. I have a 
 tolerable service and loathe croquet." 
 
 "My form is volleying," said Mrs. Ivors compla- 
 cently. "You might ask them both to come here 
 on Wednesday if you remember it." 
 
 "Why? Aren't you coming to the tea-party 
 to-morrow?" 
 
 "Me? Go to a hen bun-worry if I can possibly 
 avoid it? No, thanks. I 'm going to play in a four- 
 some with the Waveneys and Dr. Lisle." 
 
 Hildred's heart sank. The idea of an afternoon 
 spent with the lady of eagle eye for clerical mis-
 
 " Sumless Treasures " 67 
 
 demeanours and the damsel of competition-winning 
 proclivities appealed to her less than a day of the 
 garden and a semi-solitude tempered by Katherine. 
 
 "They asked us both, of course," continued Mrs. 
 Ivors, sitting on the ledge of the open window, and 
 pulling out her cigarette-case. "But, fortunately, I 
 had already made the other engagement. It 's not 
 often Dr. Lisle is able to get away. We ought to have 
 a good match. There 's a box of balls on it, best 
 Spaldings. Not to be sneezed at, I can tell you, in 
 these days of high prices." She lit a cigarette and 
 puffed at it. Her outline looked slim and spare, 
 silhouetted against the blue dusk of the night. She 
 drummed her heels against the panelling as a boy 
 might, perched there upon the sill. No one coming 
 into the unlit room would have taken her to be the 
 mother of the girl who sat near her with clasped hands 
 lying in her lap a grey shadow among the deeper 
 shadows of the spring night. 
 
 " It 's a pity Arab does n't play golf. It might 
 improve her chances." 
 
 "What chances?" 
 
 "Arab, like her namesakes," continued Mrs. Ivors, 
 with apparent irrelevance, "is always looking across 
 a sandy desert. On the horizon is the figure of a man 
 Dr. Lisle but he comes no nearer. He is always 
 a silhouette upon the fringe of the desert. Do you 
 understand?" 
 
 The dry words called up an instant vision of the 
 East before the girl's eyes. An unconsidered query 
 rose to her lips and broke from them impulsively. 
 "Have you been in Egypt?" 
 
 "Yes." The curt monosyllable fell cold as a stone
 
 68 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 with a chill finality which checked the spring of 
 further question or comment. 
 
 Hildred shrank back a little, reddening in the 
 darkness. Unawares she had touched a wound.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS 
 
 ISS ARABELLA LEBARTE'S mStier had been 
 1 V 1 determined almost at the outset of her com- 
 petitional career by her winning of the prize of a dozen 
 pairs of gloves for the best definition of an old bachelor. 
 With smart flippancy she described that anomaly of 
 humanity as "the crooked stick that is left in the 
 wood." Since then she had never looked back. If 
 success had not always crowned her, if her best efforts 
 had not won her either a house in the country or a 
 pound a week for life, still her epigram on the New 
 Woman " A fresh darn on the original blue-stocking" 
 appropriately provided her with a shoe outfit, and 
 her selection of Easter Egg as the best name for a 
 race-horse (pedigree given), with a new Spring hat, 
 while odd sums for successful limericks, and an occa- 
 sional guinea for the correct results of Literary 
 Guessing Competitions pleasantly supplemented her 
 pocket-money. 
 
 An accurate list of words ending in "ism" in answer 
 to rather misleading questions had just secured her a 
 fountain-pen, which she was utilising in filling in a 
 similar series with answers ending in "ic" when 
 Hildred was ushered into the cool little drawing-room 
 of Miss Lebarte's house. 
 
 69
 
 70 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 The neat precision and orderly trimness of the 
 place, from garden gate to inner sanctum, was grateful 
 to the girl after the untidiness of the Whitecot sitting- 
 room. Into its drawing-room, a place of drawn 
 blinds and stiff new-smelling furniture, unfriendly of 
 aspect, with unused, almost menacing air, she had 
 peeped this morning, shutting the door hastily upon 
 its aloof ugliness. That Katherine waged constant 
 war upon slovenliness she well knew, but even she had 
 long ceased to try to conquer the atmosphere of dogs, 
 cigarette-ash, and general disarray which was as the 
 breath of heaven to Mrs. Ivors's nostrils. 
 
 "Nothing pretty here, thank God!" she used often 
 to say, looking round complacently as she put her 
 feet on the chimney-ledge. 
 
 There was a sufficiency of prettiness perhaps a 
 superabundance of it in the drawing-room at 
 Hillside, which was the name of Miss Lebarte's house, 
 so-called, with the usual sweet reasonableness to be 
 observed in house-nomenclature, because it stood 
 farther away from the hills than any other house in 
 the village. 
 
 The bureau at which Arabella sat was over-elabor- 
 ately ornamented; each chair had its blatantly 
 spotless frilly head-rest, and there were plants enough, 
 in art pots, to have stocked a small-sized green-house. 
 Still the effect was of dainty freshness, even if one 
 had to be careful in threading one's way through 
 the innumerable crowd of little tables, chairs, and 
 ottomans. 
 
 Arabella jumped up as Hildred entered. She was 
 tall and well-proportioned, dark of hair and bright of 
 eye. As she held Hildred's hand and murmured
 
 Beginnings and Endings 71 
 
 words of conventional greeting, it seemed to the girl 
 that to judge from the quickness of her darting glances 
 her mind must be sharp and polished as a needle. 
 Her conversation, however, but seldom indicated 
 this; Arabella Lebarte was wittier with her pen than 
 with her tongue. She could write an epigram where 
 speech would falter into muteness. 
 
 "Sit here in this chair near the window," she said, 
 " that is, if you 're not afraid of draughts. You must 
 be tired after your walk from Whitecot. The weather 
 has turned surprisingly warm." 
 
 "I did not mind the walk in the least, thanks," 
 Hildred answered, sitting down in the indicated chair. 
 "I am rather fond of walking and it 's only about 
 a mile here, if as much." 
 
 "Your mother always says it is such a distance, 
 but then people who are used to cycling think a half- 
 mile walk a nuisance. Yet she thinks nothing of 
 tramping miles over the links. Are n't we strange 
 anomalies?" 
 
 "We are," agreed Hildred. "The older one grows 
 the more one realises the queerness of human beings." 
 
 "The queerness of ourselves, I think," said Arab, 
 shrewdly. "But you're not old enough to have 
 found that out. We girls take a long time before we 
 make that discovery." 
 
 "I don't know," Hildred pondered in an odd little 
 grave way characteristic of her. "I think the more 
 we see of life the more we realise how ordinary we 
 are. We begin by thinking that we are abnormal 
 beings, unusually subtle and difficult to understand, 
 but as we gain experience we discover that we are 
 very ordinary and no more brilliant or interesting than
 
 72 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 anybody else. Not half so much so, probably, but 
 I don't think I Ve quite reached that stage yet." 
 
 Arab darted one of her needle-like glances at the 
 girl. 
 
 "Now that 's just the sort of thing Dr. Lisle would 
 say. Have you met Dr. Lisle?" 
 
 "Not yet. I Ve only been here two days." 
 
 "Where have you been all the rest of the time?" 
 
 "Abroad, finishing my education," replied Hildred 
 curtly. She shrank from being questioned, uncon- 
 scious of how much or how little these people knew 
 of the real circumstances of her life. 
 
 "Yes. I remember Mrs. Ivors said yesterday that 
 you had gone to Germany the year she came to live 
 here. What did you think of the Germans? Fat, 
 beery, greedy, creatures, are n't they?" 
 
 Hildred smiled, relieved at the change of topic. 
 "Not all of them. And you've asked me a very 
 large question. I went to Germany rather full of 
 prejudices, but I found that I had to leave most of 
 them behind me." 
 
 " Had you really? And the Italians now? Are n't 
 they greasy, treacherous creatures, and don't they 
 fry all their food in oil?" 
 
 Hildred laughed outright. "They certainly fry 
 things in oil, but " 
 
 "How horrid! I should hate to have everything 
 taste oily!" 
 
 "But it does n't " 
 
 "Oh, it must," said Arab, with the calm superiority 
 of the untra veiled. " Things fried in oil must taste 
 of oil." 
 
 "What about the French?" Hildred inquired.
 
 Beginnings and Endings 73 
 
 "Horrid finicky little manikins! I don't know 
 anything about them." 
 
 "It 's good of you to admit it," said Hildred drily. 
 " Have you ever been abroad? " 
 
 "Never, except once, a day-trip from Folkestone to 
 Boulogne. I never want to go again." 
 
 "Why?" queried Hildred softly. 
 
 " I did n't enjoy it a bit. I could n't make out one 
 word the people said, and they could n't understand 
 my French. No, England is good enough for me." 
 
 ' That is a typically English point of view," said 
 Hildred, feeling almost overwhelmingly cosmopolitan. 
 "You and my mother should have much in common." 
 
 "Yes, we agree thoroughly on that point," returned 
 Arab, with an emphasis which inferred non-agreement 
 on other subjects. "By the way, in the interest of 
 our conversation and you can't imagine how nice 
 it is for me to have another girl to talk to I forgot 
 to make my aunt's apologies to you. She was obliged 
 to go to the vicarage on business, something about 
 the design of the new church book-markers. She 
 hoped to be back quite soon, but has probably been 
 delayed." 
 
 Hildred 's quick imagination pictured the scene: 
 the harrying of the vicar over the too ritualistic 
 tendency in the design of the book-markers, the 
 protest and explanation thereof leading to further 
 argument, in the heat of which Miss Lebarte, senior, 
 had probably forgotten all about her expected guest. 
 
 "I hope your aunt will not hurry back on my 
 account," she said politely, "that is, unless I am 
 taking up too much of your time. My mother tells 
 me you are very clever."
 
 74 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Arab blushed with pleasure. "Oh, that's only 
 Mrs. Ivors's joke. Sometimes she has rather a sar- 
 donic sense of humour. Sardonic ' She paused 
 on the word. " Excuse me for a moment. Sardonic. 
 I must see if that fits anywhere in my list." 
 
 She darted across the room to the bureau, avoiding 
 the tables and chairs with the skill of long practice, 
 and eagerly scanned the list of questions, the answer 
 to each of which should be a word ending in "ic." 
 She came back to her seat near Hildred, slip in hand, 
 shaking her head at the momentary disappointment. 
 
 "I am sure you could help me," she said. "You 
 must know more words ending in 'ic' than I do." 
 
 "I 'm convinced I don't," cried Hildred. "I can't 
 think of a single one this minute except stick, and 
 you don't want a 'k,' do you?" 
 
 Arab's dark brows almost met in a frown of 
 concentration. 
 
 "No, we must n't have a 'k.' Now what can this 
 possibly be 'Circular yet devastating'?" She re- 
 peated the words slowly, as if to lure the answer from 
 the phrase. "Circular yet devastating! A saw is 
 all I can think of, which is absurd, and that 'yet' 
 puzzles me." 
 
 "It 's probably meant to," said Hildred, gazing at 
 a pot of lily-of -the- valley which stood on a table near 
 her from which every waft passing through the open 
 window brought gusts of bewildering fragrance. She 
 stooped closer to breathe in its sweetness. "It 's an 
 intoxicatingly beautiful scent," she said. "Perhaps 
 it will inspire me." 
 
 She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. 
 "Circular yet devastating faint yet pursuing," she
 
 Beginnings and Endings 75 
 
 murmured. "Ah, I have it! Would cyclonic 
 do?" 
 
 "Cyclonic?" With a colourable imitation of the 
 adjective Arab fled for the dictionary, returning with 
 triumphant mien. "Cyclone, a circular or rotatory 
 storm. Cyclonic, that must be it. Miss Ivors, I 
 am awfully obliged. I can't tell you how grateful 
 I am." Her whole air sparkled with delight. 
 
 "What is the prize?" 
 
 "A hair-comb from the Parisian Diamond Com- 
 pany. Won't it be lovely for evening wear if I get it?" 
 
 "Indeed it will," cried Hildred, fired with the con- 
 tagion of the other's enthusiasm. "Let me see the 
 list. How many words have you got? Perhaps I 
 could help a little more. It 's quite exciting." 
 
 " Are you sure you would n't like to enter yourself? " 
 asked Arab, drawing back a little. 
 
 "Absolutely certain. I never won anything in my 
 life except the Booby prize at a golf -croquet tourna- 
 ment at ho at Wilmerhurst once." 
 
 Swift as the correction of the slip had been, Arab 
 noticed it, but it caused no wonder in her mind, for 
 she concluded that Wilmerhurst was where Mrs. Ivors 
 had lived before she came to Burnaby. She cherished 
 a friendly enmity for Hildred's mother, a feeling often 
 to be observed among the limited members of a small 
 social community, but the girl herself had lit in her 
 a spark of interest which might possibly develop into 
 a light of warm friendship. With a large flight of 
 imagination she annihilated the fifteen years' difference 
 in their ages, ignored the diversity between the out- 
 look of twenty and that of thirty-five, and was ready 
 to admit and admire the wider view of one who had
 
 76 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 travelled in a large circle, in comparison with herself, 
 who had scarcely looked over the edges of her own 
 groove. 
 
 "Here is one which has puzzled me more than any," 
 she said, tapping her list suggestively. "I wonder if 
 you can make head or tail of it. ' Derived from dog, 
 may bite as well as bark. ' 
 
 "Derived from dog, may bite as well as bark," 
 Hildred repeated. "My mind is a perfect blank. I 
 really am very stupid about such things. Is there 
 no one else whom you could ask? Dr. Lisle, for 
 instance. Has he any talent in that direction?" 
 The girl thought vaguely that perhaps an un- 
 expected bond might lurk in the pages of a mutual 
 dictionary. 
 
 Arab flushed a slow red. "Oh, no. I couldn't 
 think of bothering Dr. Lisle. Besides he rather 
 laughs at my competitions, though he knows they 
 are all I have to keep my mind alive in this dull hole." 
 She spoke with sudden vehemence which almost 
 startled Hildred. 
 
 "There are different sorts of laughter," the girl 
 rejoined softly. " The laughter that mocks, the 
 laughter that hurts, and the laughter that understands. 
 Probably his is the latter kind, the kind that no one 
 minds." 
 
 Arab's hard, bright face softened. "Now, how 
 did you think of that? " she asked. "You are a clever 
 little thing to hit on the explanation that would please 
 me most, and you must be a great deal older than you 
 look to be so wise." 
 
 "I am twenty." 
 
 "Yes, so your mother told us. Sweet and twenty,"
 
 Beginnings and Endings 77 
 
 added Arab on an unexpected impulse, leaning for- 
 ward and giving her a little peck on the cheek, which 
 so embarrassed the donor that she hastily returned to 
 her list with a little cough, as if of warning to take 
 no notice of the incident. 
 
 Hildred was amused, and at the same time a trifle 
 touched. The spectacle of a spirit peering out of the 
 limitations of its body was one to rouse sympathy 
 if not compassion. Still, the groove may lead to 
 heaven as well as the wider road, and the rut merge 
 into the great Highway. Who can tell? The out- 
 look from a peak may breed the pride of the eye, 
 while the valley-dweller has only to raise his to see 
 the stars. 
 
 "Derived from dog " Arab murmured. "Ah, 
 here 's auntie, at last!" 
 
 She jumped up and ran to greet her aunt. All her 
 movements were quick and brisk, and accorded with 
 her alert glances. The elder Miss Lebarte was large 
 and imposing, with a fuller eye and a more command- 
 ing nose than her niece could boast, and she sailed to 
 greet Hildred upon a wave of welcome. 
 
 " I hope Arab has made my apologies, my dear Miss 
 Ivors," she said benignly. "I could not help my 
 absence, for there was a little matter which positively 
 had to be seen to before next Sunday, and which 
 would brook no delay." 
 
 " I quite understood." 
 
 " And you two girls made friends meanwhile. It is 
 such a boon for Arab to have some one to talk to who 
 is nearer her age than I am, and I hope that you will 
 come to see her very often." 
 
 Hildred murmured thanks. Then she recollected
 
 78 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 her mother's message and delivered it. Arab's face 
 brightened, but fell, as Miss Lebarte replied: 
 
 "Wednesday? Many thanks, my dear, but it is 
 my Mothers' Meeting day, and I could not possibly 
 go. Mrs. Ivors must have forgotten but there, she 
 does not take much interest in parochial matters. 
 Her tastes lie in a different direction. However, I 
 am sure it will give Arab much pleasure to accept 
 your kind invitation." 
 
 ,"0h, thank you, Auntie!" cried Arab in such 
 heartfelt tones that Hildred wondered if it were 
 possible that auntly permission had to be granted for 
 every outing to a person who had surely reached years 
 of discretion long ago. 
 
 She could not know that Miss Lebarte considered 
 that no spinster (always excepting herself) ever 
 reached years of discretion. To the members of the 
 Honourable Estate alone (with the exception of those 
 mothers whom she weekly exhorted and instructed) 
 was freedom of action or initiative permitted, and they, 
 she reflected consolingly, possessed the wholesome 
 checking influences of husbands. 
 
 The bringing in of tea created a diversion, during 
 which Miss Lebarte questioned Hildred upon her 
 doings since her coming to Whitecot. When she 
 heard of her gardening experiences she benignantly 
 desired to help. 
 
 "If it were not for those dogs you could have a 
 beautiful herbaceous border," she exclaimed. "But 
 of course it is too late to start one now in any case. 
 However, in the autumn " 
 
 "I should like to experiment on some summer 
 flowers first," said Hildred, with her ready flush, a
 
 Beginnings and Endings 79 
 
 blossom-like rosiness that came and went across the 
 fine whiteness of her skin with a distinctly attractive 
 effect. 
 
 "Auntie is a great gardener. She does all the 
 planning and arranging, and every one admires 
 our garden." 
 
 "And what do you do?" 
 
 "Oh, just the planting and tidying and weeding." 
 
 "A fair division of labour for age and youth," said 
 Miss Lebarte with her commanding smile. With the 
 generosity of the true garden-lover she pressed plants 
 and cuttings on Hildred, and the girl went home with 
 hospitable invitations ringing in her ears and a great 
 basketful of green summer promises in her arms.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MAY DEW 
 
 forget that to-morrow is May Day, and 
 get up in proper time, and go out and wash 
 your face in the dew," said Katherine late that night. 
 
 "What do you call proper time, three, four, five, or 
 six?" asked Hildred. 
 
 "Go on with you!" said Katherine, her grim face 
 relaxing into a smile. "Be off before the good has 
 been sucked out of it by the sun, for the first dew of 
 the mother of months will do your skin more good 
 than all the nostrums in the world." 
 
 "Why, Katherine, have you been reading Chaucer? 
 'May, that mother is of monethes glad' ' the girl 
 quoted softly. 
 
 "What Chaucer? Never heard of him, except an 
 old shepherd at home that used to beat his wife every 
 Saturday night as regular as the calendar. You 
 could set your watch by her screams." 
 
 "Katherine!" 
 
 "Well, that 's all the Chaucer I ever knew, and she 
 used to scream before ever he laid a finger on her, 
 like a sensible woman. My old grandame used to 
 say that May was the mother of months and May 
 dew the magic which made roses blossom on the 
 young maids' cheeks." 
 
 80
 
 May Dew 81 
 
 "That 's as poetical as Chaucer." 
 
 "What poetical! Poetry won't butter parsnips." 
 
 "I don't want it to." 
 
 "No, you're full of whimsies. That's why I 
 reminded you about the May dew. Where 's your 
 mamma?" 
 
 "Asleep in her chair in the dining-room. She 
 seems tired. She lost her match, but they played 
 another round and won, and they stayed on playing 
 until just dinner-time." 
 
 " Tired, is she? That 's not like her. I hope she 's 
 not ailing," cried Katherine, all gruff anxiety. "I '11 
 go and wake her up, and make her a hot drink and 
 send her to her comfortable bed. Off with you, and 
 if you 're not out by six I '11 bring you up a cup of tea." 
 
 "Oh, don't bother about it," said Hildred, mounting 
 upwards, hearing as she went a sharp remonstrance 
 from her mother for Katherine's arousal of her. 
 
 She and Katherine had dug a bed for the little 
 plants which Miss Lebarte had given her, fencing it 
 round carefully with chevaux defrise of sticks and wire 
 to prevent canine depredation. Katherine had also 
 bought her some mignonette and poppy-seed in the 
 village, and she fell asleep dreaming of the riot of 
 sweetness and colour which as yet lay hidden in the 
 tiny dry globules. 
 
 The choir of birds awoke her early to the magic 
 symphony of May, thrush and blackbird vying in 
 golden solo, mellow note after note falling round 
 and lyric through the hushed air, a dew of sound, as 
 evanescent as beautiful. 
 
 The house was still in slumber. She rose softly, 
 dressed, and stole out into the sweet morning fra-
 
 82 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 grance. A gap in the hedge behind the shrubbery led 
 into the field near the house. Hildred slipped through 
 it into a world of dew, whose crystal drops beaded 
 heavily each drooping blade of grass, and filmed 
 gossamer-thread and cobweb to a fairy silver. It was 
 a green May emerging from an early springing April, 
 a May pausing on the threshold of her first morning 
 in dryad wonder. Overhead the beech-trees spread 
 delicate black branches thick with exquisite young 
 leaves, as light in frondage as giant maidenhair ferns; 
 through their thin translucence a sky of half- veiled 
 blue peeped tenderly. 
 
 Hildred went out into the grass, stooped and 
 gathered the dew in rosy palms, bathing her face 
 again and again in its fresh moisture. Never before 
 had she savoured a sensation so exquisite, so fresh, so 
 pure. She felt newly created a virgin Eve in the 
 world's first morning. She moved through the heavy 
 grass in ecstasy, not knowing whither she went, drawn 
 towards the open by spirals of song from mounting 
 larks. At her feet the daisies opened eyes of wonder, 
 and the buttercups lifted burnished golden chalices 
 to the sun, mounting, like the larks, to his appointed 
 zenith; while in the hedges frail blue speedwells 
 reflected the deepening colour of the sky. 
 
 Another gap lured her unwitting feet. She passed 
 through beneath the elms, whose shed blossom-discs 
 carpeted ground and bank with palest green, while 
 overhead their branches were as yet merely filmed 
 with tiny leaves, to find that the country dipped to a 
 sudden valley beneath her a wooded valley of oak 
 and fir and larch ; a wonderland of greens of every hue 
 from the bluish depths of the fir through the young
 
 May Dew 83 
 
 yellow of the oak to the tasselled pride of the 
 larch. 
 
 The undergrowth at the opposite side was a tangle 
 of brambles, whose light new trails rose triumphing 
 above the darker growths of last year; the near side 
 was spread with the pale brown croziers which the ferns 
 lifted above the rust of their dead leaves, and emerald 
 patches of wood-anemones; while on a slope towards 
 a trickling stream, a faint hyacinth mist presaged 
 bluebells. 
 
 Hildred ran towards them, her spirit dancing, her 
 heart singing; the youth of the year calling to the 
 youth in her found an echo invincible. The bubbling, 
 brown stream danced over sun-flecked stones, rippling 
 and laughing at the spring secrets it knew. Like the 
 trees that listen to immemorial lovers all Nature 
 knows but does not tell, save to those who have ears 
 to hear and eyes to see withal. 
 
 The bluebells were but a promise yet; a full bell, 
 emerging here and there from the clustered buds, 
 drew the threads of the amethyst-grey veil that soon 
 would turn to a magical mist of blue. 
 
 Hildred knelt, in spirit as well as body. The petty 
 annoyances and disappointments of daily life were 
 forgotten, obliterated, swept aside like the cobwebs 
 whose delicate weft her careless feet had passed 
 through in their quest of May dew. The hours were 
 winged. Time, as divided into prosaic minutes, was 
 not. It was a moment of spiritual growth, lit by a 
 far radiance of the eternal. It was a thread of sudden 
 gold woven into the fabric of her life, unsought, its 
 import unnoted in its passing, but never to be set 
 aside or forgotten.
 
 84 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 The sound of a footstep on the upper path trampled 
 among her dreams and put them to flight. She rose 
 to the reluctant admission of others into this magic 
 morning world. A whistling accompaniment to the 
 heavy footfalls premised a ploughboy or a shepherd; 
 some country yokel whose dreams rose no higher than 
 bread and cheese and kisses. 
 
 Prose brushed aside the gossamer wings of fancy, 
 and, taking Hildred by the hand, led her back to 
 Whitecot through the dew-field where now pastured 
 an intrusive flock of sheep and lambs, who had long 
 since shaken the dew-drops' stars of morning from 
 their grassy heaven. 
 
 As Hildred slipped in through the gap she came 
 face to face with the little almond-tree, whose fortress 
 she and Katherine had so successfully assailed and 
 demolished. 
 
 "You are free, fairy princess among trees," she 
 murmured. "Oh, you exquisite thing, you are as 
 rosy as the sunrise on the snow mountains!" 
 
 She stood rapt for another magic moment, so 
 absorbed that she neither heard the opening of the 
 wicket nor the sound of approaching footsteps until 
 a voice spoke behind her. 
 
 " If every common bush is afire with God, what then 
 is this?" it asked softly. 
 
 The tone and words so fitted with her mood that it 
 was scarcely with surprise that she turned to find a 
 man at her elbow, a little brown, wiry man with eyes 
 of that surprising forget-me-not blue which is so 
 rarely seen outside the fields of childhood. 
 
 "But only he who sees takes off his shoes," she 
 finished the quotation gravely.
 
 May Dew 85 
 
 "Apropos of which," said the little man, glancing 
 downwards with a change of manner, "your own shoes 
 are as wet as if you had been walking through a river. 
 You ought to go in and change them at once. I am 
 a doctor Dr. Lisle so I speak with authority." 
 
 Hildred laughed; she felt an instant sympathy 
 with this little man of Protean changes of mood, none 
 of which, she felt with sudden intuition, would ever 
 jar or wound. 
 
 ' The wet has n't penetrated yet, though you 
 brought me back to earth with a bump! I 've been 
 to church in a wood where the bluebells rang the 
 chimes." 
 
 "You 've been washing your face in the May dew." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "By the result, of course. But, pardon my curi- 
 osity, are you an expert exponent of the mango 
 trick?" 
 
 "The mango trick?" Hildred looked puzzled. 
 
 He waved his hand towards the almond-tree. "I 
 have come here at all times and all seasons within 
 the last three years, and never have I beheld that slip 
 of enchantment before. Did you evolve it out of the 
 bare earth? You could n't have planted it there in 
 full blossom." 
 
 Hildred smiled again, her varying flush fleeting like 
 cloud-shadows across her cheeks. "It was always 
 there," she answered. "But it was hidden behind a 
 bay-tree which was more than half dead. Katherine 
 and I cut it down and released the prisoner." 
 
 "It was always there, but it took you to show it to 
 us," he repeated softly. "A very pretty morning's 
 work, upon my word, very pretty. Now go in and
 
 86 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 change your shoes and tell your mother for I pre- 
 sume you are Miss Ivors that Dr. Lisle would like 
 to see her for a moment." 
 
 "If she's visible." 
 
 " She 's sure to be visible. Mrs. Ivors is one of the 
 early birds." 
 
 "But what o'clock is it?" asked Hildred. 
 
 "After eight." 
 
 "And I 've been out since five!" 
 
 "You must be hungry," remarked Dr. Lisle, with 
 a dry smile. "May dew and bluebell music make 
 somewhat unsubstantial fare. " 
 
 "Hallo, that you? I heard voices and wondered 
 who it could be at this unearthly hour?" Mrs. 
 Ivors emerged from the house with a golf-club under 
 her arm, and sauntered towards them. "Now don't 
 say you Ve come to tell me that foursome 's off, 
 doctor." 
 
 " I 'm afraid I have. I 've got to go to Mudford 
 by the 9.20, for a consultation." 
 
 Mrs. Ivors's face fell. "Well, you need n't look so 
 radiant over it. I would n't have let you in for such 
 a licking as we got yesterday. Something tells me 
 I 'm in form to-day." 
 
 "All good luck go with you, then. You '11 easily 
 get another man." 
 
 "One would think you liked going to Mudford; 
 dirty little hole." 
 
 "It means work, my good madam," answered the 
 doctor, with a light in his blue eyes, "and though you 
 won't agree with me, work is a hundred times better 
 than play." 
 
 "That 's just one of your platitudes," snapped Mrs.
 
 May Dew 87 
 
 Ivors. "But where did you two pick each other 
 up?" 
 
 "I saw Miss Ivors dryad-worshipping. She was 
 adoring the nymph of the almond-tree, so I went and 
 joined her." 
 
 "The nymph of the almond-tree? What rot you 
 talk! Oh, that wretched little bush? I see. The 
 cult of the beautiful in full swing." Her lip curled 
 disagreeably. She turned to the house, shattering 
 the last fragments of the morning's magic. 
 
 Then she swung back again, her face a little clearer. 
 "Won't you breakfast with us, doctor? Do. I hear 
 and smell bacon frying in the kitchen. Hildred, tell 
 Katherine that Dr. Lisle will be here for breakfast, 
 and don't be long." 
 
 "I must change my shoes and skirt," said Hildred, 
 "but please don't wait for me." 
 
 "Why? What have you been doing?" 
 
 "Something silly, as usual," blushed Hildred. 
 "Scold Katherine if you like. It was she who put 
 me up to it." 
 
 She disappeared into the house, her pulses beating 
 with a pleasurable sense of excitement, and entered 
 the dining-room, fresh and fair in a pale pink cotton 
 frock just as Mrs. Ivors began to pour out the tea." 
 
 "I hear that you are not a golfer, Miss Ivors," 
 said Dr. Lisle. "We must banish golf from our 
 conversation." 
 
 "Please don't on my account." 
 
 "Would n't you think it rather rude if Mrs. Ivors 
 and I began to talk Dutch, knowing that you did n't 
 understand a word of the language?" 
 
 "It's an apt analogy," laughed Hildred. "But
 
 88 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 what shall we substitute, the weather or the country? 
 Both are exquisite at present." 
 
 "The country for choice. The beeches are at 
 their loveliest now." 
 
 "Yes, but they thicken and darken in a few days," 
 said Mrs. Ivors, "and lose their bloom even quicker 
 than a young girl." 
 
 Hildred glanced at her mother, wondering if a snub 
 were intended, but Mrs. Ivors's face was impassive. 
 
 "What a pity that young things must grow up!" 
 Hildred exclaimed. "I passed through a field of 
 sheep and lambs this morning, and the lambs were so 
 pretty with the light shining pinkly through their 
 ears, while the sheep looked so ugly with their weight 
 of wool and their bare faces looking exactly as if they 
 had screwed all their hair tightly back." 
 
 Dr. Lisle laughed. "Yes, young things are poign- 
 antly pretty," he said. 
 
 "Not young birds," put in Mrs. Ivors quickly. 
 "Most young birds are perfectly hideous. Young 
 swallows are exactly like two wood-lice joined together, 
 and their ugly fluff ugh!" 
 
 "I think I like young things because they are little 
 and helpless," said Hildred softly. 
 
 "I don't," answered Mrs. Ivors shortly. "But 
 then I fear I have n't got what you call the maternal 
 instinct." 
 
 It was an odd speech for a mother to make before 
 her only child. Dr. Lisle looked from Mrs. Ivors, 
 hard, spare, and muscular, to Hildred's soft curves 
 and pliant lines, and thought that the maid suggested 
 more of the derided instinct than the matron. The 
 situation piqued and puzzled him, but he was used
 
 May Dew 89 
 
 to the facing of problems in his professional life, 
 which had taught him many things noticeably the 
 useful lesson of knowing when to interfere and when 
 to stand aside. 
 
 "There 's a great deal too much sentimentality in 
 the world," said Mrs. Ivors, helping herself to toast, 
 and crunching it determinedly. "I bar sentiment, 
 I must say." 
 
 "Who sat up all night with a sick dog?" asked Dr. 
 Lisle of no one in particular. 
 
 "Pish! My dear man, that was humanity, not 
 sentiment. You should choose your words better." 
 She smiled until her lips drew into a thin line. "In 
 my early days I had much instruction upon the nice 
 discrimination of words, the selection, the meaning, 
 the shades of meaning, the beauty of the ring of the 
 right word in prose or poetry!" 
 
 Hildred had again the hurt sensation of quotation 
 marks; she knew too well whose phrases were being 
 hurled at her like javelins. 
 
 "Poetry I bar at all costs! Oh, Lord, what a 
 relief it was to drop into slang again!" She leaned 
 back in her chair and laughed, but it was a laughter 
 that sounded like the clash of steel, very different 
 from the bubbling spring of mirth which had con- 
 centrated her senses into the one tense effort of hearing 
 only yesterday. 
 
 There was a pause a weighted, sharp-edged pause. 
 Then Hildred, with a voice which trembled a little 
 despite a valiant effort at self-control, turned to Dr. 
 Lisle, and said: 
 
 'Apropos of words, do you know any one ending 
 in 'ic' which is derived from dog?"
 
 90 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 It was rather a surprising question in the circum- 
 stances, but Dr. Lisle, turning on the girl blue eyes 
 full of admiration for her adroitness, rose to the 
 occasion and answered almost without thought : 
 
 "Cynic. Yes, from the Greek, kyon, kynos, a 
 dog." 
 
 "Ah, that must be it," cried Hildred, in quick relief. 
 "I must tell Miss Arabella Lebarte. She will be so 
 pleased." 
 
 "One of Miss Arab's competitions." Dr. Lisle 
 laughed softly. "Well, they give her an interest, a 
 mental interest I mean, in a place where there are 
 very few to be had." 
 
 Hildred smiled in response; it was another bond. 
 He understood, and before she had even seen him 
 she had known he would. 
 
 "Rubbish," said Mrs. Ivors. "She has her garden 
 and her aunt and the parish and the Standish Tennis 
 Club in summer. I call that plenty of interest for a 
 single woman." 
 
 "Come now, Mrs. Ivors, you know you like your 
 paper as well as any one, and can appreciate a good 
 leading article with the best." 
 
 "The sporting news is all that interests me," 
 answered Mrs. Ivors perversely. "That is when it 
 does n't involve killing things unnecessarily. I don't 
 want to be inhospitable, but you '11 miss your train 
 if you don't go now, my good man." 
 
 Dr. Lisle rose. Mrs. Ivors buttonholed him as one 
 man would another. 
 
 "Don't forget, consultation or no consultation, 
 that you 've promised to come here for tennis on 
 Wednesday."
 
 May Dew 91 
 
 " I won't forget. No fear of that." 
 
 "And would you tell Miss Arab about 'cynic' your- 
 self?" Hildred suggested, as he held her hand for a 
 moment. "That is, if it is n't out of your way. I 'm 
 rather hazy about the lie of the land as yet." 
 
 "I '11 call at Hillside on my way back to-night," 
 he promised. "Meanwhile I hope you won't forget 
 how to do the mango trick." 
 
 Hildred laughed. She reminded Dr. Lisle of the 
 almond-tree as she stood there, a young blossom of 
 womanhood in her pink gown. 
 
 "What does he mean?" asked Mrs. Ivors, when he 
 had gone. 
 
 "It was only a joke," Hildred explained flatly. 
 "He pretended to think that I put the almond-tree 
 there myself. That was all." 
 
 "Nonsense enough," exclaimed Mrs. Ivors, but 
 her tone had lost its edge. 
 
 She got up to collect her golf-clubs, and in passing 
 pinched Hildred's cheek, leaving her agasp at this 
 caress in the rough. 
 
 "What a soft little pussy-thing it is!" she said, 
 as she turned, whistling tunelessly, to get her bicycle.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE TENNIS PARTY 
 
 BY the time that Wednesday broke cloudlessly 
 into a day of perfect summer, still freshly 
 tinged with spring, Hildred had settled into the 
 Whitecot routine, adapted her lines to its lines, her 
 curves to its irregularities. It seemed to her some- 
 what strange that she should have fitted so easily 
 and so quickly into what was in a sense such an alien 
 environment, but the three years of travel in different 
 countries had rendered her more adaptable to her 
 surroundings than if she had lived the ordinary life 
 of an ordinary English girl. Not that such apparent 
 plasticity implied weakness of character; the chame- 
 leon, though he may vary his hue according to 
 circumstances, still remains a chameleon. 
 
 Katherine's crusty warmth cheered and amused 
 her, while she felt instinctively that Mrs. I vors's sudden 
 onslaughts of hostility were directed more towards 
 her father in her than towards her own personality. 
 She felt outbursts of sympathy for and with the 
 absent, even while her spirits rose in response to some 
 unexpected tinge of approval from the present parent. 
 She did not try to analyse the situation; with the 
 healthy optimism of youth she accepted the daily 
 
 92
 
 The Tennis Party 93 
 
 round as it came, and gazed into no imaginative crystal 
 for future revelation. 
 
 After breakfast she paused at the drawing-room 
 door. 
 
 "I was thinking of bringing in some flowers and 
 branches to give this place a more lived-in look, if I 
 may," she said tentatively. 
 
 "Certainly not," declared Mrs. Ivors. "I see no 
 sense in making any place look like a Jack-in-the- 
 green. The whole room is a concession to Katherine 
 and conventionality. She insisted that I should have 
 a drawing-room, though I never use it." 
 
 "What about tea?" 
 
 "We '11 have tea out of doors in the little summer- 
 house, so you can save yourself the trouble of making 
 the room look beautiful." 
 
 "I could n't do that in its present condition. The 
 best I could do would be to make it look pretty." 
 
 " There you go! Pretty and beautiful! What 's 
 the difference!" 
 
 "All the difference in the world," cried Hildred, 
 pricked to an undesired discussion. 
 
 " Pray enlighten my ignorance." Mrs. Ivors leaned 
 against the hall table as she lit a cigarette, and pre- 
 pared to listen. It almost seemed as if she probed 
 deliberately for the artist in Hildred, and as if the 
 result hurt her more than it did the girl. 
 
 Hildred was roused to defend her young absorbed 
 opinions; her worship of the beautiful was almost a 
 religion with her. 
 
 "Ruskin says," she began. 
 
 "Oh, tell me in your own words. Don't fling 
 Ruskin at me."
 
 94 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " My own words will be only an echo of his that 
 if a thing has once been really beautiful, any fragment 
 of it which remains will still be beautiful, for instance 
 the mutilated but lovely Dancing Maenad in Berlin, 
 or the portion of the foot of the Venus de Milo." She 
 would not mention her beloved winged Victory. 
 
 "I've been kicked with that foot before," said 
 Mrs. Ivors drily. "Go on." 
 
 " On the other hand if you found a bit of a modern 
 Dresden-china figure you would not know if it had 
 even been pretty or not." 
 
 "Useless trash the whole lot," said Mrs. Ivors, 
 blowing smoke-rings. "What 's the good of prettiness 
 after all? Pretty girls quickly change into plain 
 elderly women. You 'd never believe that I had been 
 pretty once, would you?" 
 
 "Yes, I would. Why not? I saw you look twenty 
 once." 
 
 "You saw me look twenty? May I ask when?" 
 
 "I think it was the day I came. I said something 
 which piqued you, and you sparkled up and looked 
 as you must have looked then." 
 
 "Did I? Well, I had my hour, I suppose, like 
 most girls, and much good it did me. You are a 
 queer child, Hildred. Now I must go and mark the 
 tennis-ground." 
 
 "Can I help?" 
 
 "No. You 'd probably spill the stuff all over the 
 court. Perhaps Katherine will have something for 
 you to do, but mind, I won't have any flowers on the 
 tea-table. Some one is bound to knock 'em over if 
 you put 'em there, and make what Katherine calls a 
 splother."
 
 The Tennis Party 95 
 
 "Very well," answered Hildred with a mock meek- 
 ness which her dancing eyes belied. 
 
 She went to help Katherine, while Mrs. Ivors set 
 about her self-appointed task with all the careless 
 energy which characterised her undertakings. Al- 
 though the old markings loomed white enough to 
 guide her to accuracy she drove the machine with a 
 Jehu-like recklessness which caused the lines to waver 
 erratically here and there, noting sudden dashes with 
 a splash of thickening and diminishing to an accurate 
 illustration of Euclid's definition of a line when the 
 machine began to require replenishing. 
 
 She was hot and exhausted by the time the court 
 was marked, and she sat on the floor of the summer- 
 house, with Tartar sprawling across her lap, to cool 
 herself. Thoughts circled through her mind with 
 such intensity that she let her cigarette go out. It 
 was not often that she allowed herself time to think; 
 the process was, to her, neither exhilarating nor 
 amusing. At last, shaking Tartar off her lap with a 
 sigh, she rose and went to the house to fetch a ball 
 and club and practise putting on the tennis-ground. 
 
 "It 's the very deuce to be idle," she said, ruefully. 
 " If Dr. Lisle had said that any occupation was better 
 than idleness I 'd have agreed with him in toto. Was 
 Hildred dabbling her fingers in the pie matrimonial, 
 I wonder? I hope she 's not going to develop into 
 that sort of woman. There ought to be a clause in 
 the Litany 'From all match-making women, Good 
 Lord, deliver us ! ' If I had been taught that prayer 
 in my youth I might n't have made such a mess of 
 my life." 
 
 She putted with such unexpected force that the
 
 96 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ball dashed across the path and disappeared into a 
 cabbage-patch, in which, probably, her guests would 
 spend a goodly portion of their afternoon hunting 
 for vanished tennis-balls. 
 
 Hildred looked forward to the advent of the Wave- 
 neys with mingled feelings, and an irresolution as 
 regarded her own demeanour towards them. Should 
 she cover Lady Waveney with confusion by reminding 
 her of their former encounter? No, that would hurt 
 too dreadfully ; it would make the delinquent ashamed 
 and miserable from the outset, and after all, she was 
 her mother's guest. It was better to ignore the whole 
 affair; not to intimate by so much as the flutter of 
 an eyelash, unless she were forced to, the acknowledg- 
 ment, that she had ever seen the Waveneys before. 
 And yet they deserved to be taught a lesson. It was 
 very ill-bred of them to discuss a relation so openly 
 in the presence of a third and unknown person. 
 
 So swung the see-saw of Hildred's impulses, so 
 wavered the decision of the thumbs; whether the 
 errant lady was to be cast to the lions of remorse, or 
 rescued to a grateful recognition of tactful disregard. 
 
 The prospect of immediate gaiety, however slight, 
 also stirred the girl to a sense of quickened life, and it 
 was with a pleasant tingle of excitement that she 
 dressed for the tennis-party. Katherine had been 
 most particular and hard to please about her toilette ; 
 had rejected frock after frock of her summer outfit 
 with uplifted nose of scorn. 
 
 At last she made a definite suggestion. 
 
 "I 'd like to see you in white," she said, "like you 
 used to be when you was little."
 
 The Tennis Party 97 
 
 "This is the best white for tennis," answered 
 Hildred, picking out of the heap which bestrewed her 
 bed a simple, soft white lawn, hand-embroidered with 
 delicate stitchery. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose that '11 do," said Katherine grudg- 
 ingly. " It looks good for all it 's so plain." 
 
 "It is good, you old goose ! Wait till you see it on." 
 
 So when she was arrayed in her first summer white- 
 ness she went down to the kitchen to undergo Kather- 
 ine's inspection, and emerge with credit, if possible, 
 from the fire of those critical eyes. 
 
 Katherine took in every detail, from the broad white 
 hat with its simple curves and band of black velvet 
 to the silk-clocked stockings and white shoes. 
 
 "H'm. You '11 do," she grunted. 
 
 Hildred pirouetted with delight. At that moment 
 even the great Fadette's approval would have given 
 her less pleasure than Katherine's grudging comment. 
 
 "There's one thing wanting, though. You 
 need n't look so glum. Knowing the fancy you have 
 for all them silly things I picked 'em this morning for 
 you before the sun got too hot." Katherine produced 
 from behind a plate on the dresser (where they had 
 been carefully hidden from Hildred's eyes all the 
 morning) a cluster of pale pink roses, half -blown, 
 half -bud, exquisite and fragrant. 
 
 "There in your belt. That 's the place for 'em." 
 
 Hildred kissed the blossoms before she tucked them 
 into her belt. 
 
 " Katherine, you 're a fairy godmother in disguise! " 
 she cried. 
 
 "What disguise? Aren't I a fairy right enough 
 without any disguises at all?" Katherine gave her 
 
 7
 
 98 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 grim chuckle. "Go along with you now out of my 
 kitchen and give a busy woman time to breathe before 
 them cormorants come pouncing down on us for their 
 tea." 
 
 Hildred flitted out into the hall, half -excited, half- 
 shy, at the thought of meeting her mother's friends. 
 The sound of approaching voices stilled her dancing 
 steps. She stopped, with a wild impulse of flight 
 which might have sped her to her room if Mrs. Ivors 
 had not caught sight of her through the open door. 
 
 "Ah, Hildred, there you are. Come and be intro- 
 duced to my cousins and yours." Unwonted gracious- 
 ness savoured Mrs. Ivors's tones. She put out a hand 
 to the girl to draw her nearer. 
 
 Hildred went forward with concealed reluctance. 
 The dreaded moment had arrived; were the thumbs 
 to go up or down? 
 
 The introduction was affected. Lady Waveney 
 shook her hand and said: "Glad to meet you." 
 
 Sir John exclaimed in what Hildred called his 
 "turnippy way": 
 
 "So this is your daughter, Harry? I thought she 
 was a little girl from your description, and here you 
 are springin' a young lady on us, eh? Up to your 
 tricks as usual, Harry. Never knew such a sport!" 
 
 Both kindly country faces regarded the girl with 
 interest, but to her relief, and perhaps a shade of 
 chagrin, nothing more. There was no recognition in 
 either pair of eyes; no consciousness of ever having 
 beheld "Harry's" daughter before. There had been 
 no need for apprehension after all, no call upon her 
 inner resources, no necessity for thumb-gymnastics, 
 or tactful ignorings. With her ready blush, Hildred
 
 The Tennis Party 99 
 
 replied to the kindly greetings, feeling not unlike a 
 pricked balloon. She did not realise that there was 
 nothing essentially French about her appearance 
 to-day, that in the white simplicity of her array, except 
 for an unusual daintiness of detail and carefulness of 
 hair-dressing, she closely resembled the average fresh, 
 wholesome-looking English girl. White muslin and 
 pink roses? What could be more typical? It would 
 have needed a subtler observer than Lady Waveney 
 to detect the tell-tale nuances of style. 
 
 "Fresh from the Continent and not a golfer?" she 
 was saying. "What a mercy you play tennis! You 
 must join the Standish Tennis Club. It 's quite a 
 nice one. And we often play at Standish Court, too. 
 You must come over some day." 
 
 "That would be very nice," answered Hildred 
 flatly, noting the unconscious change of tone which 
 always followed the discovery of her non-existence 
 as a golfer. It amused her, and she laughed suddenly. 
 It was a pleasant rippling sound, but Lady Waveney 
 regarded her oddly. To laugh without a cause 
 betokened an ill-balanced mind. 
 
 "Eccentric, like her poor father, I suppose," she 
 commented mentally. "When Harry vaguely hinted 
 at eccentricity I knew she meant madness. I wonder 
 if he 's shut up anywhere, or if his is only the harmless 
 madness of all artistic people. One can't very well 
 mention the subject to Harry. Have you seen your 
 father lately?" she suddenly shot at Hildred. 
 
 "I am going to spend next winter with him in 
 Egypt," Hildred replied, startled into a statement. 
 
 "Oh. That will be quite nice. At least for those 
 who care for travelling, as I presume you do." She
 
 ioo The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 talked down to Hildred, as if the implication included 
 her own personal superiority to such desires. "I 
 don't. My husband persuaded me to go to Paris for 
 my honeymoon, but I was afraid to eat anything but 
 ham there for fear I should get frogs or snails ! Ugh ! 
 Such an idea! No, England's good enough for me." 
 
 Hildred laughed again. She wondered if the phrase 
 crystallised the great article of Faith in this neigh- 
 bourhood, and how many more times she should hear 
 it before she left Burnaby. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors was talking to Sir John, and Hildred 
 caught snatches of the conversation. It was about 
 dogs and their pedigrees. 
 
 "This chap of yours," she heard him say as he 
 playfully buffeted Tartar, "is a horrid mongrel, 
 Harry." 
 
 "I know he is, but he's affectionate and very 
 faithful." 
 
 "Yes, that 's the only virtue mongrels have, the 
 brutes." 
 
 "A pity it isn't contagious," said Hildred. "I 
 don't think human mongrels have it." 
 
 "Come, come," said Sir John, "that 's a cuttin' 
 remark from a young lady like you." 
 
 "Is it?" asked Hildred, opening innocent eyes. 
 " I did n't mean it that way." 
 
 The wicket-gate opened to 'admit Miss Arabella 
 Lebarte and Dr. Lisle. 
 
 " Derived from dog," Hildred murmured. "Excuse 
 me, I must go to meet Miss Lebarte." 
 
 With a sense of relief she flew off round the curve of 
 the little drive, leaving Lady Waveney once and for 
 all confirmed in her belief in the girl's eccentricity.
 
 The Tennis Party 101 
 
 "Well, have you got the prize? "she cried as she 
 caught Arab Lebarte by the hand and smiled up at 
 her. 
 
 "My dear girl, the result won't be out for a fort- 
 night." 
 
 Hildred's face fell. ' ' How horribly slow ! I thought 
 they would have told you at once." 
 
 "Competitions teach you patience, if nothing else," 
 said Arab with a resigned smile. 
 
 "And in a desert island like this," put in Dr. Lisle, 
 "you Ve got to be thankful for a fortnightly post." 
 
 "A desert island, Dr. Lisle! Come now, that 's 
 a little too bad," said Miss Arab archly. 
 
 "Well, I withdraw desert, then. That 's the worst 
 of talking to you clever people. You are always so 
 keen on accuracy. Now, if I wanted to express the 
 essence of solitude by saying that I was alone in a 
 crowd, you would tell me that it was not solitude 
 really because I was surrounded by people." 
 
 " I certainly should. How well you understand me, 
 Dr. Lisle." 
 
 Hildred looked at her with a swift pity. She wore 
 a mauve linen gown which seemed to accentuate her 
 hard brightness, and she swung her racquet restlessly 
 to and fro as she spoke. 
 
 "But only those who see take off their shoes," the 
 girl quoted softly. 
 
 "Yes, and the barefoot craze hasn't yet reached 
 Burnaby," answered Dr. Lisle in the same tone. 
 
 "Now if you two are going to cap quotations I 'm 
 off! I only know the usual old tags, and can't even 
 quote those correctly." Arab felt a sense of emanci- 
 pation to-day which tinged her with renewed vivacity.
 
 102 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 She had met Dr. Lisle at the gate, and had had a 
 friendly verbal tussle as to whether she should carry 
 her own racquet or not, in which she, being but a 
 foolish virgin, won. 
 
 Hildred responded to the atmosphere of youth, or 
 approximate youth exhaled by the two. There was 
 a soft pleasure in the certainty of comprehension by 
 the one, and a cheery knowledge of appreciated com- 
 panionship in the other. 
 
 They followed Mrs. Ivors and the Waveneys round 
 the house and through the kitchen-garden to the 
 tennis-ground. 
 
 "You two girls are to play with the men first," said 
 Mrs. Ivors, "and Laura and I will look on. Then we 
 shall have our usual foursome." 
 
 Hildred fell to the lot of Sir John, whose figure 
 owned a shade too much profile to permit him to be 
 a really active tennis-player. He thought it part of 
 his duty to keep up a running fire of chaffing comments 
 on every stroke, to which Hildred, unused to such 
 give and take, responded but briefly. As he confided 
 to his wife afterwards: 
 
 " I could n't get a word out of that girl of Harry's. 
 Nothin' in her, nothin' at all. She 's a pretty little 
 thing enough ' (Hildred considered herself tall, 
 but it was Sir John's way to speak of all girls as little 
 unless they were positive giantesses!) "but if she 
 has only her smile and complexion to go on they won't 
 carry her far. No sense of humour either can't see 
 a joke that even a baby would laugh at. Does n't 
 take after old Harry in any way. Suppose she 's dull 
 like the painter chap, eh?" 
 
 But to Mrs.Ivors's carefully concealed pride Hildred
 
 The Tennis Party 103 
 
 played what Sir John called "a rippin' game of 
 tennis," a game which should go far towards aton- 
 ing for her golfing deficiencies in a family of games 
 enthusiasts. 
 
 Sir John was a little hot and begged for a moment's 
 grace before a fresh game was started. Mrs. Ivors, 
 whose energy required outlet, began to practise serving 
 to Dr. Lisle. 
 
 "Lisle 's an active little chap," said Sir John, 
 mopping his forehead. "Ought to be with that 
 figure." 
 
 "Rather like a monkey, don't you think?" put in 
 Lady Waveney. 
 
 "No, I don't," replied Hildred, to whom the remark 
 was addressed, hating the discussion. "There's 
 nothing in the least like a monkey about him, except 
 perhaps his eyes." 
 
 "His light blue eyes? I never saw a monkey with 
 blue eyes," ejaculated Lady Waveney, while Arab, 
 mute, plucked tufts of grass from the bank on which 
 they sat. 
 
 "Not the colour, the expression." Hildred felt 
 impelled to elucidate her thought. "A monkey's 
 eyes have always a wistful half-human expression in 
 them, and Dr. Lisle's eyes, to carry out the analogy 
 on a higher plane, have always a wistful, half -spiritual 
 expression." 
 
 "Has any one a dictionary?" asked Sir John, 
 humorously, "I haven't heard so many long words 
 since I was a schoolboy." He still tried to chaff 
 Harry's little girl ; he had a tenacious mind, and one 
 of his fixed beliefs was that all "young 'uns" as he 
 called them, liked chaff.
 
 104 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred reddened. She had stupidly drawn aside 
 a corner of her veil of reticence and their coarse fingers 
 had torn it. 
 
 "Come on, Jack. You must be cool enough now," 
 said his wife. "I 'm getting cramped from sitting 
 still so long." 
 
 When they were out of hearing Hildred turned on 
 a wave of indignation to Arab, sure of sympathy. 
 
 "Oh, these people with their inert minds and their 
 restless bodies!" she cried. "I can't bear them, can 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, well, the Waveneys are really very nice," 
 murmured Arab. "They give delightful tennis- 
 parties, and Standish Court is a lovely old place." 
 
 To speak disparagingly of the Waveneys implied 
 more courage than Arabella Lebarte possessed. The 
 Waveneys were well, the Waveneys, and Standish 
 Court was Standish Court. There was nothing 
 within a fifteen-mile radius to compare with them, 
 and, if there had been, comparisons in such a case 
 would have been more than odious; they would have 
 been almost sacrilegious. 
 
 Hildred, of course, could not understand; she was 
 imbued with queer foreign notions; she had been 
 brought up outside the pale of the Waveney tradition, 
 the centuries-old tradition of race. There had always 
 been a Sir John Waveney since Norman William, and 
 in the Domesday Book 
 
 No, Hildred could not realise the daring even of 
 Arab's qualified statement as regarded the Waveneys' 
 niceness. Had it not been for the monkey comparison 
 she would have fluttered the Waveney banner in the 
 face of all comers.
 
 The Tennis Party 105 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Hildred, cooling as quickly as 
 she had warmed, and withdrawing once more into 
 her shell. "Of course, that's all that matters in 
 the country."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE CAGE OF DREAMS 
 
 SO Hildred slid into her groove and the summer 
 became a certainty of warm days and star- 
 jewelled nights, chequered occasionally by brief 
 thunder-storms, and the benediction of the rain. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors took her to the Standish Tennis Club, 
 where she became popular in her quiet way friendly 
 to all, yet in the inner sense of the word friends with 
 none, except Arab Lebarte and Dr. Lisle. 
 
 Standish Court with its immemorial elms, its carp- 
 pond, and its yew-garden delighted her, but to study 
 its treasures and play with her small cousins pleased 
 her better than to spend much time in the society of 
 their parents. 
 
 She went for walks with the dogs, she helped Kather- 
 ine when permitted, and she made a real and beautiful 
 little bit of garden for the joy of her soul. The larch- 
 wood was her favourite retreat; she often sat among 
 their slim pillared stems which rose straight and tall 
 above a miniature forest of ferns. 
 
 Still "Time glides by and we grow old with the 
 silent years ; and the days flee away and are restrained 
 by no rein." Summer had merged into September 
 almost before Hildred was aware, and the thought of 
 
 1 06
 
 The Cage of Dreams 107 
 
 impending departure filled her with a vague uneasiness 
 and a sense of unrest. She had grown used to the 
 quiet monotony of her days, the little joys, the little 
 interests, the passing amusements, the stimulating 
 encounters with her mother, whose habit of mind, 
 like flint on flint, always struck sparks from her own. 
 
 On a golden September day Hildred, basket in 
 hand, set off to ask Arab Lebarte to come black- 
 berrying with her. 
 
 She found her in the garden bending over a long 
 bed, a third of which showed brown earth free from 
 weeds about the flower-roots while the remainder 
 bore a suspiciously weedlike greenness. At the back 
 of the bed tall Michaelmas daisies raised masses of 
 white and purple bloom, which in their sturdy autumn- 
 al flowering reminded Hildred a little of Arab herself. 
 
 She lifted a hot tired face to the girl. 
 
 "No, Hildred, I can't come blackberrying, much as 
 I should like it. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Arab waved an earthy glove towards the flower-bed. 
 "Auntie says this must be done before she comes 
 back, and as you see it 's not half finished yet. " 
 
 "What a task-mistress! Can't you rebel?" 
 
 Arab straightened herself wearily. "You don't 
 understand. Let 's sit down on the seat under the 
 apple-tree for a minute. It 's nice to rest for a bit. " 
 
 "I understand that Miss Lebarte exacts a good 
 deal from you." 
 
 "Oh, no, no. You mustn't say that. Auntie is 
 goodness itself. She has been a mother to me since 
 poor mamma died, and I never could do enough for 
 her."
 
 io8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " It should n't be all giving and all taking, " said 
 Mildred hotly, remembering her mother's dictum. 
 "That 's rather a one-sided arrangement." 
 
 "You 're quite wrong," said Arab, reddening furi- 
 ously. " If there is any taking it 's on my side. Poor 
 papa died without leaving a penny, and of course as 
 clergymen always marry paupers, poor mamma 
 had n't a farthing, so except for the few shillings I 
 make by my competitions I am dependent on auntie 
 for everything, everything. Only for her I should be 
 one of the miserable incapables who drudge along as 
 nursery governesses or mothers' helps, for I was trained 
 for nothing and had n't much education anyhow. 
 Marriage was the only career open to me, and except 
 in penny novelettes people don't wish to marry pauper 
 orphans!" 
 
 Hildred was mute, shocked to silence by the sudden 
 pitiful outburst. She had no words, but she squeezed 
 the earthy gloved hands which lay on Arab's lap. 
 
 "I should have loved a home of my own," Arab 
 continued, words tumbling out through the seldom- 
 opened flood-gates. "Good and kind as auntie is, 
 it 's not the same. A home which I could have made 
 pretty, which I could have ordered well, and where I 
 could have tried all sorts of experiments; where I had 
 some independence, where there was no necessity to 
 give an account of my comings and goings, and an 
 accurate description of all my movements, except 
 when I cared to, to a a person who would be in- 
 terested just because they were my movements, and 
 not because I might have been doing something foolish. 
 I 'd like to do something foolish, just for a change. 
 I 'm tired, deadly tired, of always being sensible,
 
 The Cage of Dreams 109 
 
 always doing and saying the right, the expected thing ! 
 I 've often envied you your powers of speech " 
 
 "Me?" cried Hildred. 
 
 " Yes, you. Clever, thoughtful, original things seem 
 just to slip off your tongue without an effort. You 
 have the courage of your ideas, and the self-confidence 
 to give vent to them, while I, even if I think the things, 
 have neither the pluck nor the wit to say them. I can 
 listen and envy and agree. I could even write them 
 perhaps, but when I want the golden tongue of 
 Chrysostom, I am dumb, dumb as the man possessed 
 by a devil." 
 
 "Poor Arab! I never guessed you felt like that." 
 
 " Of course you did n't. Nobody does, and nobody 
 ever will. I don't either, as a rule, only somehow to- 
 day it all came over me in a rush, and I feel that I could 
 fall down and worship and kiss the feet of the man 
 who would come like a knight of old romance and 
 rescue me from the dragons of my own narrowness 
 and stupidity." She paused, breathless, borne on 
 the wings of her rebellion with a flight that brought a 
 carmine flush to her cheeks, an inspired light to her 
 eyes. For the moment she looked brilliant, vivid to 
 amazement. One could believe that no man need 
 want the spur of chivalry to send him, hot-foot, to her 
 capture. Then the light faded; the flame died. 
 Here was no Brunhild in her ring of fire, but Arab 
 Lebarte, an unsought woman of thirty-five, her age 
 written in her fixed complexion and every tell-tale 
 line. 
 
 Her voice went on, almost monotonous now in its 
 low intensity, as if she had dropped from the heights 
 to the plains of reality ; her eyes were fixed as on some
 
 1 10 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 vision of her own summoning. Hildred thought of 
 her mother's horizon metaphor. 
 
 " I could love him, worship him, work for him. My 
 best would be too poor for him. I 'd work my fingers 
 to the bone, and follow him barefoot round the world 
 if he desired it " a low sob shook her voice and 
 warned Hildred that she was losing control. 
 
 She flung a dash of Mrs. Ivors's common-sense, 
 cold-water-like, upon the trembling warmth of the 
 words. 
 
 "It would be much more sensible if you stayed at 
 home and darned his stockings. " 
 
 Arab essayed a laugh a quivering effort. 
 
 "How I 'd love to darn his stockings!" she said 
 dreamily. 
 
 " It seems to me that we are getting a little mixed 
 in our metaphors," Hildred put in briskly, her heart 
 swelling with sympathy, but her generous impulses 
 warning her to prevent Arab from making an admis- 
 sion she might regret later. " Did knights of old wear 
 stockings, I wonder? We really must stick to one 
 period for our imaginary hero and clothe him accord- 
 ingly. Dear Arab, I understand " she leaned over 
 and kissed her cheek softly. "How I wish I could 
 see him come riding over the brow of the hill!" 
 
 "That's a sight you'll never see," said Arab 
 brusquely, rising and shaking the earth from her lap. 
 "Please forget all the rubbish I 've been talking, 
 Hildred. That 's the worst of you sympathetic people, 
 you tempt others to make fools of themselves. I 
 generally keep my dreams shut up in a cage, but you 
 somehow opened the door and let them out. " 
 
 "They'll fly back again. That is the beauty of
 
 The Cage of Dreams in 
 
 one 's own dreams; they couldn't be happy with any 
 one else." 
 
 " Do they make one happy or unhappy, I wonder?" 
 
 '"Work grows fair through starry dreaming,'' 
 quoted Hildred. 
 
 "There you are!" cried Arab, fondly envious, 
 "saying just the right, but not the obvious thing. 
 'Work grows fair through starry dreaming.' Yes. 
 Let 's put it into practice and see if my starry dreams 
 will help me to weed that bed. " She struck her hands 
 together, shaking off the caked earth. 
 
 "Let me help you." 
 
 "Certainly not. I must do penance for my wild, 
 ungrateful, indelicate talk. After all, life, which must 
 be lived, is prose. Dreams which come but rarely are 
 poetry useless frippery, as your mother would say. 
 There are no heroes nowadays, only common-place, 
 ordinary men who get colds in their heads and sniff 
 unromantically. " Her eyes gazed with a veiled 
 brightness at the old horizon. "Well, I 'd wash his 
 pocket-handkerchiefs," she said defiantly. 
 
 Hildred swung her basket to and fro. "Devotion 
 could go no farther," she laughed. "But don't let 
 him know all that beforehand." 
 
 Arab darted a suspicious glance at her which fell 
 harmlessly off the mask of Hildred's unconsciousness. 
 
 Don't let who know?" 
 
 "The catarrhal hero," she returned with deliberate 
 lightness. "The not impossible he, whoe'er he be. 
 Katherine has a proverb 'Keep the bone and the 
 dog will follow you. ' ' 
 
 "You may keep the bone so long that the dog won't 
 want to follow you, " said Arab, with a ring of the old
 
 ii2 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 hidden bitterness. "What is one to do then? Bury 
 it decently, I suppose, and say no more about it. Ugh ! 
 how horribly vulgar we are! Why do you tempt me 
 to such unladylike freedom of speech, Hildred?" 
 
 "I don't think I said very much." 
 
 "Your silence then silence is provocative. It 
 makes you want to hurl words about words which 
 you may regret bitterly afterwards." 
 
 "I don't think you need regret anything you 've 
 said to me to-day. It shall go no farther than this 
 bench. Even the apple-tree is bribing me to silence, " 
 she said, trying to lighten the tension, as a rosy peach- 
 apple dropped into her lap. 
 
 The September sky shone blue through the yellow- 
 ing leaves, and the apples against it looked like jewels 
 set in a green-gold tracery. 
 
 Arab had one of her rare moments of softening. 
 
 "I don't think I shall regret it," she said, looking at 
 the girl with an expression in which warring emotions 
 stirred and strove. " O sweet and twenty, O little Eve, 
 has n't your Apple of Wisdom told you of the terrible 
 handicap of years?" 
 
 Hildred was puzzled. "I don't understand you.'' 
 
 "You will some day, " returned Arab, enigmatically. 
 "Until you came I did n't understand myself. How- 
 ever, Katherine has another saying : ' Keep your own 
 doorstep clean, and you need n't bother about any 
 one else's. ' ' 
 
 "Which is a polite way of telling me to mind my 
 own business." 
 
 "No, it is n't. It 's an apt illustration of my own 
 life. My doorstep is spotlessly, respectably clean, 
 but no one but you has any idea of what 's inside. "
 
 The Cage of Dreams 1 13 
 
 " It 's a garden a garden full of good impulses and 
 unselfishness." 
 
 ' ' A garden full of weeds. ' ' 
 
 "Who ever saw a garden without them? And if 
 there are a few, why, you 're an expert weeder, 
 Arab." 
 
 "Oh, go away. If you say any more soft things to 
 me I shall cry and look a sight when auntie comes in, 
 and I shan't be able to give any satisfactory explana- 
 tion." 
 
 "Say I beat you, " Hildred suggested, "because you 
 beat me at tennis yesterday." 
 
 "Do you want an earthy embrace?" asked Arab. 
 "Because if you don't I advise you to go." 
 
 "I certainly don't. You know I 'm not a really 
 kissy person." 
 
 "I know you 're not, thank Heaven!" cried Arab, 
 as she sank emblematically on her knees before a great 
 clump of golden-rod.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WILD FRUIT 
 
 HILDRED'S eyes shone as she left the Hill- 
 side garden, and skirting the village took a de- 
 tour through lane and field towards the larch- wood, by 
 whose stream the best and biggest blackberries grew. 
 
 She felt moved out of her young quietude by Arab's 
 outburst. To come face to face with passion, even 
 though unexpressed, is one of the experiences which 
 teaches, and it was strangely disturbing to see love, 
 unsought, peering from the eyes of a woman who, one 
 had thought, had long since ceased to seek its reflection 
 in other eyes. 
 
 Love, in personal guise, had not as yet touched 
 Hildred. She had her dreams, of course, the in- 
 tangible, rainbow-winged dreams of youth, but they 
 had not materialised farther than man in the abstract ; 
 a possible vision of glorified comradeship, which her 
 modern upbringing had taught her to relegate to its 
 proper place in the scheme of things. She did not 
 regard marriage, as Arab did, as the crock of gold at 
 the rainbow's foot, to be eagerly sought for in the hope 
 that when found it would be a talisman to turn the 
 whole world to a garden of roses lit perennially by a 
 golden honeymoon! 
 
 114
 
 Wild Fruit 115 
 
 Her sole acquaintance with married life, or half of it, 
 had taught her an early and enforced wisdom. " Mar- 
 riage lasts longer than the honeymoon " was a favour- 
 ite comment of Katherine's on the honourable estate, 
 and if its light and shade were never to chequer her 
 life she would not write herself down a failure, as Arab 
 Lebarte was prone to do in the bitterness of her 
 soul. 
 
 She was young, she wanted to look into Life's mirror, 
 to drink deep of Life's cup before she ventured on the 
 great experiment, if Fate ever gave her the chance. 
 
 She took off her hat as she walked through the field 
 towards the gap the field where now she gathered 
 morning mushrooms instead of magic dew and the 
 afternoon sun fell full on her fair hair and touched it 
 with glints of brightness. The year was spinning 
 slowly and goldenly towards its close, scarcely con- 
 scious as yet of having left the valley of summer to 
 rise towards the bare austerities of winter. 
 
 The girl sang softly as she looked at the distant blue 
 hills, dismissing the thought of Arab's self-revelation 
 with a feeling that was half -shock, half -pity. She had 
 no yearning to play with fire, perhaps to scorch herself 
 in undesired flames. She wanted to live her own life 
 untrammelled, impatient, as youth ever is, of restraint ; 
 too young and inexperienced to realise that the chains 
 of self, of character, of temperament, invisible as 
 gossamer though they be, can bind and fetter closer 
 than bonds of steel. 
 
 It was in this mood that Dr. Lisle found her, as he 
 came up the path which led from the valley, and met 
 her descending through the wood. He was in riding 
 attire, and he did not look at all surprised to see her as
 
 n6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 he sauntered along, tapping his gaiter with his riding- 
 switch. 
 
 Hildred stopped when she saw him. Was it that 
 her eyes were newly opened, or did a subdued radiance 
 light his thin brown face? He looked trim, alert, 
 purposeful as he came forward and took her hand and 
 his eyes shone. 
 
 " I 've been to a distant corner of my kingdom usher- 
 ing a new life into this queer old world," he said. 
 " Since then I 've been to church in your wood, where, 
 from information received, I thought I should find 
 you." 
 
 "Katherine?" 
 
 "You must not try to tap my sources of private 
 information." He took the basket from Hildred's 
 hand, and something new in the glance of his blue eyes 
 brought the ready flush racing to her cheek. 
 
 She rushed into speech. " I went to Hillside to see 
 if Arab Lebarte could come blackberrying with me, 
 but she could n't. " 
 
 "I'm very glad." 
 
 With Arab's outburst fresh in her memory Hildred 
 gave a little embarrassed laugh. 
 
 "That doesn't sound quite kind," she murmured. 
 
 "It is to me," he returned quietly. "I hate a 
 three-cornered conversation, and so do you, if you 
 would only admit it. " 
 
 "We have had a good many of them. " 
 
 "Are they stamped on your memory in letters of 
 gold? You know they 're not. I know how to appre- 
 ciate a solitude of two when I get it. Come down into 
 the wood and talk to me. I never see you alone. If 
 your mother is n't there, Arab Lebarte is, or some one
 
 Wild Fruit 117 
 
 to make the unnecessary triangle. I can't talk to 
 several people at a time, can you?" 
 
 "No," Mildred admitted, her hand resting against 
 the grey trunk of a beech, round whose roots sprang 
 up innumerable saplings whose young green gave an 
 illusion of spring. 
 
 It seemed to Dr. Lisle as he looked at the slender 
 figure with its leafy background that here was the 
 spirit of the almond-tree as he had seen it materialised 
 on that unforgotten May morning. His heart gave a 
 great leap; he seemed to hear the cuckoo calling; 
 to feel youth and life and spring riot in his veins, 
 to thrill to the faint far echo of the pipes of Pan, the 
 call of Nature, who supplies her own answer to the 
 eternal question. 
 
 He gave no sign of the rushing impulses within him 
 as he stood there still tapping his switch, his eyes on 
 the down-bent glowing face. The silence was scarcely 
 marked before he spoke, as a yellowing leaf drifted 
 slowly down on Hildred's hair. 
 
 "There 's a fallen fir- tree near the stream, which 
 makes a throne fit for a queen. I will enthrone you 
 there and feed you with 'apricocks and dewberries,' 
 or their equivalent in blackberries and wild straw- 
 berries. Will you come?" 
 
 There was something in the tone of his question 
 which set Hildred's pulses racing, but with an effort 
 she shook off her unaccustomed embarrassment, and 
 caught at an answerable phrase. 
 
 "Wild strawberries? I did not think that there 
 were any so late as this." 
 
 " I found a patch of them near a mossy boulder, but 
 I did n't pick any. I wanted to share them with you. "
 
 ii8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " To share them with me? How generous of you ! " 
 
 "How selfish, you mean. Things shared have a 
 savour that solitary pleasures never possess. Don't 
 you think so?" 
 
 "It all depends on whom you share them with," 
 returned Hildred, with a touch of her mother's 
 directness. 
 
 Dr. Lisle laughed. "There is no question of the 
 added savour in this case, then. I was well justified 
 in my action. " 
 
 "How did you know I should come?" 
 
 "All things come to him who knows how to wait." 
 
 "Do you know how to wait?" asked Hildred. 
 
 " It is the one art in which I am really proficient, " he 
 answered, with a very direct glance. A sense of his 
 inner excitement tingled unaware through the quiet 
 words. 
 
 Hildred followed him in silence as he led the way 
 down the winding path, holding aside bramble and 
 sapling from contact with her until they came to the 
 fallen fir whose rough red trunk lay across a carpet of 
 dry scented needles. 
 
 It was a mute month for birds; only an occasional 
 chirp, or the dropping of leaf or twig broke the wood- 
 stillness. 
 
 "Sit there," commanded Dr. Lisle, "and I will 
 make a feast for you." 
 
 Hildred sat down on the trunk, and folded her hands 
 in her lap. A new spirit of gaiety suddenly seized her. 
 It was good to be young, good to be alive, good to 
 have a friend like this, who cared, as poor Arab had 
 said, whether she came or went. Dr. Lisle was right. 
 A solitude of two was a solitude to be appreciated.
 
 Wild Fruit 119 
 
 She felt a wave of agreement with all the old saws 
 which proved the point as she looked at him with a 
 little smile. 
 
 "I, too, know how to wait. " 
 
 He shot a swift glance at her, and shook his head. 
 
 " Not as I do. You 're too young yet. " 
 
 "We shan't quarrel about it. I bow to your 
 superiority of years." They both laughed. Dr. 
 Lisle's mood was infectious to-day. 
 
 He moved quickly here and there, vanishing for a 
 moment among the trees, returning to arrange his 
 feast on the far side of the fir 
 
 "You must n't look until I give you leave. " 
 
 "Not even a peep?" 
 
 " Not even a peep. " He paused and looked at her. 
 " Don't you like my cheek in ordering you about? " 
 
 "I think I do," she said, her eyes on the pine- 
 needles. " It makes me feel " 
 
 "Feel what?" he asked, coming closer. 
 
 Hildred drew back slightly. 
 
 " It makes me feel as if I were young again and back 
 with my cousins who exacted implicit obedience. " 
 
 " Did you live in your youth with cousins?" 
 
 "Yes. Did n't you know ? ' ' 
 
 Dr. Lisle shook his head. "You shall tell me later. 
 I 'd like to know about the child you, everything 
 about you " he stopped abruptly, and turned 
 away. In a moment he came back and dropped on 
 one knee before her. 
 
 "Her Majesty is served," he said, bowing his 
 head. 
 
 Hildred rose and went to the other side of the fir- 
 trunk. A broad mossy stone as table bore a yellow
 
 I2O The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 frond of bracken heaped high with purple blackberries, 
 while two fern-leaves, deftly twisted, made a green 
 basket for clusters of rose and white wild strawberries 
 plucked on their own stems. Between the dryad's 
 dishes of fruit stood the narrow silver cup of a flask, 
 brimming with clear water. 
 
 Hildred smiled and drew a breath of joy. 
 
 "It is a feast fit for Titania!" she cried. 
 
 " It is a feast fit for you, which is more to the point, " 
 he returned, sitting lowly at her feet. "What will you 
 begin on?" 
 
 "That is puzzling. Which do you recommend?" 
 
 " I should advise the strawberries first, " said Marcus 
 Lisle gravely. "The blackberry juice will probably 
 stain your fingers." 
 
 "I can wash them in the stream " 
 
 "And dry them with my silk handkerchief." He 
 drew the corner of a folded white square from his 
 breast-pocket. 
 
 "You must share, "she insisted, holding up a stem 
 with two ripe strawberries on it. 
 
 "Yes, if you will feed me with them. Recollect 
 that I had all the trouble of gathering them. " 
 
 "I thought you hinted that it was a pleasure. " 
 
 "One has to find reasons for unusual requests." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind feeding you," Hildred laughed. 
 
 "Besides, I have a constitutional objection to soiling 
 my hands " 
 
 "Enough! Enough!" cried Hildred, putting a 
 strawberry into his mouth. "One reason is a reason, 
 two or more turn into foolish excuses. " 
 
 "Don't scold me, nymph of the almond-tree. Let 
 me eat wild fruit to my undoing. "
 
 Wild Fruit 121 
 
 "It is of your own plucking, remember," said 
 Hildred. 
 
 He turned sharply. Were the words meant as a 
 warning, or were they only in tune with his? 
 
 The fair face was soft and smiling, the thick fringe of 
 lashes did not hide the kindness of the grey eyes. 
 Suddenly he realised how much this girl meant to him. 
 The nymph of the almond-tree had stepped from fan- 
 tasy to solid earth earth as solid as is ever seen in 
 lover's vision. She had merged from dryad to dream- 
 woman, to the one woman in the world of the real and 
 ideal. 
 
 He looked up at her again, veiling the ardour in his 
 eyes. She sat above him, serenely unconscious of her 
 transformation, yet with a sweet stirring at her heart 
 which should have warned her. 
 
 "Now it is time for the blackberries," she said, 
 demurely. 
 
 Was ever such a feast? Every time the pink fingers 
 approached his lips it seemed to Marcus Lisle like the 
 echo of a caress. Sometimes they softly touched 
 him and his spirit soared in ecstasy. Whatever life 
 brought hereafter to these two few joys could have 
 the exquisite evanescence, the uncapturable fragrance 
 of that fugitive hour in the wood. 
 
 When all the blackberries were finished Lisle handed 
 her the silver cup. When she had drunk from it he 
 drank also. 
 
 "I wish it were of glass that I might break it," he 
 said in an undertone. 
 
 "Why?" asked Hildred innocently. 
 
 "So that no other lips than ours should ever touch 
 it," he returned.
 
 122 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred blushed deeply and turned away to dabble 
 her fingers in the stream. She did not look at Dr. 
 Lisle, but kept her back to him as she played with the 
 water, letting it trickle over her hands, and shaking 
 the drops in crystal showers from her pink finger-tips. 
 
 A firm step brought him to her side. 
 
 " You must have washed them sufficiently by this, " 
 said Marcus Lisle. " Let me dry them for you. " 
 
 He shook out the silk handkerchief and caught the 
 half-reluctant hands in its folds, drying them carefully, 
 finger by finger. There was a reverence mingled with 
 the sweet intimacy of the action which touched while 
 it vaguely troubled Hildred. She drew her hands 
 away. 
 
 "What about your own?" she asked. "Oh, 
 you 've scratched yourself. " 
 
 Dr. Lisle examined a mark or two. 
 
 "It 's nothing. I didn't know the brambles had 
 scratched me. You see, I was gathering the fruit for 
 you," he said, with a sudden smile which lit up his 
 whole face. 
 
 Hildred turned as if to go. "Perhaps I had 
 better 
 
 "No. Why? Have I tired you already?" 
 
 "Oh.no." 
 
 " Then stay and talk for a little longer. This is my 
 hour. Don't shorten it. Tell me your dreams." 
 
 Hildred sat down again on the fir-tree, while Dr. 
 Lisle stretched himself on the ground at her feet 
 with a sigh of content. She patted and prodded 
 the red flakes of the fir-bark in a sudden access of 
 shyness. 
 
 " My dreams are prosaic enough, " she said, turning
 
 Wild Fruit 123 
 
 her face so that he could only see the soft young curve 
 of her cheek. "Don't you want to smoke? You may 
 if you wish." 
 
 "No, thanks. The dryads would n't like it. You 
 would hear them shiver in their trees if I dared to 
 commit such sacrilege." He touched the hem of her 
 skirt unseen. "Tell me your dreams, " he said again, 
 in a voice which trembled a little. 
 
 Hildred did not notice; she was suddenly wrapt 
 in the cloud of her own thoughts. 
 
 " I have wanted to tell you things, not dreams, ever 
 since the day do you remember it, I wonder? when 
 you showed me how to find the fairy paint-brushes in 
 the periwinkles and the doves in the columbines, 
 and told me that it was your mother who had shown 
 them to you when you were a little boy. " 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "No one ever showed me those things when I was 
 a child. Tell me more about your mother. " 
 
 Slowly at first Marcus Lisle opened his heart and 
 spoke, as a man speaks to the one woman, of the things 
 which lay nearest to it. There was nothing new in the 
 simple story he told her; there will never be anything 
 new in it as long as the love of mother for children en- 
 dures, or the spirit of courage, patience, and self-sacri- 
 fice continues to animate women. He told her how 
 that gay young mother, left with a meagre income, had 
 worked and striven to support and educate him and 
 his sister; how when the worst of the struggle was 
 over, when he was earning enough money by teaching 
 to help himself through college, and when his sister was 
 trained as a nurse, a sudden chill had attacked the 
 delicate frame which had withstood so much at need,
 
 124 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 and taken the mother from the two who could now 
 begin to repay her in more than love. 
 
 "And your sister?" asked Hildred softly. 
 
 " She married a Dr. Marston with a big poor practice 
 in Birmingham. When I was qualified I went to him 
 as assistant, and learned chiefly how little I knew of 
 life or anything else. Then he died, worn out from a 
 typhoid epidemic, poor chap, and left me enough 
 money to buy this practice; and Marion, who had no 
 children of her own, started a Children's Hospital 
 in Surrey, of which she is still the matron. " 
 
 "Ah, but you had a home. You had a happy 
 childhood in spite of poverty," breathed Hildred, 
 answering her own thoughts rather than his words. 
 
 Marcus Lisle looked up startled. 
 
 "Yes, I certainly had. Had n't you?" 
 
 "I oh, I don't know. I thought I had at the 
 time, but but that isn't all that matters." She 
 paused for a moment on the edge of confidence, then 
 plunged. "Dr. Lisle, I don't know how much or 
 how little of our affairs is known to you. I don't 
 know what my mother has told people, or what she 
 wishes left unsaid. I never had the courage to ask 
 her, but I don't want to tell anything that she does n't 
 wish to be known." 
 
 "Your mother has told me that she and your 
 father agreed long ago to separate and live their own 
 lives in their own way, and that you " his tone 
 changed and softened "were finishing your education 
 on the Continent in accordance with their wishes. " 
 
 "Then I can betray no confidences, for that is all 
 I know myself." Her cheeks burned; her energy 
 quickened; she plucked flakes from the tree- trunk
 
 Wild Fruit 125 
 
 feverishly. " Dr. Lisle, I never saw my mother that 
 I can remember until I came to Burnaby." 
 
 Dr. Lisle pulled his cap over his eyes, and turned 
 on his elbow. "Yes?" he returned quietly, as if he 
 heard such startling announcements every day of his 
 life. 
 
 Hildred felt relieved at his calm acceptance of her 
 statement, and continued in jerky, broken sentences 
 which left a good deal to the hearer's imagination. 
 
 "I spent my childhood with two elderly cousins at 
 Wilmerhurst. . . . Such an ordered life, placid, 
 conventional. ... I accepted things as they came. 
 I was very incurious. I led the ordinary school- 
 life, select and expensive. The cousins were very 
 kind in the holidays. I suppose I missed nothing 
 at the time. I had a year in Germany, in France, in 
 Italy, and last spring an expectation of settling down 
 for the summer at Wilmerhurst before I Then came 
 the bombshell. " 
 
 "What bombshell?" 
 
 " Coming here. I was quite frightened beforehand. 
 It shattered all my plans and hopes for the present." 
 
 "Your plans and hopes, then, had nothing to do 
 with Burnaby?" 
 
 "Of course not," answered Hildred with uncon- 
 scious cruelty. "When I leave this " 
 
 "Are you going away?" He caught the fragment 
 of skirt which brushed across his hand as if with such 
 light capture he could prevent her flight. 
 
 " Yes. Did n't you know? " 
 
 " No. " All the brightness had faded from his tone. 
 
 "When I leave Burnaby next month " 
 
 "So soon?"
 
 126 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Yes," she answered gently, trying to keep out of 
 her words the absurd pang she felt at the thought of 
 going away. "When I leave Burnaby next month 
 I am to prepare to spend the winter in Egypt with 
 my father. " 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "And then I am to choose what I shall do." 
 
 "You have a choice?" 
 
 "Like Portia's suitors, three." She tried to speak 
 lightly, but the tonelessness of Dr. Lisle's voice awoke 
 in her the ridiculous fancy that she had inadvertently 
 killed the joy of the woodland hour. "I am to live 
 with my mother, or my father, or choose a career for 
 myself." 
 
 "Of course you can make no decision as yet." 
 
 "Of course not. If my father really needs me I 
 may feel that I ought to stay with him. " 
 
 "Does that mean that Burnaby is out of the 
 running?" Dr. Lisle's cap blotted out his present 
 surroundings, but it was sufficiently transparent to 
 enable him to see his dreams, one by one, taking flight. 
 
 "Quite," said Hildred with unnecessary emphasis. 
 
 "You could n't make up your mind to stay here in 
 any case?" 
 
 " I must go to Egypt first. " 
 
 "But afterwards?" he queried softly. He had 
 gathered together quite a respectable pile of fir-needles. 
 It appeared to be an absorbing occupation; it looked 
 almost as if he were burying something under them. 
 Perhaps he was. Who knows? 
 
 Hildred rushed into unconsidered speech. It seemed 
 as if she were trying to convince herself as well as her 
 hearer, and in consequence she became over- vehement.
 
 Wild Fruit 127 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Lisle, can you imagine it? I should be 
 miserable here. It is all very well to be here as a 
 visitor in the summer, to have people kind enough to 
 help to amuse one, but for one's life! It would choke 
 me, stifle me! What could I do? How could I fill 
 my days? How keep my mind alive in a place where 
 nobody talks of anything but games, and people's 
 only mental recreation is to criticise their neighbours. " 
 
 Dr. Lisle placed a dry little cone on the top of his 
 mound. 
 
 "And so you were miserable here?" he asserted 
 softly. 
 
 Hildred flushed deeper, half-ashamed of her out- 
 burst. "Oh, no, I did n't mean that." 
 
 "And you found no one congenial in Burnaby?" 
 he persisted. 
 
 " I did n't mean that either. You know I did n't." 
 
 "How do I know?" he asked, looking up quickly 
 and scattering his mound of fir-needles. 
 
 " Because I found you" she answered frankly, laying 
 her hand for a moment on his shoulder. "You are 
 my friend." 
 
 Dr. Lisle jumped up. The fir-needles fled far and 
 wide, and there was nothing beneath them after all! 
 
 "Are n't you?" asked Hildred shyly. 
 
 "Your friend," he repeated with a half-smile. 
 "Well, we '11 leave it at that for the present. I 've 
 had my accolade. " 
 
 "Do you consider it my duty to stay with my 
 mother?" asked Hildred hurriedly. "She doesn't 
 really need me. She is perfectly happy as long as she 
 can play golf or any kind of game, and Katherine looks 
 after her better than I ever could,"
 
 128 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " No, I don't," answered Dr. Lisle abruptly. " Your 
 duty is to wait until you come to the fork in the roads, 
 and then be sure that you take the right one. " 
 
 " How shall I know which is the right one?" 
 
 "How can I tell? I can't preach, but I think 
 one's path lies tolerably clear, even when one comes 
 to a cross-road. " 
 
 "I have n't come to mine yet. " 
 
 "No. Your road at present goes straight on after 
 the next turning the October turning. October! 
 I shall have no one then to share my sylvan feasts. 
 My literal red-letter days will be post days. " 
 
 "Post days?" Hildred echoed. 
 
 "Yes. You write to your friends, don't you?" 
 he asked quickly. 
 
 "Sometimes." 
 
 "Will you write to me?" 
 
 "Yes, if you wish." 
 
 "I do wish it," he returned gravely. "Friendship 
 to me means no light thing. " 
 
 " Nor to me, " she put in quickly. 
 
 "Friendship with you," he began and stopped. 
 "You won't forget to-day, will you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor I." Something stronger than truth, some- 
 thing deeper than sincerity rang through the short 
 sentences. "When you want a friend remember 
 that I am here. It 's more than words, remember. 
 Just as this hour outweighs empty years. " 
 
 "I '11 remember." 
 
 "And I shall wait in a solitude of one." 
 
 "You will have Arab Lebarte," said Hildred, with 
 a sudden wave of loyalty towards her friend.
 
 Wild Fruit 129 
 
 Dr. Lisle smiled and addressing a robin which had 
 just perched, bright-eyed, and tentative, on a branch 
 overhead, said: "Bird, it is an odd fact that the best 
 of women, even though they know you crave for bread 
 will offer you a stone with the smiling assumption 
 that it is a perfectly possible substitute." 
 
 "I " began Hildred. 
 
 "I was speaking to the robin," said Marcus Lisle, 
 tapping the fir-needles from his clothes with his riding- 
 switch. 
 
 The bird hopped a little nearer, flirted its tail, and 
 flew away. 
 
 "Apparently he does not appreciate your con- 
 versation." 
 
 " He knows how to give a hint, " said Marcus Lisle. 
 "Come. We had better be getting back. My hour 
 is over. 'Nous n'irons plus au bois, les lauriers sont 
 coupe's?' I will see you safely to Whitecot and 
 then " he paused. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Then I shall go home and begin to practise my 
 art." 
 
 "What art?" asked Hildred thoughtlessly. 
 
 "The art of waiting," he answered with a look 
 which made her pulses race again. 
 
 9
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 GHOSTS 
 
 AS the time for Hildred's departure drew near 
 Mrs. Ivors evinced an increased restlessness, 
 which merged on occasions into spurts of crankiness; 
 not actual outbursts of temper, but a cross tendency 
 to be pleased with nothing. 
 
 The days cooled and shortened; a period of bad 
 weather shook the yellowing leaves from the trees, 
 and hastened the look of autumnal austerity. 
 
 A day's golf generally implied a wetting, and Kath- 
 erine grew weary of stuffing wet boots with straw to 
 preserve their shape, and of endlessly drying dripping 
 skirts and soaked woollen coats. 
 
 "What pleasure you can find in getting wet to 
 the skin every day beats me!" she said at last. 
 
 "It isn't the getting wet pleases me," said Mrs. 
 Ivors "it 's the game the game that 's so very well 
 worth the candle." 
 
 "What candle?" sniffed Katherine. "I think you 
 go out and get wet just to forget that young miss is 
 going away." 
 
 "Katherine, you're a greater idiot even than I 
 thought you, which is saying a good deal, " retorted 
 Mrs. Ivors, tramping restlessly about the kitchen. 
 
 130
 
 Ghosts 131 
 
 "It will be quite pleasant to have the house to 
 ourselves again." 
 
 " Pleasant my eye, " said Katherine rudely. " 'T will 
 be like a house of the dead with young miss gone, and 
 you out all day." 
 
 "It was a necessary experiment, Katherine, and we 
 have got to pay whatever it 's cost us. It has been a 
 greater success than I, personally, ever anticipated. 
 Hildred is a girl one might be pleased to take any- 
 where. " She unfastened her skirt and let it drop on 
 the floor. 
 
 Katherine, who was swinging the water out of her 
 golf -coat, paused at the words, with the thick grey 
 twist over her arm. 
 
 "If you 're as cold-hearted as you pretend to be 
 you ought to be well ashamed of yourself, " she cried, 
 her hard face working. "You don't deserve to have 
 a daughter!" 
 
 "I never wanted one," said Mrs. Ivors, abruptly, 
 her lips thinning while a look of anguish came into 
 her eyes. 
 
 She left the kitchen in her knickerbockers and 
 stocking-feet, and strode upstairs, a figure suddenly 
 touched with tragedy despite the grotesqueness of her 
 attire. 
 
 Hildred, too, was conscious of a sense of impending 
 loss. It would cost her a greater pang to leave Bur- 
 naby than she had anticipated. She seemed to have 
 fitted so easily into her little niche. She would be 
 really sorry to leave Whitecot; to part from Arab 
 Lebarte, who had never stepped outside her normal 
 acceptance of the inevitable since that one wild 
 moment ; from Dr. Lisle whom she had seen but seldom
 
 132 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 since that hour in the wood whose memory was hidden 
 deeply in the warmest corner of her heart. She de- 
 liberately avoided probing below the surface for 
 meanings, though his words rang bells of melody in her 
 ears. The future was wrapped in a sun-shot haze, 
 and of course it would be ridiculous to let one's 
 imagination run riot and read shades of sentiment into 
 a hinted capacity for patience. 
 
 Between her and her mother a sort of armed friend- 
 ship had sprung up. Consciously or unconsciously 
 each was on the defensive. The weapons of war were 
 rarely laid aside, or if so, only within easy arm's reach. 
 In tastes and temperament they were jarringly dis- 
 similar, with a dissimilarity set apart at so wide an 
 angle that the meeting-point could only be in eternity. 
 Still, they had something in common, a mutual courage 
 of action and outlook, a frankness, a love of truth and 
 honesty. There was a meeting-ground of charac- 
 teristics if not of actual character. 
 
 Late one evening after dinner, an evening of fire- 
 light, candle-light, and drawn curtains which recalled 
 to Hildred her first night at Whitecot, save that scuds 
 of rain pattered at the window for admission instead 
 of the scents and sounds of an April dusk, Mrs. 
 Ivors suddenly shook off her lounging position, sat 
 up straight in her chair, and threw her cigarette into 
 the fire. 
 
 Hildred looked across in some astonishment. 
 Silence had fallen between them, and the girl's fingers 
 had been busy with a strip of Venetian needle-point 
 which had been long doing with its infinitesimal fairy 
 stitches, while her thoughts fled far afield to the 
 future and its strange hidden possibilities, soaring,
 
 Ghosts 133 
 
 adventuring, retreating, till with a shock Mrs Ivors's 
 action recalled her vagrant fancies to the inactive 
 present. 
 
 "Hildred, I want to speak to you." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I think it is only fair to tell you something of my 
 married life before you leave me. I hate to talk of the 
 past. It 's behind me. I Ve put it behind me, and I 
 don't want to be reminded of it, nor to raise its ghosts." 
 
 Hildred's calm was effectually shaken by her 
 mother's stiff agitation. 
 
 " Please don't tell me anything if you "d rather not. " 
 
 " I 'd much rather not, but that 's not the question. 
 It 's a question of right or wrong. It 's a question of 
 fairness or unfairness towards yourself. In all justice 
 and honesty it is only right that you should know, as 
 far as I can tell you, why your father and I parted. 
 'Those whom God hath joined together '" She 
 gave a bitter laugh. 
 
 The sound choked Hildred. "Please don't," she 
 murmured, but Mrs. Ivors stared into the fire unheed- 
 ing. Then she spoke as if she were reading from a 
 book long closed. 
 
 "Our marriage was the usual one of propinquity 
 and physical attraction. We met at the Derings, our 
 mutual cousins. That was in their palmy days, before 
 they lost their money. After the fall of their leaves, ' 
 she continued with a grim humour, "we paid them 
 back by giving them you to look after. " 
 
 In a wave of indignation Hildred felt that the tone 
 implied revenge rather than reward. 
 
 "They were always good to me, " she cried. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt. They were well paid for it. "
 
 134 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 After a pause she went on: "Your father was re- 
 markably handsome. I was considered bright and 
 quite pretty. I was twenty-five and ready to be 
 pleased at his attentions. He had no one else to dis- 
 tract him, and was probably attracted by my decision 
 of character a quality in which he himself was sadly 
 deficient. I thought him a demi-god after a little. 
 It 's far better to look at a man through the wrong end 
 of the opera-glasses first, for then you '11 be surprised 
 if he comes up to the normal height. Ingram did n't. 
 He either soared far above it in his own estimation, 
 or fell far below it in mine. " 
 
 This was a new woman whom Hildred had never 
 seen before; a woman far removed from the careless, 
 energetic player of games; a woman who had suffered, 
 and who had bitterly resented the suffering, on whom 
 " gnarling sorrow " had laid a heavy hand, a touch that 
 blighted, but neither killed nor healed. She told her 
 story with a certain bitter detachment, yet not so far 
 removed from contact that the recital had lost its 
 power to sting. 
 
 "We were poles apart. We had nothing in common. 
 We did n't even speak the same language. When, just 
 at first, he used to ask my advice, I found that it 
 was n't advice he wanted, but praise and agreement. 
 He used to get quite angry if I did n't advise him to do 
 exactly as he wished, or approve of everything he had 
 done. Lots of people are like that. It 's a common 
 failing. In pictures, music, books, and plays it was 
 just the same. We had n't a thought in common. I 
 liked things one could understand, he raved about the 
 intangible, the incomprehensible, the beautiful, which 
 7 should often have translated as the silly, the mean-
 
 Ghosts 135 
 
 ingless, and the hideous. I did n't understand his 
 friends either, nor they me. He was popular in a 
 certain set in most sets really," she added, with a 
 determination to be honest, "for he had a great per- 
 sonal charm when he chose to exert it. I was popular, 
 too, among my own sort, until marriage disappointed 
 me, and took all the zest and brightness out of my 
 life." 
 
 "What did he my father do?" asked Hildred, her 
 voice fallen to a whisper. So far the indictment 
 seemed to her to be directed against temperament 
 rather than the essentials. She had not enough ex- 
 perience of life to realise that a sufficiency of tempera- 
 mental similarity is one of the great essentials of a 
 happy marriage. 
 
 "Nothing," answered Mrs. Ivors, accentuating the 
 word ironically. "At least one could call it nothing, 
 even if it meant everything. He neither lied, stole, 
 swore, nor drank, was not unfaithful to me, never laid 
 a hand on me except in kindness, as they say, never 
 really got into tempers, never openly neglected me. 
 Sounds a model husband, does n't he?" 
 
 Hildred listened, bewildered by the circling thoughts 
 raised by her mother's terse cutting words prominent 
 amongst them being an impulse of sympathy towards 
 the errant father whose temperament was at least 
 comprehensible to her. 
 
 "Made quite a success of his painting, too the 
 handsome popular artist with the dull plain wife. He 
 used to talk a lot of rot about environment. He never 
 saw that he had taken me out of mine and provided 
 me with a cage instead. He was selfish, utterly 
 and absolutely selfish. Well what 's the use of
 
 136 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 raking up old bitternesses? By the way, did Lady 
 Waveney ever try and pump you on the subject?" 
 
 "The first day I met her she asked me if I had seen 
 my father lately?" 
 
 "And what did you say?" Mrs. Ivors leaned 
 forward, as if the apparently irrelevant question 
 and answer were of intense interest to her. 
 
 "I said that I was going to spend the winter in 
 Egypt with him." 
 
 "Good girl. You showed discretion. Laura's full 
 of curiosity." 
 
 "Oh, no, I showed no discretion," said Hildred. 
 quickly. " I told her the only thing I knew, and I was 
 not sure if you would have liked me to say anything at 
 all on the subject. You must recollect that until now 
 my knowledge of you both has been a perfect blank. " 
 
 "Never mind what I 'd have wished you to say," 
 answered Mrs. Ivors, ignoring her last remark. "That 
 does n't matter. Truth is truth no matter who wants 
 to drape it, or how they 'd like it done. No, Ingram 
 never beat me, but he used to say little sarcastic things 
 that made me feel raging and helpless and gave me a 
 sort of squirm inside; he used to look disapproval at 
 me with his raised eyebrows. I could feel his disap- 
 proving eyes through the back of my head. He but 
 what 's the use? ... I suppose we should have 
 jogged along as most couples do, only bumping into 
 each other a little harder now and then, if if some- 
 thing had n't happened. " 
 
 Mrs. Ivors stopped. Her face looked suddenly wild 
 and white; a great fear was in her eyes. Hildred 
 held her breath. Her heart beat furiously. Tragedy 
 seemed to spread a pall about the room.
 
 Ghosts 137 
 
 "I had one great wish," Mrs. Ivors continued in a 
 voice absolutely empty of feeling, flat, dead, toneless. 
 "I longed with all my heart for a son. After some 
 years my wish seemed about to be fulfilled. Then you 
 were born. I hated you. I cursed you in my dis- 
 appointment. Still ... a year later my curses 
 came home to roost. I bore my son. He I can't. 
 Afterwards your father got ill, chest, lungs. We 
 had to winter in Egypt. The first year I left you 
 behind and took him. The second there was an 
 epidemic of plague the doctor said it would be mad- 
 ness to take a child. Ingram insisted on my going 
 out with him. When I was away he you both got 
 diphtheria. He died. He was dead when I came 
 home. I never saw him again. I never saw Ingram 
 again. I never saw you again till last April. . . . 
 Say nothing. Make no comment. Never refer again 
 to what I have told you. ... I was hard, bitter, 
 revengeful. I wanted to curse God and die. But 
 I was too strong. Such as I live far beyond the allot- 
 ted span. I may have been wrong, I don't know 
 sometimes I think so but at the time it seemed 
 impossible .... Some say that sorrow draws 
 people together. That 's a lie. It does n't. It puts 
 them miles apart. There 's a lot of rot talked about 
 things by people who know nothing." 
 
 Hildred sat mute, overcome with the shock of her 
 mother's outburst. The personal note was struck 
 first. She had known herself to be ignored, deserted, 
 but to find that she had been hated, cursed, as well 
 . . . poor little innocent scapegoat of another's 
 desires. Her mother was hard, and bitter, and alien- 
 ative of all sympathy. Yet, through her words rang
 
 138 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 the appeal of the love pent-up and expended upon the 
 one frail blossom so soon to be plucked, the appeal of 
 suffering, the bitter cry of a broken heart, the aching 
 resentful pride that raised a barrier so high that none 
 might cross it. 
 
 The silence grew intolerable. At first Hildred could 
 have found no words, even if speech had not been 
 forbidden ; then utterance became impossible. 
 
 At last the door was opened with a jerk and Kath- 
 erine looked in, her white cap-strings falling over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "I thought you'd all gone to sleep you was so 
 quiet," she said. 
 
 "We 've been raising ghosts, Katherine, " said Mrs. 
 Ivors in a hard tone. "It's not exactly a lively 
 process. I 'm going to lay them now. Go away. " 
 
 Katherine disappeared, and shut the door with a 
 bang. 
 
 ' ' We arranged things through lawyers. We decided 
 the question of your future. The usual well-meaning 
 busybodies of relations tried to arrange a meeting a 
 reconciliation. Another instance of the prating of 
 know-nothings! If I had seen Ingram I should cer- 
 tainly have tried to kill him." She spoke with a 
 matter-of-fact decisiveness that heightened rather 
 than lessened the horror of the words. "I looked on 
 him as my son's murderer. He would never have died 
 if I had been there. " 
 
 "You " 
 
 "Yes, I do know, " cried Mrs. Ivors sharply. " I 'd 
 never have left him night or day; I 'd have sucked the 
 poison from his throat. How could hirelings do what 
 I would have done to save my son? What would it
 
 Ghosts 139 
 
 have mattered if I died so that my son had his man's 
 life?" 
 
 There was a tragic simplicity in the words, a sense 
 as of motherhood thwarted and spent in vain. For 
 her no one else in the world existed. All feeling was 
 drained into that one cup of bitter regret. She could 
 have cried with Hecuba: 
 
 "Hadst thou but fallen fighting, hadst thou known 
 Strong youth and love and all the majesty 
 Of godlike kings, then had we spoken of thee 
 As of one blessed! . . . but now . . . 
 Poor little child!" 
 
 He had been robbed of life with all its glorious 
 possibilities, this man-child whom she had brought 
 into the world, and the cruel theft tore from her also 
 some of the essentials of her being and left her warped, 
 wounded, and spiritually deformed. 
 
 Hildred covered her eyes. She had no tears, her lids 
 were hot and burning, but she impotently tried to shut 
 out the sight of the soul which lay bare before her. 
 She felt numb, helpless, half-pitying, half-condemning, 
 with the hasty judgment of youth ; longing to flee, yet 
 chained by that compelling force, the voice of a naked 
 self which one hears only in the rare moments of life. 
 She had no personal gauge with which to measure the 
 depths of such feelings, no personal balm to offer for 
 such wounds, no responsive stirring in the waters of 
 her own soul whose deeps were still untroubled; yet 
 the budding womanhood in her stretched out hands to 
 the maimed womanhood in her mother. Because 
 of that she understood a little; she touched the fringe 
 of the suffering which enwrapped the other, and made
 
 140 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 of her a figure as moving in its single absorption as any 
 in an old Greek drama. 
 
 After a little the voice which had rung but a moment 
 since with the echo of an eternal sorrow spoke again ; 
 this time there was even a little thrill of satisfaction in 
 its tone. 
 
 " I 've cut myself adrift from the past. I 've put it 
 all behind me. I 've built up a new life for myself. I 
 have a place here that is full enough and interesting 
 enough for me. Fortunately, I was always fond of 
 games and out-door life," she went on, unconscious of 
 the tragic bathos of the words. "After all to be a 
 sportsman in the best sense implies a good deal. " 
 
 The sudden change of topic, the unexpected leap 
 from emotion to commonplace was almost too much 
 for Hildred. She could have laughed or cried hysteri- 
 cally. Instead she uncovered her eyes to see her 
 mother, with her everyday mask well adjusted, 
 looking at the dying embers of the fire as if she pon- 
 dered no deeper question than whether it would be 
 worth while to put on fresh coal or not. The woman 
 of sorrows had vanished with the dead flames, but it 
 was a sudden and disturbing withdrawal. 
 
 "Well, have you nothing to say?" Mrs. Ivors asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "You told me to say nothing," answered Hildred. 
 
 " Well, I tell you to speak now. " 
 
 "All I have to say is that I am sorry for you 
 and my father, but I think I am still sorrier for myself. " 
 
 "The past is past," began Mrs. Ivors. 
 
 "The past is never past," cried Hildred, with a 
 flash of intuition. Words she had once read raced 
 across her mind. "The past can never die; what has
 
 Ghosts 141 
 
 been will be again, and the things a man has once 
 suffered he must still endure!" "It's perfectly 
 true. The past lives in you, and it lives in me, and 
 in what you have done to me. " She stopped, ashamed 
 of her outburst when she had meant to hold herself in 
 check. 
 
 "A cheerful theory, upon my soul, " said Mrs. Ivors, 
 rising. " I think we 'd better go to bed. "
 
 PART II 
 THE FATHER 
 
 143
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE WISHING CAP 
 
 OUT of the dazed semi-consciousness which is 
 the sea's one boon to her temporary victims 
 Hildred dreamily recalled the circumstances of her 
 departure from Burnaby. 
 
 Katherine had cried, yes, actually cried at her 
 going. Great tears had rolled down her cheeks, as 
 she gave the girl a quick, shamefaced embrace, and 
 turned away, mute. 
 
 Mrs. Ivors had requested an occasional letter. 
 
 "You might write to me sometimes, and let me 
 know your movements, and how you are getting 
 along. No need to enthuse about the sunsets or 
 the dirty Arabs, though. I don't appreciate local 
 colour." 
 
 Arab Lebarte had asked for news of the great world 
 in which Hildred would presumably find herself. 
 " Tell me about all the interesting people you are sure 
 to meet, " she begged. " What they looked like, what 
 they wore, what they said and did, just to make me 
 feel in touch with something outside. " 
 
 A quick, firm grip and a low- voiced reminder that 
 the laurels were growing again and that her friend was 
 hers for ever and a day was Dr. Lisle's valediction. 
 
 10 145
 
 146 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred smiled as she thought of it, and of the parcel 
 of books from her friend which she had found awaiting 
 her on board the Nubia on her arrival. 
 
 For the first time she felt really aware of her sur- 
 roundings. The horrible motion of the ship seemed 
 to have ceased, and a faint desire to leave her cabin 
 and see what the world of water looked like from the 
 deck stirred her, but not so far as to induce present 
 action. She was still content to lie there, conscious 
 of that curious sense of detachment which assails 
 most people on their first sea voyage, that sense as 
 of permanent separation from the stable element 
 which the venturing upon the unstable one induces. 
 She turned on her side; through the open port-hole 
 she could see that the sun danced upon the waters. 
 It was good to feel better ; it was good to see the sun ; 
 it was good to be alive. She smiled again. 
 
 "Ah, that's right," said a very charming voice. 
 "You must be feeling better. I am so glad." 
 
 During the nightmare hours which were now 
 happily over Hildred had been conscious of a kind 
 beneficence, a sympathetic presence in her cabin, but 
 she had been too ill to fit it with a personality or to 
 take heed of feature or characteristic. At the warm, 
 gentle words she looked towards the cabin door whence 
 the voice proceeded, and saw fully for the first time the 
 tall figure of her travelling companion, Miss Marlowe, 
 who had apparently just returned from her bath. 
 
 There was something instantly attractive in the 
 vision thrown out vividly against the background of 
 the curtained door the curve of long limbs hinted at 
 through a wonderful pale blue dressing-gown embroid- 
 ered in irises, white, lavender, and purple, the two
 
 The Wishing Cap 147 
 
 plaits of wavy black hair which framed a beautiful 
 ivory-tinted face and fell over her shoulders almost to 
 the knee, the black-lashed eyes which looked at the 
 moment blue as the sea itself, but which might possi- 
 bly change to grey or darken to hyacinth according 
 to surroundings or moods, the full humorous mouth, 
 the firm chin, mitigated by its fascinating dimple. 
 The face fell far below the requisite canons of beauty, 
 the nose was too short, the chin too square, the mouth 
 too big, the eyebrows too straight but to Hildred 
 it was the loveliest face she had ever seen, and she 
 promptly fell in love with it. A curious inflection in 
 the soft voice went straight to her heart, an inflection 
 that was not exactly cooing, caressing, or coaxing, but 
 a little mixture of all three, a soft rising and falling 
 of the melodious voice which was unfamiliar yet not 
 unknown to Hildred, and which she could not as yet 
 place, but which fascinated her as it fascinated most 
 other people who came into close contact with Hesper 
 Marlowe. 
 
 "Do you feel well enough to get up?" asked the 
 coaxing voice. "It would do you all the good in the 
 world if you could see the sun sparkling on the water, 
 and feel the sea-breezes on your face. " 
 
 " I am sure it would, " Hildred answered, sitting up. 
 "You have been very good to me. I don't think I 
 ever even thanked you." 
 
 "Indeed you did, and even if you didn't, what 
 thanks did I want? You were very bad, you poor 
 child. I felt dreadfully sorry for you." Miss Mar- 
 lowe's voice lingered a little on the "dreadfully," 
 elongating the first vowel sound in a way that brought 
 swift recognition to Hildred's mind.
 
 148 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Now, I know!" she cried without thinking. 
 "You 're Irish!" 
 
 "Of course I am! What else would I be?" asked 
 Miss Marlowe, with a twinkle of amusement peeping, 
 elf -like, through her thick lashes. 
 
 Hildred's ready flush raced across her pale cheeks. 
 "I 'm sorry if I 'm rude," she said, "but your voice 
 puzzled me till I remembered an Irish girl who was at 
 school with me, and then I knew." 
 
 " The cloven hoof, or the uncloven brogue, " laughed 
 Miss Marlowe. Her laugh was melting, like her voice, 
 a heart-whole infectious ripple. 
 
 " I believe I have some relations in Ireland myself, " 
 Hildred went on, half -shyly. 
 
 " Of course you have. I Ve never yet met an Eng- 
 lish person who was not proud to claim the remotest re- 
 lationship with an Irish person. Why, there are some 
 who would claim kinship on the strength of their great- 
 grandmother's once having owned an Irish terrier!" 
 
 Hildred laughed, but her English blood forbade 
 agreement with the absurd statement. She lay back 
 on her pillows again, feeling suddenly tired. 
 
 "Ah, you 're weak still, you poor child," said Miss 
 Marlowe. "I '11 send you in some breakfast, and then 
 you '11 feel better. " 
 
 "Thank you very much," the girl answered, look- 
 ing rather wistfully at Miss Marlowe as she deftly 
 pinned up the masses of her black hair. 
 
 There was something touching to the other woman 
 in the young forlorn regard, and when she had given a 
 final brushing to the heavy waves that framed her 
 forehead, and pulled a curve into a more becoming 
 line, she turned to answer the appeal.
 
 The Wishing Cap 149 
 
 "Grandmother, grandmother, what big eyes you 
 have!" she said. "What are you wondering now?" 
 
 "I am wondering how it is that you should be 
 mothering me" Hildred choked a little on the word, 
 and Hesper, all sympathy, visioned the greatest loss 
 a young girl can know. " While a person I know, who 
 must be years older than you are, looks upon me as a 
 contemporary." 
 
 The odd answer tickled Miss Marlowe's sense of 
 humour. 
 
 "Perhaps your friend doesn't know much about 
 young girls. I do. I have been in intimate touch 
 with a whole generation of them." 
 
 "A generation! Oh, nonsense "Hildred began, 
 and stopped abruptly, flushing. 
 
 "Don't you call ten years a generation of girls? 
 I taught girls music for ten years. That removes any 
 feeling of equality, externally, at any rate." 
 
 "Ten years?" Hildred echoed. The woman be- 
 fore her looked too young, too buoyant to have had 
 her springtime crushed beneath the wheels of routine. 
 
 Miss Marlowe nodded, still with the elfin twinkle. 
 
 "From twenty to thirty I taught The Harmonious 
 Blacksmith until he was pounded to death by his own 
 variations. I progressed " her voice put a deli- 
 cately scornful question mark after the word "from 
 Beethoven to MacDowell and the moderns. Then 
 Fortune sent me a Wishing Cap, and I Ve been wear- 
 ing it with delight for the past three years." She 
 smiled with pleasure at Hildred 's incredulous brows. 
 "Yes, I 'm thirty-three, nearly thirty-four. Thank 
 goodness, I don't think I look it! I 'm suffering from 
 a disease, though, which I 'm afraid is incurable. "
 
 150 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Her face grew suddenly grave and she veiled her eyes 
 with quickly dropped lashes. 
 
 Hildred's glance sobered in response, but though 
 she felt a pang she had yet a little chill of distaste at 
 the unsought and to her apparently unnecessary 
 confidence. 
 
 Miss Marlowe lowered her voice. " My complaint 
 is this: that in spirit I am at least ten years younger 
 than in real age! I 've tried to cure it, but in vain. " 
 
 Hildred laughed in her relief. "Oh, don't!" she 
 cried. "You 're so much nicer as you are. " 
 
 "You're an odd child," Miss Marlowe returned, 
 with another change of mood. " Don't imagine that I 
 talk to people like this as a rule, for I don't. But 
 there 's something about you a sort of drawing 
 quality ah, I can't explain, I 'm not going to try. 
 I '11 send my maid in with some breakfast." 
 
 "Please don't bother. The stewardess will look 
 after me. " 
 
 "It will be an act of Christian charity to give 
 Nanno something to do," said Miss Marlowe, with 
 her disarming air of candour. "I, personally, have 
 no use for a maid, but irresponsible people who have 
 Wishing Caps and travel round the world must weight 
 themselves with at least one of the appendages of 
 respectability, so as Nanno is the least clogging and 
 the most congenial I know I attached her to me. 
 Besides," continued Miss Marlowe, smiling so that a 
 dimple near the corner of her mouth peeped forth to 
 keep the chin-dimple company, "she 's not really a 
 bit respectable either! In her own way she is just 
 as mad as I am. All really nice people are a little mad 
 you know!"
 
 The Wishing Cap 151 
 
 With this astounding statement she left the cabin 
 after adjuring Hildred to eat every morsel she sent 
 in to her, leaving the girl, stirred, roused, revivified. 
 
 It was as if a breeze off the waves, which wash 
 away "all the woes of men" had swept through the 
 cabin, bringing with it a tingling caress from 
 
 "The great sweet mother, 
 Mother and lover of men, the sea, " 
 
 which left behind as its benediction healing and a 
 sense of quickened life. 
 
 Hildred could not as yet think with calmness of the 
 mother who had cursed her in her bearing. Her 
 pulses throbbed at the remembrance of the words. 
 Melodramatic as they had sounded there had been 
 none of the mock grandiosity of melodrama in their 
 cold poignance. Still the two days' anodyne of the 
 sea had already dulled the sharpest shock of the 
 pain inflicted by Mrs. Ivors's disclosure, and with that 
 zest of recovery which is one of youth's best boons, she 
 determined to lock its memory into an inner room 
 and hide the key in a secret place. 
 
 She would keep a seal upon her lips, a check upon 
 her tongue; she would take thankfully any gifts that 
 each new day might proffer, or bear with equanimity 
 any lawful burden it might inflict. Her spirit rose to 
 adventure's far-off echo. 
 
 It was strange how completely the two Bering 
 cousins, whose hands had once held the unfilled cup 
 of her young life, had receded to a colourless back- 
 ground, blotted almost out of recollection by the more 
 vivid personalities she had recently encountered. 
 
 When Miss Marlowe's Nanno arrived with a tempt-
 
 152 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ing breakfast, and proved to be an elderly brown-faced 
 Irishwoman with eyes as bright as a bird's, a Kather- 
 ine with her mental angles long since rounded into 
 mellowness and her physical ones softened into curves, 
 Hildred felt a sense of protection and well-being which 
 she had lacked since the beginning of her voyage. 
 
 To find a deck-chair environed with cushions and 
 rugs awaiting her when she crawled up to the blue 
 freshness of day came as another pleasant surprise. 
 Miss Marlowe was reading when Nanno convoyed her 
 pale young derelict to these comfortable moorings. 
 She smiled and nodded a welcome, but gave the girl 
 time to rest and take stock of her surroundings before 
 she attempted conversation. 
 
 Afterwards Hildred discovered that this was another 
 of Miss Marlowe's charms; she knew when to be silent. 
 
 In spite of what she had said it came with more than 
 a tinge of surprise to the girl to find that Miss Marlowe 
 on deck was an entirely different person from Miss 
 Marlowe in her cabin. The upper air seemed to 
 freeze her warm candour into a somewhat princely 
 aloofness. She was charming to all, but friendly to 
 none save Hildred. She had a keen eye for a syco- 
 phant, and the rich, as rich, did not interest her, unless 
 they were interesting in themselves "which," as she 
 once said to Hildred, "seldom is the case." 
 
 " I believe I should find more congenial people in the 
 second saloon," she said another day, "but it's so 
 stuffy, and my Wishing Cap allows me to travel first, 
 a luxury of which I have n't yet tired. Travelling 
 third, with all that it implies, is a splendid preparation 
 for the enjoyment of riches. " 
 
 " I suppose so. I 've never travelled third. "
 
 The Wishing Cap 153 
 
 " It 's an education. " 
 
 " But an unpleasant one. " 
 
 "Not necessarily. Besides, education always in- 
 volves discipline. It's only afterwards that we learn 
 to kiss the rod. " 
 
 "Must we?" asked Hildred wistfully. 
 
 "We must, if we 're to make anything of this glori- 
 ous jumble called life," returned Miss Marlowe with 
 decision. "Look at that fantastic coast-line, with its 
 peaks and pinnacles. " 
 
 Hildred looked. It was afternoon, and the day had 
 been mild and calm. The rugged hills cut jaggedly 
 into a pale sky; small brown villages nestled at their 
 feet, and a white-sailed boat here and there tilted like 
 a butterfly's wing scross the blue-grey sea. On the 
 highest, wildest peak stood a monastery which looked 
 as if it had been carved out of the pinnacle on which 
 it rested. Suddenly across the water came the faint, 
 far sound of a bell, evoking the vision of cowled figures 
 at prayer in a dim church in that remote fastness. 
 The stable element and the unstable were swiftly 
 connected by one of the world's great links. 
 
 A silence fell, and Hildred's thoughts fled back to 
 that May morning in the wood when she had heard the 
 first echo of the bluebell's chime, and the later magic 
 hour. 
 
 Miss Marlowe's flitted among her memories, perch- 
 ing on none. 
 
 "That's Portugal," she said at last. "I mean to 
 go there some day." 
 
 After that they had many talks, and a friendship 
 compatible with the gulf of years that stretched be- 
 tween them sprang into being. Hildred's feeling was
 
 154 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 tinctured with that shy adoration which some girls 
 feel for an older woman who shows sympathy with- 
 out curiosity and comprehension without exaction. 
 Miss Marlowe felt curiously attracted by the girl and 
 appreciated the delicate reserve in which she veiled 
 herself. 
 
 They bought together little green twisted baskets 
 of fruit at Gibraltar and great branches of flaming 
 poinsettia; they watched the tinkling ayahs and 
 swarthy Lascars bargaining for oranges, and the 
 many-coloured boats which clustered round the 
 ship like wasps about a pear, sucking honey of silver 
 from its bored passengers. 
 
 They steamed on a blue dancing day into port at 
 Marseilles, where the gold cross glittered on the domed 
 roof of the Cathedral, while the wide semicircle of the 
 bay curved away to red-roofed villas and a blur of 
 welcome green, and over all the uplifted Notre Dame 
 de la Garde watched beneficently. 
 
 Together they weathered the disagreeabilities of a 
 mistral, and saw a distant waterspout show like a 
 curved black ribbon from sky to sea with a cloud of 
 whirling spray at its base; together they watched for 
 the first sight of Africa hours before they could have 
 even glimpsed the land. 
 
 Incidentally Hildred learned many things about her 
 own race and Miss Marlowe's. 
 
 She learned, for instance, that between England 
 and Ireland is a great gulf fixed, a gulf of tempera- 
 ment, character, and characteristic, that Irish people 
 always speak of English people as "the English," 
 and that although they may understand one another 
 up to a certain point, sooner or later one or other comes
 
 The Wishing Cap 155 
 
 up against a high blank wall of non-comprehension ; 
 she learned that "the English" are more sentimental, 
 less reticent, more prone to give confidences to stran- 
 gers than the Irish, that their boasted reserve is no 
 more than self -consciousness and conceit, and is as 
 easily picked as a bubble; that they are insular and 
 ignorant (of all things Irish!), dull as oxen, tenacious 
 as bulldogs, unscrupulous where the annexation of 
 land is concerned, whether in terms of counties or 
 countries, or even acres. In fact the poor English had 
 every one of their vaunted qualities plucked remorse- 
 lessly from them until they stood bare and shivering 
 beneath the lash of Miss Marlowe's scorn. 
 
 In vain Hildred tried to fly the Union Jack, and 
 reclothe John Bull; Miss Marlowe had a sweeping 
 way with her which would brook no obstacle. She 
 metaphorically stamped on John's low felt hat until a 
 self-respecting scarecrow would have been ashamed 
 to wear it. 
 
 Then she completely took the wind out of Hildred's 
 sails of protest by concluding, with her soft pic- 
 turesque italicism : 
 
 "Of course I 'm not talking of the English as individ- 
 uals. As individuals I consider them perfectly de- 
 lightful. My best friends are English. " 
 
 "Of what have you been talking then?" asked 
 Hildred, agasp at such a whirling reversal. 
 
 "Of the English as a nation, of course," returned 
 Miss Marlowe, with the most melodious inflection. " As 
 a nation they are detestable, abominable, altogether 
 impossible ugh! But as individuals, charming." 
 
 Hildred was half -vexed, half -amused. "But a 
 nation is composed of individuals, " she protested.
 
 156 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Not a bit of it, my dear, any more than a crowd 
 is composed of human beings." 
 
 "What else ?" 
 
 "Oh, it's too hot for explanations," said Miss 
 Marlowe, tucking her arm through the girl's. 
 
 " Fancy finding it too hot for anything in December ! 
 Come, let 's go look for Africa!"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE KEY-HOLE OF EGYPT 
 
 T IKE many another patriot Hildred reserved to 
 I/ herself the right of finding fault with her own 
 country, and though her sense of justice told her that 
 she echoed more than one of Miss Marlowe's indict- 
 ments she nevertheless felt a faint prick of resentment 
 at her candid criticism. If she had only realised that 
 it was her mother in her whose national susceptibilities 
 were being rubbed the wrong way she would have 
 striven to cast the feeling from her; but who shall 
 undertake and disentangle even one of the intertwin- 
 ing threads of which the fabric of every life is spun? 
 Who can even dimly guess at the complexity of its 
 spinning, of the different fibres which go to its final 
 weaving? 
 
 And yet, as Hildred leaned over the taffrail, her 
 eyes searching the misty horizon for a glimpse of 
 land, her arm touching that of Miss Marlowe, she 
 felt a sudden waft of loneliness at the thought that she 
 was so soon to lose this new friend who had been to 
 her more than the usual chance-found companion of 
 travel. Was life for her to be made up of intervals 
 of marching in the great procession, each time with a 
 new set of comrades? She seemed no sooner to have
 
 158 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 got in touch with one group than she was moved on to 
 another. The quiet inexorability of Fate caught and 
 chilled her. She longed, or thought she longed for 
 permanence, not realising that if she slipped into a 
 groove, however wide, the youth in her, reinforced 
 by her father's vagrant spirit would swiftly cry aloud 
 for change. 
 
 "I feel excited at the very thought of Egypt," said 
 Miss Marlowe's voice in her ear. " Don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the girl, detaching her thoughts 
 with an effort, and lifting her eyes from the lulling roll 
 of the long burnished water-ripples as they melted 
 from a silver brilliance to a hazy blue with dreamy 
 reiteration. 
 
 "There is a fascination, an enchantment about its 
 very name. That Mark Antony should have called 
 Cleopatra his Royal Egypt always seems to me to sum 
 up the magic of the country and of the woman in one 
 word. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "I suppose so. Yes. I don't know." 
 
 Miss Marlowe turned to face her. 
 
 "You're dreaming, child. Or is anything the 
 matter?" 
 
 "I don't think so. Yes, there is," said Hildred, 
 with an impulse towards confidence. " I feel lonely at 
 the thought of losing you, and a little nervous about 
 meeting my father." 
 
 "Why? Is it long since you 've seen him?" 
 
 " I have n't seen him since I was a child. I was at 
 school, and then abroad, as I 've told you, and spent 
 my holidays with two old cousins. " 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 " Oh, he was wandering, " answered Hildred, retreat-
 
 The Key-Hole of Egypt 159 
 
 ing again into her shell. "He didn't want to be 
 bothered with a schoolgirl on his travels." 
 
 "I see." Miss Marlowe nodded in a wise way, 
 which seemed to convey more comprehension than 
 her actual words. "But now that you are grown up, 
 polished, a finished product, he is eager to show you 
 to his friends and to give you a good time. " 
 
 "I suppose so," said Hildred quietly, but her lips 
 curled into a dry little smile. 
 
 "As for losing me," Miss Marlowe continued, "I 
 don't see why that should be at all necessary. We are 
 bound to meet in Egypt, especially if you go up the 
 river. Will you be doing that, do you think?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "I 'm going as far as Assuan with the Nugents in 
 their dahabieh. Sylvia and Gerda Nugent were both 
 pupils of mine, and Lady Nugent has always been 
 good to me. Sylvia is married now, but Roddy, the 
 eldest son, has been ill, and they want to see what a 
 winter on the Nile will do for him, so they 've taken 
 a dahabieh for the season, and have asked me to join 
 them. It 's a delightful chance for me, for it makes 
 such a difference going with people one likes. I went 
 to India with them two years ago. They are great 
 travellers." 
 
 "They must be. How did you like India?" 
 
 "Immensely. I had a wonderful time there, but 
 somehow I fancy that Egypt will fascinate me even 
 more. Port Said, dirty little place that it is, was my 
 first peep-hole into the East, and I have never forgotten 
 it. The country draws me somehow. I can't 
 explain exactly how or why. It seems to me to be 
 naked, yet veiled, bare yet luxuriant, filled with sound
 
 i6o The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 and colour, yet empty of something essential, fierce 
 oh, what fantastic nonsense I 'm talking!" 
 
 "No, you're not. Go on. I like it." Hildred 
 touched her arm. "Ah, can that be Egypt?" She 
 pointed to a blur upon the water. "No, it can't be. 
 It does n't even look like land. It 's more like boats 
 a Noah's Ark just resting on the sea. " 
 
 "Yes, it is. It is, " cried Miss Marlowe. " Feel my 
 absurd heart, how it's beating at the sight." She 
 caught the girl's hand and pressed it for an instant 
 against the warm softness above her heart which 
 throbbed quickly and irregularly. "Yes, that 's 
 Egypt, or at least her postern, Port Said that cluster 
 of houses apparently floating upon the water. I can 
 hear the voices of Egypt calling me already. " 
 
 Her words came breathlessly, a tinge of pale rose, 
 like the inside of a shell, touched the whiteness of her 
 skin, and light like some inner flame shone through 
 her eyes. 
 
 With a quick flash of memory and metaphor the 
 vision sprang to Hildred' s mind of the evening sun 
 seen shining through the alabaster windows in San 
 Miniato, turning for a magic moment their ivory pal- 
 lor to a rosy translucence. Such susceptibility to 
 beauty, to intangible influences, was another bond 
 between them. 
 
 "The voices of Egypt," Miss Marlowe murmured, 
 "subtle, insistent, irresistible. One should hear them 
 soon with the ears of the body as well as with the 
 spirit sense. The whisper of dome and murmur of 
 minaret, the call of colour, life, movement, the magic 
 of Egypt oh, its wonderful, wonderful!" 
 
 Her voice trailed into silence; she rested her face
 
 The Key-Hole of Egypt 161 
 
 on her hands and gazed at the land they were nearing ; 
 bright houses looking like those of a new toy village 
 dotted down upon a strip of sand, a picturesque if 
 ineffective huddle, topped beyond by greenish domes. 
 
 "So that 's Egypt, " said Hildred, with a vague sense 
 of disappointment. After Miss Marlowe's rhapsody 
 she had expected something more tangibly unusual. 
 
 The statue of De Lesseps loomed at the entrance of 
 the Canal, growing in size as the great liner drew slowly 
 nearer. 
 
 "Yes, that 's Egypt," answered Miss Marlowe in a 
 tone of dreamy satisfaction, as chin on hand she gazed 
 towards the distant blue-green domes. "Even over 
 the prose of coaling she throws a corner of her magic 
 veil. We stopped here one night to coal on our way 
 to India. I wonder if I could make you see what I see." 
 
 "Try," said Hildred, anxious to hear anything that 
 would help to restore the glamour to her old Eastern 
 visions. 
 
 Miss Marlowe's eyes looked far away: her voice 
 rose and fell melodiously. For a moment the brilliant 
 sunlight was obscured for Hildred, blotted out by the 
 blue dusk evoked by the flowing words a sudden 
 darkness illuminated by a silver slip of moon which 
 revealed a wonderland of glimmering lights, pale 
 radiances, and velvet-black shadows, while a forest of 
 slanting masts of Nile boats bent like a swathe of dry 
 rushes against a faint, yellow horizon. 
 
 ' ' Large flat barges full of dusky shapes were moored 
 against the ship's side," the seductive voice went on. 
 "Great flares of red light glowed sullenly, and sent 
 up clouds of dun smoke towards the clear sky. Now 
 and again a dim form beat upon a brazier, and the
 
 162 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 sparks flew out revealing a line of shadowy figures 
 bending beneath their loads, like grim shades from 
 some remote under- world. Strange cries broke upon 
 the stillness, weird songs of three notes swelled out and 
 died away; horse calls issued from the haze, and 
 through it all flitted the shades in a kind of ordered 
 disorder. The moon rose higher and shone on those 
 greeny domes and the pillared arches underneath, on 
 that flat-topped city of twinkling lights, on the darting 
 boats whose lanterns shed flakes of orange flame on 
 the dark water; until at last the flares died out one 
 by one ; the barges were once more crowded with their 
 freight of lost souls, who slowly ferried themselves and 
 their Charons back to the darkness from whence they 
 had come, to the burden of their own monotonous 
 chanting." 
 
 Her voice sank, and Hildred, spellbound, saw that 
 there were tears in her eyes. Then she tilted her chin 
 in a way that Hildred was beginning to know, and 
 continued in a lighter tone: 
 
 "And the next day every one said how dirty it was 
 and what a bore the coaling had been ! Look up, child, 
 and greet De Lesseps, to whom this wonderful canal 
 is due. " 
 
 From that moment the colour and movement on 
 shore engrossed Hildred as the ship steamed showly to 
 her mooring-place opposite the arched and pillared 
 building with its three blue-green domes, surmounted 
 by the sign of the crescent. 
 
 The varied shipping, the flat-topped, brightly 
 coloured houses, the gaily painted boats with striped 
 awnings at the steps on shore made a fit setting for the 
 crowd of blue-robed Arabs, negroes, and donkey-
 
 The Key- Hole of Egypt 163 
 
 boys running alongside donkeys jingling with chains 
 and gay with scarlet and white saddle-cloths and red- 
 humped native saddles, who, alongshore, accompanied 
 the liner's slow progress, shouting, calling, laughing, 
 in a shrill indistinguishable babel of sound. 
 
 It was interesting, amusing, if slightly bewildering. 
 
 When farewells had been said and mails distributed, 
 when the liner stopped almost imperceptibly and was 
 boarded by a horde of white-robed importunate Arabs, 
 who settled like locusts upon the luggage of the un- 
 resisting passengers, a tall stout man in flannels and a 
 Panama hat clove through the surge of humanity 
 with an air of authority, and demanded to see Miss 
 Ivors. 
 
 Puzzled, piqued with a curiosity which was yet 
 tinged with nervousness, Hildred stepped forward. 
 Could it possibly be her father? She had not expected 
 to see him until she arrived in Cairo. 
 
 She decided as she glanced upwards that it was not 
 he he could not have grown so big and brown. 
 
 "I am Miss Ivors," she said. The big man held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " My name is Carteret, " he replied. "Your father 
 asked me to have an eye to you and see you through 
 the customs here. I 'm Chief Inspector, so it will be 
 very difficult to square me. " 
 
 "Fortunately I have no need to try," said Hildred, 
 with her quick appealing blush. "I have nothing to 
 declare." 
 
 " No tobacco? " suggested Mr. Carteret, who seemed 
 fond of a joke. 
 
 " I have n't learned how to smoke yet. Here are my 
 keys."
 
 164 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " Put them back in that nice little grey bag of yours, 
 and let me take you to my place for a cup of tea. My 
 wife is expecting you. " 
 
 "The lady I am travelling with "began Hildred, 
 looking round for Miss Marlowe. 
 
 " I hope she will come too. You will have time for 
 tea, and a look round before the evening train goes. 
 Your ship 's late." 
 
 "Is she? Something broke down once I believe, 
 and that delayed her." 
 
 "You didn't mind, I daresay. Found plenty to 
 amuse you on board. " 
 
 " Yes, " answered Hildred. "Ah, here is Miss Mar- 
 lowe. ' ' She made the necessary introduction. ' ' Mrs. 
 Carteret has invited us to have tea with her. " 
 
 "How delightful!" said Miss Marlowe, drawing 
 on her white gloves. "Tea on shore sounds quite 
 entrancing. " 
 
 "If you will point me out your luggage, I '11 see it 
 through, and have it at the station for you with no 
 further trouble. " 
 
 "Have we rubbed a magic ring and evoked a bene- 
 ficent genie?" asked Miss Marlowe, dimpling. 
 
 "The genie in this case is genius," returned Car- 
 teret. " I am a great admirer of Ingram Ivors and all 
 his works, and he has given me a pleasure as well as a 
 privilege in permitting me to be of some use to his 
 daughter as well as to yourself, Miss Marlowe. " 
 
 " Is it possible, " cried Miss Marlowe, "that you are 
 Irish too?" 
 
 " Is it possible, my dear young lady, that I could be 
 anything else?" 
 
 This animated colloquy brought the party to the
 
 The Key-Hole of Egypt 165 
 
 gangway, at whose foot Mr. Carteret's boat waited, 
 scarlet-cushioned, and with liveried rowers. They 
 embarked on a wave of obsequious speeding, more 
 important in their departure than they had been on 
 their arrival. 
 
 Hildred felt a little thrill of pride at the realisation 
 that here her father was a personage who counted. 
 His fame had never touched her before; it was 
 semi-local. His vogue was greater in Egypt than in 
 England, for whose praise or blame he professed not 
 to care, and whose climate affected him far more 
 intimately than either. 
 
 Mrs. Carteret's hospitality sped another pleasant 
 hour or two. 
 
 The noise and unfamiliar clamour in the street drew 
 the travellers to the window. 
 
 "Would you not like to come out on the balcony?" 
 asked Mrs. Carteret. " It must all be so novel to you, 
 Miss Ivors. When I came out here first I could not 
 keep away, but now " She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "You are used to it," said Hildred. 
 
 "Yes, and it means parting from the children," 
 answered Mrs. Carteret, with a sudden sigh. " It 's 
 all right when they are little. One can have them here 
 then, but when they grow bigger they must go to 
 school, and it 's it 's rather a wrench. " She pulled a 
 chair forward for the girl, but Hildred leaned on the 
 balcony rail, looking down at the gay bustling scene 
 in the street beneath her. 
 
 Mingling with the Europeans were black-veiled 
 Arab women, with gold horns down their noses, native 
 policemen standing in the middle of the street, white- 
 robed men driving camels, yelling donkey-boys and
 
 1 66 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 peddlers shouting their wares. Here a negro boy in 
 dull yellow carried on his head a flat basket of oranges, 
 ripe amid their own fresh leaves; there a hawk-eyed, 
 brown-faced man in soft blue rags balanced on one 
 hand a basket edged with spikes on which hung rings 
 of bread, large and small; here came a lad in green 
 with a wicker tray of red mullet, while there another, 
 in a dull pink robe sold dates great reddish-purple 
 clusters on saffron stems. Over all, permeating all, 
 beating and ascending through the quivering heat-rays 
 was the warm, dry, pungent smell of the East. 
 
 In the cooler room behind, Miss Mario we was eagerly 
 examining her host's collection of scarabs and mummy- 
 beads. It was their colour which chiefly appealed to 
 her the wonderful blue, which is like no other blue in 
 the world, the softened greens, the dull rich browns. 
 Colour and mystery, mystery and colour how they 
 were interwoven, she thought, as she turned a deep 
 azure scarab in her palm. 
 
 "I have never seen any of Mr. Ivors's paintings," 
 she said softly. "Are they good?" 
 
 "I think them excellent, " replied the man, enthusi- 
 astically. "Of course I 'm no judge, but those who 
 are agree with me. You must see his pictures if you 
 are interested in Egypt. He catches a certain phase 
 not that sort, " he waved his hand towards the street 
 "not the market-place and the set pieces but the 
 more elusive phases of Egypt he does those as no one 
 else can. I can't afford to buy them, but I assure 
 you that if I only had the money there are certain 
 pictures signed 'Ego' that I 'd rather have on my walls 
 than any Turner or Titian that ever was painted!" 
 
 "Ego?" Her brows queried delicately.
 
 The Key- Hole of Egypt 167 
 
 " That 's what he signs himself. Ingram Ivors I. 
 I. 'It 's flinging myself at them however I do it,' 
 he said long ago, 'so I '11 sign myself "Ego" pure and 
 simple.' So he did, and so he 's done ever since. His 
 daughter 's a little like him but not so good-looking. 
 She 's more like her mother, except for her colouring. " 
 
 " Did you know her mother? She never speaks of 
 her." 
 
 "Ah, she couldn't remember her," said Carteret. 
 "Why, she must have been only a child when it 
 happened. " 
 
 "When what happened? Forgive my curiosity, 
 but I am really interested in the girl. " 
 
 " Oh, there 's no mystery as far as I know only a 
 tragedy. Poor Ivors lost both wife and son at the 
 same time diphtheria. It must be fifteen or sixteen 
 years ago. How time flies. He was out here for his 
 health, he and his wife, and they got a cable to say that 
 the children were ill. She went off at once. I saw 
 her when she was going back. Like a woman of 
 stone she was. He went later. He came out again 
 next winter looking like death and told me he had lost 
 both son and wife. I supposed she caught the diph- 
 theria from the children. This little girl was brought 
 up by cousins, he told me the other day, when he 
 asked me to look after her. " 
 
 "Yes, so she said," answered Miss Marlowe. 
 "Thanks for telling me. I understand things better 
 now. " 
 
 "I often wonder why he did n't marry again. An 
 attractive fellow, and making pots of money. Just 
 the sort of chap that women adore. " 
 
 "Now you've rather prejudiced me," said Miss
 
 1 68 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Marlowe, disappointedly. "The sort of man whom 
 women adore does n't appeal to me at all. " 
 
 "I don't mean I mean that well, I 'm really not 
 quite sure what I do mean," said Carteret with a big 
 laugh. "But anyhow, Ivors is a decent chap, in spite 
 of his artistic temperament which often rather puzzles 
 a plain fellow like myself. I 'd be sorry if anything I 
 blunderingly said prejudiced you against him." 
 
 " Perhaps we shall not meet. Miss Ivors and I part 
 company in Cairo and we are not very likely to see 
 much of one another, as I am going with friends 
 on to Assuan, and she will be with her father, where- 
 ever he is." 
 
 "That will not be Cairo for long, I fancy. The 
 river 's more in his line. He '11 probably camp out at 
 Luxor or some Nile haunt of his. Wherever he may 
 intend to go he says he always has to get back to the 
 Nile after a bit. Poor chap, he said once that he 'd 
 like to die by the river some day. " 
 
 "That sounds rather morbid. Is he ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no. Chest delicate, I believe, but he always 
 seems quite fit and full of life whenever I see him." 
 
 "He has one good friend at any rate," remarked 
 Miss Marlowe, with a smile. 
 
 "He has scores of them, for the matter of that," 
 said Carteret, exaggerating in his enthusiasm. 
 
 Later, as he walked with Hildred up the platform 
 while his wife and Miss Marlowe went on ahead, he 
 turned to the girl. 
 
 " Do you know that you remind me a little of your 
 mother, Miss Ivors?" 
 
 Hildred was oddly startled. She had not expected 
 to find remembrance of her mother here.
 
 The Key-Hole of Egypt 169 
 
 "Really? Did you know her?" she found words 
 for no more. She shrank from question or comment. 
 
 " I met her here on her way home that last time, " 
 he answered in a low voice. 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 He noted her shrinking and thought what a sensitive 
 little creature she was, so pursued the subject no 
 further. He had not imagined that the memory of 
 such a long-ago loss could still be unapproachable with 
 so young a girl; yet it might only be the natural 
 withdrawal of youth from tragedy, or the shadowed 
 deeps of life. 
 
 Hildred more than half expected an inquiry, the 
 usual query or careless hope that her mother was well. 
 Mr. Carteret's tone had been odd, the hushed quiet 
 voice of one who speaks of the dead rather than of 
 the living. Perhaps he was a person who appreciated 
 the tragedy of life so much more poignant than the 
 tragedy of death which sometimes holds more of 
 solution than sorrow. Yet she had not thought him 
 so subtle. He was a friend of her father's ; he knew 
 the circumstances, perhaps he felt bitterly towards 
 her mother. Here was the clue to the riddle. 
 
 It was a relief to enter the train, to put aside com- 
 plexities for the moment, to face quietly the nearest, 
 most imminent fact of her future the meeting with 
 her father. 
 
 It was Miss Marlowe who gave charming thanks and 
 kindly valedictions, who waved gay farewells which 
 held a hint of future meetings. Hildred only echoed 
 her gratitude, and smiled her thanks to the Carterets 
 as the train rumbled out of the station. She felt sud- 
 denly and oddly tired. The heat, the bustle, the
 
 170 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 novelty of sights and sounds, and last but supremest 
 factor, the thought of the approaching encounter, 
 wrought upon her nerves and, in the reaction of the 
 new motion, wearied her now that she had time for 
 realisation. 
 
 " Quiet little thing, that girl of Ivors's, ' ' said Carteret 
 
 to his wife. "Not much to say for herself, like her 
 
 poor mother." 
 
 "I thought her a very nice girl," returned Mrs. 
 
 Carteret. "She looked at me so wistfully when I 
 
 was talking about the children." 
 
 "The other woman is a beautiful creature. " 
 
 "Yes, for those who admire that black and white 
 
 style." 
 
 " My dear Nell, you talk as if she were an etching. " 
 Mrs. Carteret smiled. "Oh, no. She 's a woman, 
 
 and an unsatisfied one at that." 
 "How on earth do you know?" 
 " I saw it in her eyes, " said Mrs. Carteret.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE PAST CAN NEVER DIE 
 
 LOOK at that clump of palms against the pink 
 evening sky!" cried Miss Marlowe. 
 
 " Yes, " said Hildred tonelessly. 
 
 Silence fell, and later on the night. The moon rose, 
 and one traveller at least felt a sense of exhilaration in 
 rushing through the desert by its light. 
 
 A train rushing through a desert! Could anything 
 be more incongruous? No, Hesper Marlowe decided, 
 not even an electric tramway to the Pyramids. A 
 symbol of the ingenuity of man, puffing defiance at its 
 victory over the immemorial sands, tarnishing the 
 clarity of the sky with its smoky breath for the one 
 puny instant of its passing. 
 
 Once out of the blue dusk came a camel with a dark- 
 cloaked rider, led by a figure in white; once a stretch 
 of water gleamed by the track, its surface covered with 
 water-lilies which shone like blossoms of silver in the 
 moonlight; here and there loomed a cluster of flat- 
 topped mud-huts, with a group of Arabs round a fire 
 of leaping flames, seen for one vivid moment. 
 
 The name of Tel-el-Kebir on a station lamp-post 
 provoked another piquant contrast between its smug 
 modernity and the vision of blood and battle which it 
 evoked. 
 
 171
 
 172 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hesper Marlowe swam on a wave of enchantment. 
 
 But after a while the wave broke to reality at the 
 silent assertion of loneliness and aloofness made by 
 the figure at the other end of the carriage, shrunk in its 
 corner, looking mutely out into the night. 
 
 Hesper longed to comfort but shrank from intrusion. 
 She had spiritual antennas, she sometimes felt, which 
 could sense an atmosphere, or a change of atmosphere 
 unnoted by the less subtle; and she felt instinctively 
 that Hildred Ivors was in need of the tangible comfort 
 which a human personality alone could give at the 
 moment. She was not in a mood receptive to in- 
 fluences of the spirit. Sympathy made visible was 
 what she needed. Still, Hesper, protective of her own 
 reticence, hesitated lest in touching she should hurt or 
 even jar. 
 
 "It 's only a prick to my pride if she snubs me, 
 after all," she thought. "And I may lose an oppor- 
 tunity of helping her if I don't try. " 
 
 Acting on her impulse she rose and went to Hil- 
 dred's end of the carriage. 
 
 Sitting down opposite her, she plunged with warm 
 abruptness. 
 
 "You 're fretting, child. What is it? Don't tell 
 me if you 'd rather not, or unless you think I could 
 help you." She stretched out her hand. 
 
 Hildred clasped it gratefully. 
 
 "That was just what I wanted," she said, with a 
 catch in her breath "the touch of a nice warm hand 
 like yours. No, I 'm not really fretting. I feel a little 
 tired, and rather lonely, and distinctly nervous." 
 
 "Is it at the thought of seeing your father?" 
 
 Hildred nodded.
 
 The Past Can Never Die 173 
 
 "Ah, don't be nervous about that. Sure, the poor 
 man must be longing to see you. If you only heard 
 the way Mr. Carteret was singing his praises this 
 afternoon saying how charming he was, and how 
 beautiful his pictures were, and how much every one 
 thought of them! But it 's absurd for me to be telling 
 you all this!" 
 
 " It 's not. It 's delightful, " cried Hildred. "And 
 you are good and kind a true friend. Go on, I love 
 your voice." 
 
 "And me brogue?" asked Miss Marlowe, exaggerat- 
 ing it. 
 
 " And your brogue, if you like to call it so, " answered 
 the girl, warmed, comforted, and ready to hear 
 sweetest music in the soft Irish tones. 
 
 "Sure, 'tis flattering me, you are! "laughed Hesper 
 Marlowe. Then with a sudden change of mood and 
 voice "Ah, child, I 'd give the world itself if I were 
 going to see my own father this night. " 
 
 II T_ !,_ ^ > 
 
 Is he 1 
 
 "Yes, he 's dead. The only one in the world I had 
 to love. " She paused, then continued as though the 
 words were forced from her. "Five years since I was 
 left without one of my very own. " 
 
 There was a repressed longing, an undercurrent of 
 hunger in the simple words which more than accounted 
 for that which Mrs. Carteret had read in her eyes. 
 
 "Have you no other relations?" queried Hildred 
 softly. 
 
 "None nearer than cousins, and not dear at that. 
 I had an aunt, near enough akin to be able to rob me 
 of what I loved best. Yet, poor soul, I don't suppose 
 she counted it robbing. I suppose she thought she
 
 174 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 paid for what she had stolen. Paid?" She gave a 
 little mirthless laugh, so dry and empty that it was 
 not even an echo of the laughter Hildred knew. 
 
 "Tell me, if it doesn't hurt you," said the girl, 
 touched and interested, yet eager to keep at bay the 
 thought of her own impending ordeal. 
 
 "Shall I? I believe it would do me good to speak 
 after all these bitter years. It 's not much of a story, 
 as a story." She stopped as if she found speech 
 difficult. Then she squeezed the hand she held, and 
 went on, gaining fluency as the scroll of the past 
 unrolled before her. 
 
 "If you don't know your father at all it will be 
 difficult for you to understand what mine was to me. 
 Until I was about seventeen we were all in all to one 
 another. I was all he had, you see, for my mother 
 died soon after I was born. That was why he called 
 me Hesper, his evening star. Well " her voice broke 
 a little "I shone, I twinkled for him as long as I 
 could. He was very delicate, very dependent on those 
 around him, always immersed in his books and studies. 
 Then the crash came. All his money went at once, a 
 bank failure and some bad investments ; he was no man 
 of business. We had n't a penny left. That was 
 where my aunt came in. She was his step-sister, 
 years older than he was, and rich. She had reared him 
 from the time he was a baby, and loved him with a sort 
 of fierce jealousy that would have all or nothing. First 
 she hated my mother, then she hated me for taking him 
 from her. Now she came forward, offered him a home 
 with her, promised to see that his life was still set in 
 pleasant places, said she would have me trained so 
 that I could earn my own living. ... I was good at
 
 The Past Can Never Die 175 
 
 music, so I chose that path. If you love music you 
 will know something of the daily grind, the frequent 
 torture it becomes when you teach it to stupid child- 
 ren week in week out. I often think that those who 
 really care for music should never teach it, but that 's 
 neither here nor there. . . . She kept him entirely to 
 herself. Even in the holidays she would scarcely let 
 me go near him. But he always loved me best. I 
 know, I know he loved me best. " It was an exceeding 
 bitter cry, questioning even while it asserted. 
 
 "Of course he did," Hildred murmured. 
 
 "Then when I had been teaching for about eight 
 years he died. A year later she died also, and left 
 me all her money; much, much more than any one 
 had suspected. Oh, why had it not come sooner? 
 Why ?" She stopped, drew rein on passionate 
 speech and curbed her voice again. "For a whole 
 year I could not bear to touch it. It seemed poisoned 
 to me; it had bought and sold my youth. Then my 
 health broke down, and on recovery I took a saner 
 view. Call it common-sense or apathy, it does n't 
 matter. Nothing seemed to matter then. There 
 was no use in letting all that money go to waste, so I 
 took it. I tried to blot out bitter thoughts from it. 
 I call it my Wishing Cap, because it transports me to 
 all the places I 've always wanted to see, and I don't 
 spend it all on myself, " she ended simply. 
 
 Hildred could not know the many self -giving chari- 
 ties that the words implied, but the unexpected recital 
 opened up a new vista of thought. Was tragedy 
 hidden under every calm exterior? Where she had 
 visioned laughing valleys, orchard slopes, and sun- 
 swept heights, lo! a volcano, still smouldering.
 
 176 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Arab Lebarte, her mother, and now this apparently 
 light-hearted irresponsible Hesper Marlowe! 
 
 Did she possess some hidden key with which to 
 unlock confidence, she wondered, or was it only chance 
 which had thrust her unexpectant into the inner cham- 
 bers of these two women's lives? Of course her own 
 trouble differed from theirs; it was triangular, inevit- 
 able, it touched her father, her mother, and herself. 
 
 The train slackened. The lights of a city shone in 
 orange sparks through the blue dusk. With a start 
 she realised that she had come to another turning- 
 point. 
 
 "Thank you for telling me this. It has helped," 
 she said in low tones. 
 
 "Yes," answered Hesper Marlowe. "I think it 
 always helps to find that our fellow-creatures are ordin- 
 ary human beings just like ourselves, that they have 
 the same flaws and feelings, the same pricks and balms. 
 And you must n't run away with the idea, child, that 
 because of what I Ve said I don't love any one. 
 Indeed, I do. There are always people to love, even 
 if the little ivory shrine is empty. " 
 
 "You, at any rate, have memories," Hildred 
 murmured. 
 
 "Yes, thank God. I try to cherish the good ones, 
 and root out the bad. One has often a lot of weeding 
 to do," she added, with a sudden whimsical smile. 
 
 Hildred rose and tried to see herself in the mirror. 
 
 "How do I look? Please don't think me vain, but 
 I want the first impression to be a good one. " Her 
 hands trembled a little as she adjusted her veil. 
 
 "I think it will." 
 
 The train stopped. The station seemed full of light
 
 The Past Can Never Die 
 
 177 
 
 and confusion after the monotonous rushing through 
 the night. 
 
 Hildred stepped down to the platform in Miss Mar- 
 lowe's wake, shrinking aside from the crowd of Arabs 
 who poured out of the third-class carriages a crowd 
 so multi-coloured in its blue and white and black 
 draperies, punctuated with the inevitable crimson of 
 the fez, or tarbtish, that in her quiet grey attire she 
 looked like a moth who had alighted amid a cloud of 
 butterflies. She scanned the kaleidoscopic bustling 
 throng to see if she could detach any one who resem- 
 bled in the least her faint recollection of her father. 
 
 "Sir George Nugent has come to meet me," said 
 Hesper Marlowe in her ear, "but I won't leave vou 
 until " 
 
 "Can this possibly be Hildred?" asked a voice at 
 her other side. 
 
 With a quick apprehensive leap of heart and pulses, 
 the girl turned to meet her father. There could be no 
 mistake this time. Out of the past flashed that face, 
 the disappointed lips which had ejaculated : 
 
 "She has not even a feature!" 
 
 He had grown incredibly younger, it appeared. 
 The long intervening years, empty of wife or child, 
 had stolen neither his youth nor his air of debonair 
 gaiety. In the flickering light there were no lines 
 visible about the brown appealing eyes or the clear-cut 
 handsome mouth, and his wavy hair, apparently 
 untouched by autumn frost, added to his almost 
 boyish appearance. 
 
 To him tLe past came back in one instant's poign- 
 ance. There were the eyes, clear and grey as rain, 
 in which he had once sought to read and solve the
 
 178 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 great mystery of love eyes which, in his last vision 
 of them had flashed steel blades of hatred towards 
 his heart. After the moment's vivid memory he saw 
 in this quiet-looking girl the expected daughter; the 
 amalgam, as he suddenly realised, of not only his life 
 and another's, but of the generations beyond, which 
 had contributed to the complexity of his and her 
 making; a realisation which comes, when it does 
 come to a parent, with a rare and disturbing force. 
 
 There was but a second's mutual reconnoitring 
 before Hildred spoke. 
 
 "Yes, I am Hildred," she answered, turning round 
 to thank Miss Marlowe, who had, however, slipped 
 quietly away at the moment of encounter. 
 
 "If you will describe your boxes to me Moussa 
 will look after them." Mr. Ivors indicated a tall 
 young Arab in a dull lilac-coloured garment bound 
 about the waist with a striped sash of yellow and gold, 
 who, when he heard his name, salaamed to Hildred, 
 and smiled, showing incredibly white teeth. 
 
 Hildred described them. 
 
 She had gained poise and self-control since the 
 beginning of her new life, and her air and manner 
 showed a quiet distinction which pleased her father. 
 On a sudden the twisted humour of the situation 
 appealed to the girl. Here was another meeting 
 in another railway-station of another parent, who 
 had to ask his daughter if it were really she? It was 
 the scene at Burnaby tricked out in altered dress, and 
 brighter colours, with a dark-skinned henchman, 
 instead of the sandy Johnny; so far, neither real 
 welcome nor any warmth of kinship. The light, the 
 unfamiliar crowd, the dark faces, the multitudes of
 
 The Past Can Never Die 179 
 
 appraising eyes, the strangeness of the whole scene, 
 and above all the relaxation of the long tension told 
 on the girl. She craved for rest and quiet. The 
 sudden thought of the rosebud room at Whitecot 
 swam before her eyes with the longing allurement of 
 the known. Swift unbidden tears sprang on her 
 lashes when her father, slipping his hand through her 
 arm, said in a tone of real kindliness: 
 
 "Come along, little girl. You must be tired and 
 hungry. When had you anything to eat? " He drew 
 her through the throng, which seemed to melt aside 
 at their approach. 
 
 Outside, the night was cool and blue, the sky a 
 vast wonder lit by moon and stars. By the pavement 
 an arabiyeh, a small victoria drawn by two long-tailed 
 horses and driven by a coachman in red tarbtish 
 awaited them. 
 
 "Get in, Hildred. Moussa will follow with the 
 luggage. You will be glad to get to bed. Is every- 
 thing still going up and down?" 
 
 "Oh, no, I lost that feeling long ago, but I confess 
 that I am a little tired." 
 
 "You 11 have some supper when we get in and 
 then you can go to bed. To-morrow you '11 look out 
 on a new world. Gad, what would n't I give to be 
 seeing Egypt for the first time? And yet I don't 
 know. It does n't cast its glamour over you quite at 
 first. There 's the heat and the noise and the dust and 
 the mosquitoes. It 's afterwards that your eyes are 
 opened, or closed. " He spoke half to himself. 
 
 "You would find a fellow enthusiast in Miss 
 Marlowe, my travelling companion. Egypt enchants 
 her, she says."
 
 i8o The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Was that the woman who was talking to you 
 when I came up?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " She 's beautiful. " He said the phrase in a low 
 hushed voice, as if it were a prayer. Perhaps it was, 
 for him. 
 
 "Isn't she?" cried Hildred, warming to enthu- 
 siasm. "She is as charming and delightful as she is 
 beautiful, and that 's saying a good deal, for I think 
 she is the loveliest person I have ever seen. " 
 
 "I should n't go quite so far as that. She is cer- 
 tainly beautiful, but her face is full of irregularities. " 
 
 "One doesn't want marble perfection in a human 
 being." 
 
 Ivors looked at his daughter curiously for a mo- 
 ment. Here was no shy bread-and-butter miss, but 
 a young woman with opinions, and no hesitation 
 in expressing them despite her surface impression of 
 quietude. 
 
 There was a reminiscent decision in her tone. He 
 sighed involuntarily as he answered : 
 
 "No. Marble perfection is cold, even in marble." 
 
 "What about the Nike of Samothrace?" queried 
 Hildred, up in arms for her beloved Winged Victory. 
 
 Her father's eyes twinkled. Here was an opening 
 for a buttoned foil. 
 
 "If my memory doesn't deceive me the Nike is 
 fashioned of grey stone, more human and less chilling 
 than the more perfect whiteness." 
 
 Hildred laughed. In the brilliant moonlight her 
 father noted the fleeting apple-blossom flush. 
 
 "Of course you're right! How stupid of me! I 
 had quite forgotten."
 
 The Past Can Never Die 181 
 
 Ivors gave a sigh of relief. "You 're not infallible 
 then? Thank God." 
 
 "Why? Did you think I should dare to consider 
 myself so?" 
 
 "Most young people do. It's one of the royal 
 prerogatives of youth. " 
 
 As the carriage rolled along through the quiet 
 residential quarters of Cairo, Hildred got an impression 
 of tree-shaded roads and large cream-coloured houses 
 draped and festooned with creepers an impression of 
 space and dignity very restful to her tired senses. 
 
 Ivors said a few words in Arabic to the driver, and 
 with a cracking of his whip he turned again towards 
 the lights and bustle. 
 
 "Do you use many pins, Hildred?" her father 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 The question would have seemed irrelevant had not 
 the memory of that other meeting lingered so persist- 
 ently with the girl. She traced the long-spun connec- 
 tion of the query by the light of her own reminiscence. 
 
 " No, " she answered. 
 
 "Not even safety-pins?" 
 
 She saw in memory the end of one protruding from 
 beneath a patent-leather belt, and shook her head, 
 smiling in spite of herself. 
 
 "Not even safety-pins," she said. 
 
 "Thank God for that!" cried Ivors with apparently 
 unnecessary emphasis, as the carriage drew up before 
 a quiet-looking hotel with a pillared portico and red 
 and white striped awnings.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE NILE-SONG FROM AFAR 
 
 T I ILDRED awoke next morning to the sound of an 
 11 intermittent clink-clink, clink-clink, clink-clink, 
 which had something typically Eastern in its metallic 
 monotony. 
 
 She pushed aside the white enveloping mosquito- 
 curtains, crept out of bed, and peered through the 
 green laths of the sun-shutters. 
 
 For the moment the shady street seemed empty 
 of all but the acacia-trees, each standing in its hollow 
 earthen well. Then she descried a little farther up 
 two white-robed figures who shrugged, gesticulated, 
 chattered, in an open doorway. At the near side an 
 Arab had spread his prayer-shawl in the blot of shade 
 cast by one of the trees, and removing his shoes, knelt, 
 rose, bent, and prostrated himself in the beautiful and 
 varied attitudes of devotion. Arabiyehs rattled by 
 unheeded, the clink-clink came nearer and resolved 
 itself into a white-clad lemonade-seller, who clipped his 
 brass cups together as he went, making a brilliant 
 effect of colour with his scarlet shoes and sash and the 
 twinkling radiance of his vessels of brass and glass. 
 A string of camels laden with great bundles of vivid 
 green clover ambled down the street gurgling and 
 
 182
 
 The Nile-Song from Afar 183 
 
 grunting; an old man drove a rickety donkey-cart 
 with a high open crate full of live pigeons; a smart 
 white motor-car glided by, adding a touch of incon- 
 gruity to the scene, and still the Arab prayed on, iso- 
 lated in an utter detachment of spirit from the world 
 around him, visioning Mecca perhaps as his forehead 
 touched the dim purples and reds of the shawl on the 
 ground. 
 
 This first real glimpse of Cairo held Hildred en- 
 thralled. She stood there, barefoot, peeping through 
 the green shutters until a tapping at the door and the 
 sound of her father's voice asking if she were ready for 
 breakfast brought her back again to a world of baths 
 and meals. She answered hurriedly. 
 
 "Very well, I will send Moussa for you in twenty 
 minutes," said her father, through the door, "which, 
 being interpreted, means half an hour. " 
 
 " No, it does n't, " returned Hildred promptly. " It 
 means twenty minutes, and not a second more. " 
 
 "How I '11 crow if you take twenty-five," said her 
 father boyishly. 
 
 "I shan't take twenty-five." 
 
 "Good God, how like her mother that sounded!" 
 thought Ivors as he turned down the corridor. "The 
 voice, the very intonation, poor Harriet was always 
 right." 
 
 So was Hildred upon this occasion, for she was 
 dressed and ready to go down when she opened the 
 door to Moussa's tap. 
 
 "Good-morning," she said. 
 
 " Good-morning, ya Sitt. " His teeth flashed in the 
 Arab's ready smile. He held a pink rose in his hand. 
 "From the master," he said in laborious English.
 
 184 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred took the flower and fastened it into her 
 belt, flushing at her father's pretty attention, as she 
 followed Moussa along the corridor. 
 
 He threw open a door with a flourish, and announced 
 her in Arabic. 
 
 The room was large and lofty. Two high, shaded 
 windows opened on to a balcony. At one end her 
 father sat at a round table, reading letters. 
 
 He looked up, and rose at her entry. Once more the 
 question of greeting puzzled the girl, but only for a 
 moment, as Ivors came forward and taking her hands 
 lightly kissed her cheek. There was a pleasant accept- 
 ance of relationship in the action which contrasted 
 cheeringly with her mother's arm's-length attitude. 
 With a little sigh of relief she realised that for the 
 present at least she might lay down her weapons of 
 defence. 
 
 "Well, did I take longer than the twenty minutes?" 
 she asked with a little air of triumph which radiated 
 from her becomingly. 
 
 Ivors surveyed the dainty detail of her white attire 
 with satisfaction. 
 
 "No," he returned. "I see you are wearing the 
 prize for punctuality. I told Moussa not to give it to 
 you unless you were ready. But don't do it too often." 
 
 "Do what?" she asked, puzzled. 
 
 "Don't be too often right, or rather don't put me 
 too often in the wrong, " he answered with a plaintive 
 whimsicality which brought back to the girl one of her 
 mother's indictments. 
 
 The easiness of his attitude puzzled Hildred. Both 
 he and her mother accepted her as an instant fact in 
 their lives to be judged by present knowledge alone.
 
 The Nile-Song from Afar 185 
 
 Past thoughts, deeds, aspirations, environment seemed 
 to be taken for granted and left utterly unprobed; 
 it was, as Miss Marlowe had said, with the finished 
 product that they were even temporarily concerned. 
 What had gone to the making, the moulding, the 
 shaping was apparently not to their interest, and the 
 superficiality of such an attitude provoked the girl 
 to a sort of wondering despisal. How could fifteen 
 years be blotted out so utterly? 
 
 Still, while the waters now seemed so smooth she 
 would do nothing to provoke a storm. It would be 
 pleasant to drift on in a sunny present while she might. 
 Her presence in the big room produced an impression 
 of personal domesticity in Ivors to which he had long 
 been a stranger. It was pleasant to look up from his 
 letters to see her sitting opposite, a quiet and so far 
 unobtrusive personality of whom to invite comment or 
 query when the mood prompted him. 
 
 Yes, his daughter was a surprise; her aplomb, her 
 touch of distinction, her lack of schoolgirlishness or 
 primness, and above all the unexpected attractiveness 
 of her appearance charmed and pleased him. 
 
 " We shall not be long in Cairo, " he said, holding up 
 a letter. "The idea delights me, though the ancients 
 say that 
 
 ' He who hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the world. 
 Her soil is gold; 
 Her Nile is a marvel; 
 
 Her women are as the bright-eyed Houris of Paradise; 
 Her houses are palaces, and her air is soft, with an odour above 
 
 aloes, refreshing the heart; 
 
 And how should Cairo be otherwise when she is the mother of the 
 world?'"
 
 1 86 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Her houses are palaces certainly," said Hildred. 
 
 "And her Nile is a marvel. Ah, Hildred, wait until 
 the ears of your spirit are opened to hear the Song of 
 the Nile." 
 
 "Miss Marlowe said that she could hear the voices 
 of Egypt with her spirit sense. " 
 
 " Miss Marlowe must be a woman of understanding. 
 Yes, there was something rare about that moonlight 
 face in its masses of night-black hair. Those who 
 have ears to hear are generally permitted to hear. I 
 should like to know if she will hear it too. " 
 
 "Hear what?" asked Hildred, interested. She 
 saw in the clearer light of day that faint lines were 
 etched at the corners of her father's eyes and about his 
 mouth, and that his fair abundant hair was slightly 
 frosted. Still, the enthusiasm which irradiated his 
 face enhanced his boyish look, and emphasised for the 
 girl the great gulf of temperament which had separated 
 him from her mother. The eternal and piteous con- 
 flict of temperament! She was dimly beginning to 
 perceive its potentialities. 
 
 "The song of the Nile," answered Ivors. "The 
 great key-note without which all the other voices of 
 Egypt would be mute; the song of the gods, the song 
 of fertility, the mighty song which in the lost centuries 
 called life out of death and order out of chaos, evolving 
 by the necessities it created, a fine civilisation from 
 primitive beginnings." 
 
 "What does it say?" the girl queried softly. 
 
 "Ah, who can tell that? Have you ever seen 
 through the mist of an opal a fire flashing that eludes 
 and evades, that is and that is not, that is never the 
 same to any in flame or colour, living green to one,
 
 The Nile-Song from Afar 187 
 
 leaping blue to another, to a third red as the heart of 
 light itself? So with the song of the Nile. I try to 
 paint it, pah! Who could paint a mystery that is 
 compact of colour, of sound, of sunlight and moonlight 
 and starlight, of something that is none yet all more 
 definite than to-day, more evanescent than yesterday, 
 more unattainab e than to-morrow ineffable, intan- 
 gible? One might as well try to clip the wings of a 
 dream or use a rainbow as one's paint-box. And 
 yet, I suppose to an artist all things are painta- 
 ble. I wonder? I wonder? I am always won- 
 dering. Life to me is a pageant of beauty and 
 mystery with an enormous question-mark after each 
 new thing. " 
 
 He paced the room. Here spoke the dreamer, the 
 pursuer of visions, the archer of mist-wraiths, whose 
 eager questing feet trod in the footsteps of eternal 
 youth. 
 
 " I should like to see some of your pictures. " 
 
 He stopped, and turned with a frown. 
 
 "Now you Ve touched the bubble of my dreams 
 and it is gone, the beautiful thing!" he said quite 
 crossly, hearing the clank of the invisible chains which 
 bound him to the stupid necessities of every day. 
 " No, you would n't like my pictures. You would n't 
 understand them. Half the people who buy them 
 only do so because I happen to be the fashion. I 
 despise them. I loathe them. " 
 
 "Yet you sell them your dreams," said Hildred, 
 pricked at his assumption of her ignorance. 
 
 Ivors looked at her with a regard compact of 
 admiration and dislike. 
 
 "Your remark displays a pleasing lack of practi-
 
 1 88 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 cality," he said, "as well as a joy in finding a weak 
 spot in my armour which is disagreeably reminiscent. " 
 
 The girl reddened, feeling oddly stung. 
 
 "I don't want to find weak spots," she half 
 whispered, looking down. 
 
 Ivors's brow cleared. "Oh, don't you? Well, 
 that 's a relief. It 's worn very thin in places and you 
 would have no difficulty in poking your little fingers 
 through. You 've pretty hands. I noticed them last 
 night. They 're shaped like mine, so you must have a 
 dash of the artistic temperament in you. " 
 
 Hildred looked up. "Oh, more than a dash 
 a splash. " 
 
 "God pity you then, poor child," he said, with a 
 sudden change of tone. "I can never make up my 
 mind as to whether such a gift is not more curse than 
 blessing. And yet I wonder? . . . Well, what are 
 you going to do with yourself to-day?" 
 
 The girl's mind fled back to the first morning at 
 Whitecot. What a curious repetition of events in 
 so different a setting! Here there was no garden, no 
 Katherine, not even a dog. Was she to be left quite 
 to her own resources in a strange land? She, too, 
 wondered. Ivors studied her face, and awaited her 
 answer with some curiosity. He was more experi- 
 mentally inclined than her other parent, and if the 
 proper study of mankind be man his curriculum had 
 included a varied course of the subtler portion of the 
 race. 
 
 "I shall unpack first," she answered, feeling more 
 inclined to cry than to laugh, "and then I shall amuse 
 myself by sitting on the balcony and watching the 
 people. "
 
 The Nile-Song from Afar 189 
 
 Ivors smiled. ' ' Admirable decision ! In your place 
 half a hundred vaguenesses would have flitted through 
 my mind, and I should not have known either what to 
 do or what to say. I only want you to fill in time 
 until the afternoon when I shall take you for a drive. " 
 
 Her face cleared. "That will be delightful." 
 
 " Moussa will bring you your lunch. Don't unpack 
 too much, for we shall only be a day or two here. I 've 
 had an invitation for us both to go up the Nile " 
 
 "Can it possibly be from the Nugents?" cried 
 Mildred with a flash of inspiration. 
 
 "Why? Do you know the Nugents?" 
 
 "No, no," said the girl eagerly, her quick blushes 
 coming and going, "but Miss Marlowe was going to join 
 them and I wondered if anything so delightful could 
 possibly happen as that you should know them too. " 
 
 "The unexpected," said Ivors sententiously, "is 
 what always happens, of course. The invitation is 
 from the Nugents, who happen to be very good friends 
 of mine. We are to join them on Thursday. The 
 Arabs say that is a lucky day and call it 'el-mubarak,' 
 the blessed. Sir George wants me to do two pictures 
 for him Nile pictures, of course. He wants them for 
 a birthday present for his wife." 
 
 "When is her birthday?" 
 
 " I have n't the least idea. Besides it does n't 
 matter. It will be, like a royal birthday, whenever I 
 choose to finish the pictures; that is, if pictures like 
 anything else in life ever can be finished. How do you 
 like the notion?" 
 
 "Which notion?" 
 
 "Don't be so literal. I mean the notion of going 
 up the Nile, of course."
 
 190 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "There 's no ' of course, ' " Hildred retorted. "You 
 were just descanting on the subject of things in life 
 never being finished. How was I to know that you 
 had leaped back to the Nile trip again?" 
 
 Ivors laughed. His daughter was beginning to 
 amuse him. "You '11 have to get used to my grass- 
 hopper-like proclivities," he said. "Just watch how 
 I jump and in a little while you '11 learn to know 
 exactly where I alight. " 
 
 "Shall I?" she returned dubiously. "I doubt it." 
 
 "So do I," said Ivors. "Few people ever do." 
 
 "Do what?" 
 
 "Know where I alight," he answered. "Well, I 
 don't much care so long as I land on a dahabieh on 
 the Nile. It's the perfection of motion, a dahabieh 
 towed by a launch. You glide along as if it were a 
 gondola. There is no throbbing, no jerking, no 
 puffing. " 
 
 "It sounds heavenly. And when it includes Miss 
 Marlowe oh, she is so nice!" 
 
 "Nice is an odious, much misused young-ladylike 
 word. Can't you think of a better one? It 's nearly 
 as bad as sweet." He went to a bookshelf and took 
 down a dictionary. "'Nice foolishly simple; over- 
 particular ; hard to please ; marking or taking notice of 
 very small differences; easily injured; fastidious.' 
 Do any of these terms apply to your friend?" 
 
 "She is rather fastidious, I think, but has the word 
 no other meanings?" 
 
 "Well, the dictionary gives dainty, agreeable, 
 delightful, as well," said Ivors, shutting and replacing 
 the book. 
 
 "Won't they do? I think I shall stick to nice,"
 
 The Nile-Song from Afar 191 
 
 answered Hildred. "It 's comprehensive and she is 
 really nice." 
 
 "Right again," groaned Ivors. "In spite of my 
 warning, I prefer to think of your friend as a beautiful 
 strand of ivory and ebony which Fate is weaving into 
 our lives." 
 
 "You can't weave ivory and ebony," objected 
 Hildred. 
 
 "Yes, you can, or rather Fate can, if I choose 
 to say so." 
 
 "You had better compile a dictionary for yourself 
 then, " she retorted, exhilarated to the point of unusual 
 buoyancy at the prospect before her. 
 
 His face changed, aged, and whitened. Out of the 
 past those innocent-sounding and now jesting words 
 stabbed at him like a lance. Once, in white rage, his 
 wife had flung them at him tauntingly. It had been 
 their first quarrel and had owned a sharpness which 
 the recurrence of similar scenes had blunted. Harsh 
 words, loud voices jarred inexpressibly on him, hurt 
 him like a blow. It had been a wounding revelation, 
 never to be forgotten. Was it some vibration echoing 
 through eternity which brought the words to his 
 child's lips? He turned away. 
 
 Hildred sat wondering how she had offended. Per- 
 haps her father did not like such freedom of speech. 
 Then she suddenly remembered what her mother had 
 said that morning when Dr. Lisle had found her 
 worshipping the Invisible in the visible almond- 
 tree. 
 
 "In my early days I had much instruction in the 
 nice discrimination of words, their selection, their 
 meaning, their shades of meaning "
 
 192 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Had she pierced through a hole in the armour 
 unawares? 
 
 "I am sorry," she faltered. 
 
 '"T is n't you," he said, forcing a smile. "It's 
 Fate, beating me with a stick of ivory and ebony made 
 out of those strands to which you objected! Take 
 care of yourself, child. I '11 call for you about three. " 
 
 He came back and tapped her cheek; then left her 
 to her own devices for five long hours.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 LIFE'S WHEEL 
 
 AS Hildred went to her room she came face to 
 face with her father in the corridor. There was 
 a touch of the picturesque in the brown tie which 
 exactly matched his eyes, and the jaunty angle of his 
 Panama hat, which he removed at sight of her. It 
 struck her that he was the only man she had ever seen 
 who could wear such headgear with any distinction. 
 He owned just the requisite touch of debonair buoy- 
 ancy for its assumption. He was distinctly a person- 
 able companion, this jaunty unknown father who was 
 flitting off she knew not where, to meet she knew not 
 whom, to return yes, about three. 
 
 Only for the stirring of the blood-tie she would 
 have been shaken by a passion of fear and loneliness. 
 As it was she set herself to practise patience, Dr. 
 Lisle's art, she thought with sudden warmth. 
 
 "I was just coming back," said Ivors, "to tell you 
 that if you care to look at them there is a portfolio of 
 my sketches on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. They 
 are well, some of the dreams I do not sell, " he added 
 in a lower tone. 
 
 "Thank you," she replied in the same key, "I will 
 be very careful of the olive branch. " 
 
 He flashed a glance at her; then he smiled. It was 
 
 13 193
 
 194 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 a brilliant, humorous, whimsical smile which had won 
 for him many friends and the condonation of many 
 faults. 
 
 "Poor little dove! It was good of you not to 
 peck." 
 
 He kissed her cheek lightly and was gone, feeling 
 that he had successfully arranged for the filling of her 
 empty hours. 
 
 After Hildred's temporary unpacking she went back 
 to her father's sitting-room. 
 
 The table was cleared and a great bowl of roses 
 stood in its centre. She went to the bookcase for the 
 portfolio and, laying it on the table, opened it with a 
 feeling of pleasurable excitement, which faded a little 
 as she took out sketch after sketch. 
 
 They were mere hints of cloud and light effects, 
 shadows on desert sands, melting tones of colour in a 
 patch of flowing water, exquisite in their dreamy 
 nuances of pearl, pale rose, and amethyst, silver, 
 mist-grey, and hyacinth, but vague, intangible as the 
 song of which he had spoken. They were the nearest 
 things to dreams made visible that Hildred had ever 
 seen, but, like most dreams, they were too elusive, 
 too indefinite to produce any effect more real than 
 the echo of a whispered promise. In their lovely 
 opaline mists of colour they reminded her of the 
 Turner sketches but they were even less tangible 
 than they. 
 
 One was an effect of sand-storm a whirling, biscuit- 
 coloured cloud of dust. As one gazed, the shadowy 
 figure of a Bedouin on a camel seemed to emerge. 
 Then it faded, and one was not certain that one had 
 ever seen it, that it was not a swirl of dun spray.
 
 Life's Wheel 
 
 Another was a fragment of blue sky across which 
 trailed a scarf of cloud tinged with glowing rose; 
 another a stretch of peach-coloured sand with white 
 splashes that looked like birds on it. These were the 
 only three in which she could decipher any subject. 
 The rest were faint effects of colour, as if he had cap- 
 tured the rainbow of which he had spoken, dipped it 
 into moonlight to soften its brilliance, and then used it 
 as his palette, from which he evoked the dream-shapes 
 which he called sketches. 
 
 She looked at them for a long time; then closed 
 and replaced the portfolio, and went out on the 
 balcony to see the throbbing colour of the living 
 East. 
 
 There was something attractive about her father, 
 though the sense of estrangement and the gulf of un- 
 connected years yawned between them too deeply for 
 the tentative frail bridges of either to span as yet; 
 the fire of resentment still smouldered; through its 
 smoke Hildred looked and tried to judge dispassion- 
 ately. Her father's charm was more difficult to com- 
 bat than her mother's hardness; yet in her desire for 
 fairness she felt the impulses bequeathed by each 
 struggling within her to the point of bewilderment. 
 With a smile too bitter for her young lips she reflected 
 that her mother had found her too dreamy and 
 romantic, while to her father she appeared to be pro- 
 saically literal and unimaginative. Was she a nega- 
 tive then, produced by some whimsical inversion of 
 Fate, by these two very distinct affirmatives? 
 
 A shrill piping and the throbbing of drums caught 
 her ear and diverted her from her introspection. 
 She leaned farther over the balcony, whose scarlet
 
 196 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 and white awning shaded her pleasantly, and seemed 
 to throw her English fairness into stronger relief. 
 
 Down a narrow side-street, which led to one of the 
 native quarters, went an Arab procession of the 
 poorer class. Here were no musicians on camels, 
 red-tufted, and gorgeously trapped, jingling with 
 adornments of beads and shells, but a few white-robed 
 men on foot playing their squealing pipes and beating 
 small fish-skin-covered drums with all the solemnity 
 that befitted the occasion. Round them little children 
 dressed in single garments of yellow, blue, or pink, 
 ran and capered ; behind followed rickety carts bearing 
 the household furniture; on top of the first sat a veiled 
 woman holding a mirror, evidently a precious posses- 
 sion, in her lap. Then came two arabiyehs, crowded 
 with natives, and a closed carriage covered with an em- 
 broidered cloth, whose soft reds and yellows and blues 
 and browns merged into a dull richness of colouring. 
 
 Hildred watched the odd procession with interest 
 until the closed carriage, which contained the bride, 
 had passed out of sight, and pipe-note and drum-tap 
 merged into the mosaic of sounds which helped to 
 create the Egyptian atmosphere. Kites screamed 
 shrilly in the blue overhead, wheeled and circled in 
 swift flight, or stopped in sudden watchful pause ; spar- 
 rows chirped and chattered busily in the roadway, 
 bringing a touch of familiarity into the strangeness, 
 until a watering-cart clattering down the street 
 dispersed them for a moment, evoking a smell of wet 
 dust as it went onwards towards the humming city. 
 
 Then by a curious coincidence Hildred came in 
 touch with the last great fact of mortal life, Death. 
 Far-off sounds of chanting pierced the air, and through
 
 Life's Wheel 197 
 
 the narrow street, which rejoicing feet had so lately 
 trodden, passed now the steps of those who mourned. 
 
 First came grave, bearded, turbaned men, some of 
 them blind, who chanted incessantly and monoton- 
 ously on two murmuring notes the profession of their 
 faith" Ldi-ld-ha il ld-l-ldh. " 
 
 Hildred rose and listened breathlessly to the low, 
 harsh voices as the slow-paced men wound into sight 
 and out of it again, followed by little boys bearing 
 green branches, who took up the chant in shriller, 
 livelier strain when the men ceased for a moment. 
 
 Then came the bier, like a coffin on four poles, 
 carried by friends, who changed places continually. It 
 was draped with a richer covering than the bride's had 
 been, and was hung with garlands of pink roses, while 
 at its head was placed the dead man's tarbdsh, whose 
 long black tassel hung limply from the crown. After 
 the bier came the veiled women mourners, in thin 
 fluttering robes of black or darkest indigo, each carry- 
 ing a scarf of blue muslin which she twirled wildly 
 about her head, her shoulders, or before her face, as she 
 uttered the high thin cries of conventional grief. The 
 wild gestures and wailing abandonment of the women 
 contrasted oddly with the grave demeanour of the 
 men, while their shrill cries, piercing as those of 
 the kites overhead, the chanting of the boys, and the 
 deeper tones of the now distant men resolved them- 
 selves into one of the strange, yet not altogether 
 inharmonious, discords of the East. 
 
 Life and Death, the perpetual allies of Nature, each 
 treading on the other's heels, each standing aside to 
 offer precedence in turn, each taking, each giving 
 eternal toll.
 
 198 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Death here, despite the shrilling mourners, owned a 
 gayer, more joyful aspect than Death with its gloomy 
 plumed accessories in England. The dead man 
 had gone to the garden of Paradise, therefore his 
 friends should rejoice, even though the conventions 
 of mourning must be fulfilled. Hildred, like her 
 father, began to wonder. 
 
 Then, when she grew weary of vain pondering, and 
 the desire for action awoke, she got her writing-case 
 and indited letters to her friends long ones to the 
 Dering cousins and Arab Lebarte, which touched on 
 the incidents and pleasures of the voyage and the 
 happy prospect of the Nile trip, and a brief announce- 
 ment of her arrival and general well-being to her 
 mother. She felt more than a passing wish to send a 
 word of greeting to Dr. Lisle ; he was a person to whom 
 she could write, she thought, but a certain constrain- 
 ing shyness held her hand, as she had already written 
 to him from Marseilles. If she had only a picture-post- 
 card! She had sent picture-postcards to her friends 
 from all stopping-places. He would probably expect 
 one from Cairo. But how to procure some? She 
 did not like to go out alone, nor down into the lounge 
 of the hotel among strangers. The forlorn sensation 
 returned in full force. 
 
 She rang the bell, and in a moment Moussa 
 appeared, white-robed and smiling. 
 
 "Sitt want lunch," he suggested. "Aiwa, yess, 
 Moussa bring." 
 
 Deftly he spread a dainty little meal, deftly he 
 served her, with ever-ready smile and watchful 
 eyes. 
 
 At its conclusion she felt refreshed and invigorated.
 
 Life's Wheel 199 
 
 The desire for action grew. She wondered if she could 
 make Moussa understand that she wanted to go out 
 and buy postcards, but his English was extremely 
 limited and her Arabic non-existent. 
 
 "Moussa, please," she ventured, "I want picture- 
 postcards. " 
 
 "Silt want bosta-card, " answered Moussa with a 
 delighted smile. "Aiwa, yess, Moussa bring." 
 
 He disappeared, and in a short time returned with 
 a little sheaf of postcards which he presented to 
 the girl. 
 
 Hildred took out her purse, but Moussa shook his 
 head. 
 
 "No, no, I want no money," he said in Arabic. 
 
 The girl lifted bewildered eyebrows, and the youth's 
 smile flashed out in response. 
 
 " Master give, " he said. Then he looked round the 
 room to see if anything further were needed, and 
 uttered his best effort in English. " Sitt want, silt 
 ring, Moussa bring." 
 
 "Aiwa, yes," Hildred answered, determined to 
 tackle Arabic on the earliest opportunity. 
 
 When he had gone she examined the postcards a 
 motley selection. One was a bare-breasted Nubian 
 girl, another a naked child sitting on a water-buffalo, 
 another a group of Arabs round a vegetable stall, and 
 several highly-coloured representations of veiled and 
 unveiled Eastern females. She selected one of the 
 latter for Katherine and the natives clustering round 
 the crazy booth for Dr. Lisle, to whom she said " So 
 far I have not even seen a mango-seed in Egypt. " To 
 which he replied later that she must learn a new accom- 
 plishment, his latest being that of building cages for
 
 2oo The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 dreams, a handicraft, he said, in which his original art 
 proved very helpful. 
 
 Meanwhile the minutes ticked slowly. Hildred was 
 ready and waiting from three o'clock, but it was nearer 
 to four when her father arrived, fresh and cheerful, 
 and not at all apologetic. 
 
 "I suppose you had almost given me up," he said 
 lightly. "I lunched with some very amusing people 
 at the Semiramis, and afterwards we smoked and 
 talked, and the hours simply fled." 
 
 "They snailed for me," answered Hildred ruefully. 
 
 "That's rather a good word," laughed Ivors, 
 "although I fear that the dictionary would not 
 sanction it. To snail did you invent it yourself?" 
 
 "It was a school word," Hildred replied briefly. 
 She felt a new and sudden exasperation at the sight 
 of this cool, careless person, and yet the sense of com- 
 panionship was so grateful after her lonely hours that 
 she could not afford to risk its loss again. "Are we 
 going out now?" 
 
 The slim, erect figure, gloved, and provokingly 
 ready, found another weak spot in Ivors's armour. 
 How often in dead days had Harriet so sat and waited ? 
 The sight, so obviously putting him in the wrong, 
 pricked him to a lazy disinclination for further 
 movement. 
 
 ' ' We '11 have tea first , I think , " he said , ' ' then we shall 
 go out, and you shall plunge into the seething East. " 
 
 "I should like to plunge into something. I am 
 rather tired of sitting still." 
 
 "Why didn't you practise the can-can?" asked 
 Ivors, with a twinkling nonchalance. "I am told 
 it is admirable exercise." 

 
 Life's Wheel 201 
 
 "I don't know the can-can," Hildred began, but 
 she had to laugh before she had half -finished her stiff 
 little sentence 
 
 "That 's right, " said Ivors. "An untold relief. I 
 know that people cannot be really angry with me 
 when I can make them laugh." 
 
 "Why did you think I was angry with you?" 
 
 " The way you sat, my dear, and your dreadful air of 
 being ready. You were right, too, of course. That 
 was the worst of it. It was unconscionable of me to 
 keep a lady waiting. I '11 apologise willingly now that 
 you 've laughed, but while you looked so horribly right 
 I could n't. The words froze on my lips. " 
 
 Hildred laughed again. What was the use of being 
 annoyed with so irresponsible a person? 
 
 "I don't think anything could freeze to-day," she 
 answered, with that touch of literalness which Ivors 
 so deplored. 
 
 "Are you enjoying the sunshine?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah, tea, thank goodness. Will you make it, 
 please, Hildred?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 She rose and went to the table. Ivors liked the way 
 her hands busied themselves about the little task. 
 
 " Did you look at the sketches?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 Hildred glanced up and away again. "Yes." 
 
 " How did you like them? " 
 
 She met his inquiring gaze frankly. 
 
 "You were right ," she said . " I did not understand 
 them. They seemed to me to be very vague." 
 
 "Dreams are vague as a rule, " returned Ivors. Her 
 frankness pleased him, but, despite his previous judg-
 
 202 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 i 
 
 ment, her lack of comprehension disappointed him 
 faintly. He was one who quested always for the 
 Crystal of Understanding. 
 
 After tea they set out. In the lounge Ivors stopped 
 to speak to one or two people, to whom he introduced 
 Hildred. There was a touch of pride in his tone as he 
 said, "My daughter " and the girl was pleased at 
 his evident popularity. 
 
 One lady, a Mrs. Herries, said that they should 
 dine at her table to-night, while her daughter made 
 an engagement with Hildred to play tennis on the 
 morrow. 
 
 With their descent from the shaded room they 
 seemed to have plunged into a small whirl of life and 
 gaiety, which promised no return of empty hours in 
 the future. 
 
 As they drove through the tree-shaded streets with 
 their ever-moving throng Hildred felt stirred and 
 stimulated, and when they crossed the Kasr-el-Nil 
 bridge and she got her first glimpse of the Nile with its 
 palm-trees and palaces, its steamers all gaily a-flutter 
 with flags, and a Nile-boat or two with high pointed 
 sails, she felt a real thrill of excitement, which a nearer 
 view of the rushing, turbid river slightly abated. 
 
 Still it was strange and new the crowd of varied 
 colour and nationality, the natives walking calmly in 
 the middle of the road amid the rush of traffic, the 
 harim-ca.ma.ges with their white- veiled occupants; 
 here a dust-coloured figure against a dust-coloured wall 
 selling oranges, there a string of Arabs, in black, or 
 white, and blue, hurrying along with flat baskets of 
 glowing tomatoes poised upon their heads. 
 
 The vivid life, the unusual sounds and sights, the
 
 Life's Wheel 
 
 203 
 
 colour, the movement, enchained the girl to silence, 
 and the last touch of strangeness was added to her 
 impression when, after driving between the orange- 
 trees at Ghezireh, she saw the polo-ponies galloping 
 across a field of grass, from which they sent up clouds 
 of dust with their active hoofs. It was curious to her 
 to see the game played against a background of palms 
 and watched eagerly by groups of squatting Arabs, 
 while a few hundred yards away flocks and herds 
 grazed peacefully under the palm-trees, tended by 
 shepherds with long staffs. 
 
 Ivors watched her with amusement. 
 
 "Have you heard the Nile-Song yet?" he inquired 
 at last. 
 
 "I haven't had a chance," the girl answered. 
 "Give me time." 
 
 "It would take eternity," said Ivors with a little 
 sigh.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE LUCKY DAY 
 
 IT was Thursday, called by the Arabs "the blessed, " 
 and Lady Nugent and Hesper Marlowe sat on 
 the deck of the dahabieh Nitocris, which was tied up 
 at El-Wasta to await the arrival of the Ivorses. 
 
 The afternoon sun was still high, and bathed the 
 river, the village, and the palm-groves in a golden glow. 
 To the left the spurs of the Arabian Hills rose sharply 
 into the haze; down the river came a flotilla of Nile- 
 boats, their high pointed sails showing dark against 
 the glow, and white as a sea-gull's wing when the sun- 
 light fell full on them. 
 
 Lady Nugent belonged to the type of cushion- 
 woman soft, reposeful, yielding. Borne along by 
 the impetuous rush of her adventurous family she 
 was always cherished by them as their most precious 
 and comfortable possession. 
 
 "When they suggested wintering in Egypt," she 
 was saying to Miss Marlowe, "I thought that I might 
 as well be there as anywhere else. " 
 
 That was the key-note of her existence. It did not 
 matter to her where she was so long as her family envir- 
 oned her. If one could venture on so incongruous a 
 comparison one might claim for her some kinship of 
 
 204
 
 The Lucky Day 205 
 
 inverted circumstance, if not of spirit, with the desert 
 nomad, whose home is wherever he chooses to pitch 
 his tent, and whose family camp or tramp as he and 
 Allah will. 
 
 Kindness to her children bestowed the freedom of 
 the city of Lady Nugent's benevolence on the stranger. 
 Inasmuch as he or she was necessary to the pleasure or 
 happiness of one of the beloved circle, insomuch was 
 he or she necessary to Lady Nugent's well-being. 
 
 Her soft placidity rested Hesper Marlowe. Men- 
 tally the elder woman's horizon was determined by the 
 girdling hills of her own warm valley, while Hesper's 
 stretched towards some far invisible fusion of sea and 
 sky. 
 
 Lady Nugent was conscious of no disparity of out- 
 look between them. She admired Miss Marlowe, 
 thought her clever, even brilliant, loved her for her 
 kindness in the present to her restless Gerda, for her 
 kindness in the past to her pretty Sylvia, for whose 
 first-born her soft white fingers were knitting a soft 
 white woollen jacket. 
 
 The deck of the Nitocris was a pleasant place to idle 
 in, with its thick awning overhead which kept the sun- 
 rays at bay ; with its green tubs of oleander and hibis- 
 cus; with its scarlet and white rugs placed gaily here 
 and there ; with its cushioned deck-chairs and lounges ; 
 and now with the glistening tea-table which stood 
 ready to give refreshing welcome to the expected 
 travellers. 
 
 Hesper sat in a long easy chair. Over her thin white 
 gown she had slipped a loose coat of dull Egyptian 
 blue, whose colour deepened the blueness of her eyes. 
 She was not working, although a strip of Irish lace lay
 
 2o6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 upon her lap. Her gaze was fixed upon the flotilla of 
 Nile-boats, now showing white against the biscuit 
 and umber tints of the hills. Nearer they stole and 
 nearer, their high prows painted in chequers of water- 
 worn reds and yellows, while the blue-robed men who 
 worked the big fin-like rudders called guttural greet- 
 ings to the watchers on the bank as they passed. Their 
 cargoes of shining dead-gold straw or snowy blocks of 
 limestone added their touch of the unusual to the 
 scene. 
 
 Hesper was absorbed, entranced. 
 
 "You like it?" said Lady Nugent. 
 
 "I love it"; she drew a deep breath. "I have no 
 words in which to say how it fascinates me." 
 
 "More than India?" 
 
 "A thousand times more. " 
 
 "Now to me," pursued Lady Nugent, with a soft 
 clicking of her needles, "it is all very flat and uninter- 
 esting. It 's hot and dusty, and I can smell the village 
 distinctly." 
 
 "So can I, but I don't mind that." 
 
 "You and Mr. Ivors ought to get on. He is posi- 
 tively rabid on the subject of Egypt in general and the 
 Nile in particular. Now he 's a charming man. So 
 pleasant and amusing says things no one else would 
 ever even think of. Gerda and Roddy think no end of 
 him. We saw a good deal of him in Cairo last year. 
 It was he who fired Sir George with enthusiasm to 
 come up the Nile this winter. What I like about him 
 is that he is the same to all women, more or less just 
 as nice to me as to Gerda." 
 
 "That sameness must be a trifle monotonous," 
 answered Hesper, fighting against a rising prejudice.
 
 The Lucky Day 207 
 
 " I said ' more or less, ' " returned Lady Nugent. She 
 laid down her knitting and bent confidentially forward. 
 " I only hope that Gerda won't fall in love with him.' ' 
 
 "Why did you ask him if you were afraid of such 
 a contingency? Besides, if I read Gerda aright, she 
 would look on him as elderly fatal word! and con- 
 sider him rather soft because he neither shot, rode, 
 nor hunted. Gerda 's ideal at present is the sporting 
 hero. I don't think you need be alarmed. " 
 
 "That 's all right, " said Lady Nugent comfortably. 
 " Besides, if Gerda wanted to fall in love, she 'd do it, 
 no matter what precautions I might take. But, dear 
 Miss Marlowe, you could n't call him elderly. The 
 spirit of youth looks out of his eyes. " 
 
 A faint wonder stirred Hesper Marlowe. What sort 
 of personality had aroused this poetic fervour in Lady 
 Nugent, whose vocabulary consisted, as a rule, of 
 phrases echoed from the daily speech of those around 
 her? 
 
 Aloud she said lightly: "Then he suffers from the 
 same complaint as I do incurable youth! Poor 
 man ! " The touch of mockery linked them. 
 
 "I wonder why he has never married," Lady 
 Nugent went on. "Last winter in Cairo a rich 
 American literally flung herself at his head, and pur- 
 sued him so hotly that he had to flee into the desert to 
 escape from her." 
 
 " Disgusting! " Scorn curled Hesper 's lip. 
 
 "Well, he went into the desert at any rate 'to 
 study the effect of shadows on the sand,' he said." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "She was very pretty too, in an exotic, flower-like 
 style."
 
 208 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Was she?" 
 
 "Yes, I heard him say so." 
 
 Ah, Hesper had not recognised from whom 
 Lady Nugent could have culled the phrase "exotic 
 flower " 
 
 "I wonder why he did n't !" 
 
 "Do you think every one must needs marry, dear 
 Lady Nugent?" 
 
 " I think every one ought to. " 
 
 "Even widows and widowers?" 
 
 "Certainly widowers. It's a heaven-sent chance 
 for the poor female sex. But widows? That 's a 
 different matter. No, I don't think widows should 
 re-marry. It 's not fair that any woman should have 
 two men." 
 
 Hesper laughed, then sobered, " Mr. Ivors's tragedy 
 must have cut deep. " 
 
 "What tragedy?" 
 
 Hesper regretted her unconsidered speech. Ab- 
 surdly, she felt as if she had betrayed a confidence, 
 but hesitation would have been equally absurd. 
 
 "He lost his wife and son sixteen years ago. They 
 died of diphtheria. " 
 
 "How shocking! Some one told me that his wife 
 died in a lunatic asylum, but they must have made a 
 mistake. Or was it that other man, the one who 
 paints camels so well?" 
 
 "Probably. It was Mr. Carteret of Port Said who 
 told me. I don't think they ever speak of it, though. " 
 
 "Naturally. I must try not to mention diphtheria 
 while they are here. Fortunately it is not a disease 
 of the country, and in any case I hate talking about 
 diseases. You like the girl, you said."
 
 The Lucky Day 209 
 
 "Yes. She has a charm all her own. I am sure 
 you will like her. " 
 
 "I 'm sure I shall. It will be so nice for Gerda to 
 have a companion." 
 
 For a moment Hesper wondered if Lady Nugent, in 
 the dual invitation to father and daughter, had cloaked 
 the wisdom of. the serpent with the innocence of the 
 dove? The perpetual presence of a grown-up daughter 
 is likely to clip the wings of a schoolgirlish fancy for 
 the father of such a one likely to clear the vision to 
 a perception of his paternal authority, the weight of 
 his advancing years. Hesper smiled at the thought, 
 wondering, too, if Hildred and Gerda would amalga- 
 mate; if Hildred would respond to the irresponsible 
 youth of Gerda, or if Gerda would be repelled by the 
 hint of quiet maturity in Hildred's manner? 
 
 "Here they are!" said Lady Nugent. "I see 
 George's grey hat among a crowd of tarbtishes." She 
 waved her knitting in welcome, and Hesper turned 
 to face the land. 
 
 Yes, there they were, Sir George, tall, thin, brown; 
 Hildred, quaker-like in grey, but with radiant apple- 
 blossom face; Gerda, tall and fair, waving her sun- 
 umbrella, and the much-discussed Mr. Ivors looking 
 ridiculously young in the distance. Behind them came 
 the Arabs with their luggage, and in a moment the 
 Nitocris was seized, boarded, and bombarded with 
 greetings, welcomes, questions, and introductions. 
 
 Hildred, bewildered with the novelty of having her 
 shoes and skirts brushed with an ostrich-feather brush 
 by a tall Nubian the moment she stepped on deck, 
 flew to her friend when Lady Nugent's greetings were 
 over. 
 14
 
 2io The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Isn't this too delightful for words?" she said, 
 with a quick girlish hug. "I want to introduce my 
 father to you." 
 
 A certain undertone in the words told Hesper that 
 past tremors were merged in present pride of posses- 
 sion. More than that she had not time to read, but her 
 impulses leaped in warm response to the girl's evident 
 reaction from her former lonely apprehensions. 
 
 "It 's good to see my travelling-companion again, 
 though I felt that we should meet somewhere." 
 
 "You had vanished the other night when I turned 
 round." 
 
 "I used my fern seed and became invisible when I 
 saw that you needed me no longer. " 
 
 "I want to introduce my father to you. Don't use 
 your fern seed again. " 
 
 Some faint premonition touched Hesper, that, as 
 far as the Ivors family was concerned, the fern seed of 
 invisibility had become unavailable. They had 
 entered into her life for good or ill ; they, not only the 
 girl but the man, had preoccupied her thoughts and 
 filled her musings. 
 
 She turned, with an odd sense of meeting Fate. 
 
 "Father." The word fell from Hildred's lips for 
 the first time and stirred a new sensation in Ivors. 
 "You were right when you said that this was a lucky 
 day. I want to introduce you to Miss Marlowe, who 
 was so good to me on the voyage. " 
 
 "A lucky day indeed, " he murmured, inwardly add- 
 ing, "I wonder?" as he came forward to fulfil the 
 destiny which had been wrought for him by the Silent 
 Spinners in the soundless hours. 
 
 He saw Ysolt of Ireland Ysolt the Fair with
 
 The Lucky Day 211 
 
 "black-blue hair and Irish eyes" a branch of Evin's 
 apple-tree with "twigs of white silver" upon it and 
 "buds of crystal with blossoms" a type of alluring 
 remoteness and magic nearness, the nearness and 
 remoteness of the stars and the night. The eternal 
 question in his eyes sought and found the eternal 
 question in hers. In the closed book of Fate lay the 
 answer. 
 
 He bowed, but Hesper Marlowe held out a friendly 
 hand. 
 
 "I scarcely need an introduction," she said, in the 
 low rippling tones that Hildred was so glad to hear 
 again. "I have seen a picture of yours downstairs, 
 which speaks to me like an old friend. " 
 
 "Which is that?" asked Ivors interested. Did 
 he catch the gleam of a crystal? 
 
 "Nile Dawn," put in Gerda Nugent, coming up. 
 "We can't get Miss Marlowe to be really nautical, no 
 matter how much we try, nor mammy either. They 
 will say ' upstairs and downstairs ' until it nearly brings 
 on a relapse for poor Roddy. " 
 
 "You cannot be nautical on the Nile," objected 
 Ivors. "It's absurd; it's an anachronism. The 
 Nile is not the sea. " 
 
 "It 's a river," laughed Gerda, "and a ship is a 
 ship ; a river is water and water 's the sea, therefore 
 the Nile must be the same as the sea. Is n't that 
 good logic, Smarlie?" 
 
 "It may be good logic," Hesper answered, "but it 
 is n't true. The Nile is the Nile. It seems absurd, 
 but there is really no word which describes it. " 
 
 Ivors's eyes met hers in a sudden flash of under- 
 standing.
 
 212 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Why do you call her Smarlie?" asked Hildred. 
 
 "School abbreviation. From Miss Marlowe to 
 Smarlowe and from Smarlowe to Smarlie-for-short 
 is an easy transition. " 
 
 "As easy as it is ugly, " said Ivors abruptly, turning 
 to greet Roddy, who came wearily on deck with 
 an assumption of perfect health which was cheerily 
 accepted by every one. 
 
 Hildred found herself the centre of the younger 
 group, drawn by their unaffected manners into the 
 quick intimacy of youth. The closeness of the bond 
 which knit the family together was apparent in every 
 word of the easy friendly intercourse, and if percep- 
 tion of it stung the girl with some sense of contrast, she 
 was, for the moment, content with circumstance and 
 the mellowing relations with her father. 
 
 Ivors slipped naturally into his groove of accus- 
 tomed friendship with the Nugents, and unobtrusively 
 studied Miss Marlowe, who was, to his beauty-loving 
 soul, a type as fascinating as unfamiliar. 
 
 The dahabieh Nitocris had started on the arrival 
 of the travellers and glided with dreamy motion past 
 the flat-topped umber hills, across whose jutting scarps 
 and amethyst-grey clefts blue cloud-shadows fleeted 
 and vanished. Stretches and slips of vivid green from 
 the springing crops alternated, on the Libyan side, 
 with patches of wet brown land whose rich mud 
 awaited the seed-scattering of blue-girt fellahin. 
 
 Along the bank went intermittent silhouettes; 
 strings of laden camels, of camels with cloaked and 
 bearded riders, ambling from the pages of the Ara- 
 bian Nights, from old tales of caravans and spice- 
 merchants, coloured with romance, tinctured with
 
 The Lucky Day 213 
 
 mystery, till through the golden dusk one could almost 
 smell aloes and ambergris. Silhouettes of pink-robed 
 children leading grey, lumbering water-buffaloes; of 
 black-draped women, water- jars on head, in poise as 
 beautiful as the captured grace of some Attic frieze. 
 
 Past them all flowed the immemorial Nile, muddy 
 and turbid, but powerful with a spell beyond all 
 telling the mighty river but for whose rich bene- 
 ficence Egypt, with all her mystery, her ancient arts, 
 and time-defying temples, her wonderful antiquity and 
 fertile modernity, would be but a waste desolation of 
 burning sand and rock. 
 
 Later, when Ivors had removed the dust of travel 
 he returned to the upper deck and drew a chair close 
 to Miss Marlowe's. 
 
 "I see that it all appeals to you," he said softly. 
 
 She looked up with interest. Her path in youth had 
 lain aloof from men, and it was only the past few years 
 that had brought contact. Of the arts of coquetry 
 or deliberate allurement she knew nothing, and, 
 while it gave her a keen pleasure to meet with any who 
 cared about the things for which she cared, any hint of 
 warmer feeling or tentative promotion of friendship 
 to something closer, froze her back into frightened 
 retreat. The "twigs of white silver and buds of 
 crystal with blossoms" were not for any man's 
 plucking. 
 
 All that she had heard of Ivors half -fascinated, 
 half-repelled her. The Eve in her desired personal 
 confirmation of the man's admitted charm, while 
 the Dian-spirit of her Celtic ancestry rebelled at the 
 thought of capture or capitulation. 
 
 "One need not succumb to such an easy charm,"
 
 214 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 she thought, " such an easy, self-confident, impertinent 
 charm," and she steeled herself against it, thereby 
 unconsciously admitting its power. 
 
 "Yes," she answered aloud. "It appeals to me 
 indescribably." 
 
 "Ah, indescribably. There is no other word. The 
 veil of Egypt " 
 
 "Blinds one's eyes, so that one neither sees the ugly 
 sights, feels the dust, nor smells the odours," put in 
 Hesper quickly. 
 
 "Not every one's, and not so quickly." 
 
 "Yes, at once," she objected. 
 
 "How did you know?" 
 
 "Ah, I knew, " she nodded wisely. " I knew when I 
 saw your picture the Nile-boats stealing out of the 
 pearly, amethyst mists of dawn and I knew what I 
 felt myself." 
 
 "What you felt yourself? Is that sympathy or 
 intuition? I wonder?" said Ivors slowly. 
 
 "Perhaps a touch of both. It's wonderful, this 
 Nile-magic." Hesper spoke half to herself. 
 
 "Ah, you have n't really seen it yet. Wait until we 
 get farther up the river, until you have seen the 
 temples, until you have become one with the lotus-life. 
 How it maddens me when people talk of its being 
 dirty, or muddy, or uninteresting! Uninteresting! 
 Good Lord, they don't deserve to have eyes in their 
 heads! Don't they know that all flowers have their 
 roots in mud? Mud! Can't they look above the 
 mud if they don't like it? No, they can't. They 
 have the minds of bats. When the pageant of the sky 
 spreads a different brilliance before them night after 
 night they say they are 'fed up with sunsets.' Did
 
 The Lucky Day 215 
 
 you ever hear such a loathly expression? When they 
 see the wonder of the Nile unfolding day by day they 
 say that they are sick of boats and palms. Sick of the 
 boats that are always so suggestively beautiful, 
 whether they go singly or in groups like clouds of white 
 butterflies in vanishing perspective ; whether they sail 
 towards the rose of sunset or out of the hyacinth mists 
 of dawn; whether they dazzle in the hot sunshine or 
 lie still at night, with butterfly- wings folded and 
 slender masts slanting like wind-swept reeds against a 
 fading saffron sky. " 
 
 "Ah, that is how I saw them at Port Said! I have 
 never forgotten. Did Hildred tell you? You used 
 almost my very words. The simile is the same wind- 
 bent rushes. " 
 
 "How odd! No, she did not. Another instance 
 of sympathetic intuition. ' ' He smiled at Hesper, who, 
 almost in spite of herself, smiled back again. It was 
 pleasant to have one's moods understood. "Do you 
 paint?" 
 
 " I used to copy a little once, but then, when I grew 
 to see, to appreciate, of course I gave it up. " 
 
 "On account of your limitations?" 
 
 "Too big a word! On account of my utter ignor- 
 ance. I loved the art too much to desecrate it with 
 my wretched attempts. " 
 
 "Wise woman! O woman, trebly wise! But 
 surely those slender fingers do something besides 
 embroider?" 
 
 Hesper drew herself up a little, and clasped the slim 
 hands that lay idle on her lap. 
 
 "They play the piano." 
 
 "Forgive me. My tongue is for ever treading on
 
 216 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 the heels of my thoughts, and I always notice people's 
 hands. I don't mean to be rude. " 
 
 "I 'm sure you don't, but I happen to dislike 
 personalities. " 
 
 "I must err again, then," said Ivors, with his air of 
 eager boyishness, "and get it all over at once." He 
 spoke quickly to ward off interruption. "You are 
 beautiful. I should like to paint you some day. May 
 I? There, it 's out now. Are you angry with me?" 
 His tone held a careless assumption of the forgiveness 
 which was so rarely denied him. 
 
 "I don't suppose that any woman is ever angry at 
 being called beautiful," returned Hesper slowly, "but 
 I don't think I should care to be painted, somehow." 
 
 "I won't paint you somehow. I '11 paint you any- 
 how, or nohow, contrariwise, " laughed Ivors. "Your 
 type is new to me. Please be as agreeable as you 
 look." 
 
 Hesper hardened her heart. A new type that was 
 all. Another butterfly to be added to his collection. 
 
 "I didn't think you painted figures." 
 
 " I don't, as a rule. Besides, your face is all I want. 
 Just think. One little seventh part of your whole 
 microcosm. Can you really be so disobliging?" 
 
 Once more Hesper smiled in spite of herself. 
 
 "Ah, you 're relenting." 
 
 "I '11 think about it." 
 
 ' ' Thank you. That crumb must content me for the 
 present. I never can wait until the whole loaf is 
 attainable" he added ruefully. "I must always leap 
 before I look. " 
 
 "What happens then?" 
 
 "I find that I generally alight near the loaf
 
 The Lucky Day 217 
 
 "And that you don't want it when you do," put in 
 Hesper quickly. 
 
 "Now we have come to thought-reading," cried 
 Ivors. "Are you an expert in all the mental sciences? 
 Sir George does not allow the Black Art to be practised 
 on board the Nitocris. " 
 
 "Does n't he?" The wind, which so often springs 
 up on the Nile in the evening, loosened and lifted a 
 black tendril from the waves of hair on her forehead. 
 
 Ivors felt a sudden inclination to touch it and put it 
 softly back in its place. There was something in- 
 stantly attractive to him in this woman, in the direct 
 glance of her changing eyes, in the persuasive melting 
 tones of her voice, in the very absence of conscious 
 effort to charm. The slight touch of aloofness pleased 
 while it piqued him, and he felt instinctively that this 
 elusive Celtic temperament, embodied in the contrast 
 of night-black hair, milk-white skin, and sea-blue 
 eyes, held among its gifts and graces, the seed of a 
 friendship which would be worth culture. 
 
 "There 's nothing personal in the sunset, the Lord 
 be praised!" he ejaculated suddenly. "Just look at 
 it." 
 
 Hesper, unused to what he called his grasshopper- 
 flights, could not follow his train of thought, save that 
 in some way it concerned her. 
 
 "Here's Hildred, " she said, with some sense of 
 relief. ' ' Hildred, come and see your first Nile sunset. ' ' 
 She put out a welcoming hand to the girl, who stood 
 hesitant at the top of the steps. 
 
 "I had to come. I Ve unpacked and put away all 
 my things in my dear little cabin. Then I saw a glow 
 which I could not resist, so I came up on deck, and
 
 2i 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 when I heard your voices they drew me. " She leaned 
 against the rail and looked across the water, her clear 
 young profile outlined against the sky. 
 
 "You will oblige me greatly by sitting down," said 
 her father. "At present you obscure at least one- 
 third of my horizon." 
 
 "I don't want to obscure any one's horizon," 
 answered Hildred, taking a cushion from an adjoining 
 lounge and sitting down between the two. She 
 glanced under her lashes at her father. His tone had 
 been dry. Could he be annoyed with her for having 
 interrupted his conversation with Miss Marlowe? 
 Absurd! 
 
 With a touch of exhilaration induced by the crisp 
 Egyptian air and the novelty of her surroundings she 
 patted his knee and said: 
 
 "I wonder if I could make you laugh?" 
 
 His smile flashed out in response. 
 
 "Why, you silly baby? Do I look obnoxiously 
 right, or ready, or waiting, or what?" He touched 
 the back of her hand. 
 
 " It 's all right now, " said the girl happily. " Let us 
 watch the sunset in peace. " 
 
 To Hesper the inclusion brought a sudden waft of 
 loneliness. In Ivors it renewed that novel and not 
 unpleasant sense of domesticity ; that anchored feeling 
 of having some one, even temporarily dependent upon 
 one. 
 
 In silence they watched the pageant of the sky as it 
 flamed in luminous scarlet clouds which melted to gold 
 at their outer edges. Detached from the mass a 
 feather of cloud trailed its rosy length across the blue. 
 The sun sank; the flames burned orange; the cloud-
 
 The Lucky Day 219 
 
 feather turned a filmy brown. The light faded, died, 
 turned silvery. Then the afterglow of saffron flared 
 sombrely behind a black line of palms on the western 
 bank. On the forepart of the deck an Arab boatman 
 prostrated himself in prayer. The land merged 
 gradually into a strip of shadow, and night, blue and 
 star-set, fell with incredible swiftness. 
 
 Hesper drew a long breath. Ivors turned to her. 
 
 " Did you note the curious green where the blue of 
 the sky melted into the horizon colours?" he asked. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 11 How often have I tried to paint it! It is a colour 
 of the afrtis! I believe that they alone know how to 
 mix it, for I never can get it to my satisfaction. The 
 nearest thing to it that I have ever seen is the greeny- 
 turquoise shade which you '11 see in some of the old 
 temples. The love-colour, the ancient Egyptians used 
 to call it. It 's one of the three things I 'm always 
 looking for. " 
 
 "What are the others?" 
 
 "The Crystal of Understanding, the little Green 
 Bird who knows everything, and the Love-Colour. " 
 
 "Perhaps " began Hesper, and then stopped. 
 
 " Perhaps, " he echoed. " I wonder? " 
 
 "There 's no cage strong enough to hold the Green 
 Bird," said Hildred hastily. "And no human being 
 perfect enough to bear the test of the Crystal of 
 Understanding. " 
 
 "Perhaps the Love-Colour would supply the defi- 
 ciencies of both," said Hesper, rising, and looking 
 at the girl with a smile as she moved away.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 "TO-DAY is SWEET" 
 
 THE Nile journey glided on in fashion as dream- 
 like as the motion of the dahabieh Nitocris. 
 
 The little group of people who were thrown into 
 such close proximity harmonised pleasantly. So 
 far, the hours made little mark, but, as they filtered 
 by, each left its unnoted trace upon the threads of 
 life which Fate, at the moment, wove into one wide 
 web. 
 
 On a windy morning they passed the Bird Mountain, 
 whose high bluffs, dazzlingly white where quarried, 
 honeycombed with holes of unexpected darkness and 
 traceried here and there with fan-like stalactite effect, 
 rose sheer from the water. At its base were narrow 
 crop-strips of brilliant green, while its summit was 
 crowned with a Coptic Monastery and village small 
 square sun-baked houses topped by four bubble-like 
 white domes to which a steep flight of roughly cut 
 steps gave access from the shore. 
 
 It loomed remote and secret on this colourless day, 
 whose sky was streaked with thin white clouds and 
 sudden rifts of blue, while the river shivered in grey 
 and dove-colour where it did not catch the silver of the 
 sun-sparkles. 
 
 220
 
 " To-Day is Sweet " 221 
 
 On a sandy islet a flock of storks and herons medi- 
 tated, one-legged, in grey and white repose. 
 
 Lady Nugent knitted comfortably, happy in the 
 thought that they were yet some days from action, 
 as exemplified by donkey-riding and sight-seeing. 
 Roddy, lying in a long deck-chair, laughed over a 
 novel he was reading, from which he now and again 
 read extracts to the two girls, who were arranging 
 snap-shots in an album. 
 
 Hesper Marlowe, curled up on the end of the divan, 
 looked from the mountain to the water and from the 
 water to the deck which Sir George and Ivors paced 
 in pursuance of their morning mile. 
 
 In spite of herself Hesper felt a kinship of spirit with 
 the artist, the dawn of a growing friendship, on which 
 he in no way trespassed. He did not attempt to flirt 
 with her, as she understood the art, and he paid her 
 no more compliments, save occasionally the exquisitely 
 subtle one of a glance that claimed and received an 
 answer of mutual understanding. It was to her he 
 turned for anything which needed a special compre- 
 hension an effect of plumy date-palms purple against 
 the rose of day's after-glow; a vignette of young girls 
 standing on the bank, slim as reeds, with their backs 
 to the setting sun which shone through their flowing 
 scarlet shawls with strange effect, making their slender 
 bodies look as though they were outlined in flame; 
 a flight of pigeons, fluttering and circling, pearl- 
 breasted against the blue. For these and other 
 moments his eyes sought hers. 
 
 Hildred admired, was amused and attracted, but 
 for her Egypt lay unveiled, bare of mystery or illusion. 
 For her it was the gay, noisy, vivid, chaffering East,
 
 222 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 whose novelty contrasted piquantly with her English 
 summer. Her clear young eyes saw more of squalor 
 than picturesqueness in the mud villages plastered like 
 swallows' nests upon the banks from which the Nile 
 took yearly toll, and her young heart felt a pity for 
 those whose crumbling homes had vanished altogether 
 in last year's flood. 
 
 With all her cosmopolitanism of outlook she did not 
 grasp anything of the Arab's calm acceptance of the 
 inevitable; she had never touched the fatalistic East; 
 she could not hear in fancy the invariable query, 
 "What matter?" with which the Arab greets fact 
 accomplished; also, her ears were closed to the Song 
 of the Nile. 
 
 Hesper, with her knowledge of her own race, 
 saw more truly, understood better, and let her 
 senses float on the dreamy enchantment in which 
 Egypt had enwrapped her from the first moment 
 in which she had peeped through its keyhole, Port 
 Said. 
 
 As the Nitocris neared the great bluff Ivors stopped 
 close to the divan. 
 
 "Isn't it a strange elusive morning?" he said. 
 "It 's a harmony in grey, and white, and amber, with 
 silver ruffles on the water and no real colour except 
 those strong rifts of blue overhead. I want to paint it. 
 I wonder if I could." 
 
 He touched an electric bell which was near at hand. 
 Hesper heard its four sharp trills ring out incongru- 
 ously above the lapping of the water. 
 
 In an instant Moussa, in lilac with a purple waist- 
 band, appeared, and Ivors gave an order in Arabic. 
 Then he knelt on the end of Hesper's divan, leaning
 
 "To-Day is Sweet" 223 
 
 his arm on its back and looking upwards at the tower- 
 ing cliff. 
 
 "You idle person, " he said. "What happens when 
 you are so busy doing nothing?" 
 
 "I am letting Egypt sink into my soul. I am pre- 
 paring for the strenuous life which lies before us once 
 the sight-seeing begins. I am trying to gird up the 
 loins of my spirit for the donkey-riding. I am think- 
 ing over the words of Arabic which I learn daily from 
 Moussa. I am " 
 
 "Inventing a string of excuses for your idleness to 
 supplement the real one which you gave at the begin- 
 ning," retorted Ivors coolly. "Is thy servant a dog 
 that he should be pelted with phrases from thy proper 
 understanding? " 
 
 Hesper glanced at him, conscious of a quickened 
 interest. "Do you think you understand me?" 
 
 "Good Lord, no! I dare advance no such claim, 
 but I think you understand me a little, which is an 
 altogether delightful and unusual experience. " 
 
 Her face softened. "Is it? But remember, even 
 the most simpatica person only touches the fringes of 
 understanding. " 
 
 " I intend to keep tight hold of the fringes of yours, " 
 returned Ivors, with deliberate lightness. "Besides, 
 I 'm not at all sure that I agree with you. Let 's have 
 an argument," he said, sitting down suddenly and 
 facing her. 
 
 Hesper laughed, and it seemed to him as if the wind 
 caught up her laughter, and playing with it, lost it 
 in the ripples of the water. Also, it loosened that 
 tantalising tendril of her hair and blew it softly about 
 her forehead.
 
 224 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "First of all, I wish you 'd tidy your hair," he said, 
 putting his hands in his pockets. "How is one t< 
 argue with a person whose hair is blowing about into 
 her eyes, thereby diverting attention from the subject 
 in hand?" 
 
 "What shall we argue about?" asked Hesper, 
 amused, as she tucked away the offending lock. 
 
 "Call it exploration if you prefer it. Let 's explore 
 each other." 
 
 Hesper drew herself up a little. 
 
 "Oh, you can't help it," Ivors went on with 
 his whimsical smile. "Consciously or unconsciously 
 people will explore you whether you like or not. To 
 me, for instance, each new person is an adventure 
 until he or she, like most things in life, crystallises 
 into a commonplace." 
 
 "But they do not all become commonplaces, 
 surely, " retorted Hesper, vaguely nettled. 
 
 "No more a commonplace than the stars, or the 
 power of sight, or to-day, or sunsets that is, the few. 
 But the great majority! One gets used to them so 
 soon; one ceases to look for possibilities. Don't you 
 know the feeling?" 
 
 Hesper had nodded admission almost before she 
 was aware. 
 
 "Ah, I thought you did. One feels there are such 
 chances about new people, promises of congeniality, 
 all sorts of possibilities. Then one goes exploring, 
 making discoveries, getting disappointments, finding 
 limitations, until at last the adventure is over, and 
 the person has settled into his (or her) little niche 
 in one's mind, pigeon-holed and put away until 
 wanted."
 
 " To-Day is Sweet " 225 
 
 "That sounds cold-blooded and calculating." 
 
 "Oh, no, it isn't. One knows exactly what one 
 will get, and it is wiser to ask for no more. " 
 
 "And that 's sheer cynicism." 
 
 "Wrong again," answered Ivors. "It's worldly 
 wisdom." His eyes aided his present explorations; 
 he had succeeded beyond his expectations. 
 
 A quick sparkle shone from beneath Miss Marlowe's 
 lashes, and a faint flush showed on her white skin. 
 
 " I don't agree with you at all, " she began. 
 
 "Splendid! That is the fine flower of every argu- 
 ment. Let 's get to the root of your disagreement." 
 
 "I believe that there are unsounded depths in every 
 human being. You can't docket and label people as 
 you would business papers. If the occasion arose, 
 probably, those whom you imagine you know best 
 might one day surprise you." 
 
 "What a comforting theory! And yet, on second 
 thoughts, rather a disturbing one. Is all my calm 
 classification of my friends to go for nought? Am I 
 to live, as it were, in all the horrible uncertainty of a 
 mental house-cleaning, not knowing if I shall ever 
 again find anything where I had once put it?" 
 
 Hesper laughed, but there was a little ring of scorn 
 in her mirth. His absurdities had fulfilled their 
 laudable object of ruffling her. 
 
 "Your calm classification, as you call it, savours 
 somewhat of superciliousness to me 
 
 "By the way," he interrupted delightedly, "did 
 you ever hear why the camel wears his air of super- 
 ciliousness? It is because in addition to the ninety- 
 nine names for Allah, he is aware of yet a hundredth, 
 and the possession of this secret, which mere man can 
 is
 
 226 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 never learn, causes him to look down upon the whole 
 race with perpetual scorn. " 
 
 "What a delicious story!" 
 
 "Waive my likeness to the camel, and continue. 
 Are you going to pull down my Castle of Friendship 
 about my ears?" 
 
 "Oh, you need n't be uneasy. I said that it was the 
 depths which were unsounded. Your classification 
 did not go quite so far, I fancy. Besides, even friend- 
 ship does n't often trouble the depths. But in friend- 
 ship, " she continued in a lighter tone, "it seems to me 
 that the more you ask for the more you get. If you 
 ask for bread you get butter as well, and sometimes 
 jam. " 
 
 " You don't, believe then, that friends are like fiddle- 
 strings and should not be screwed too tight? " 
 
 " I would rather say with the French that friendship 
 is love without its wings," she answered, softening 
 suddenly. 
 
 "You have evidently been fortunate in your 
 friends. " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "You would be, naturally. Your ideals of the art 
 are high." He had dropped his cloak of teasing in 
 response to her swift change of mood. 
 
 "Mustn't the ideals of any art be high?" Her 
 voice broadened in its Irish rise and fall as it al- 
 ways did when she was moved. "Surely you, of 
 all people ought to know that ! Is n't it better to 
 burn your wings in the fire of the sun than to run 
 a thorn into your knee crawling along the muddy 
 roads?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Ivors abruptly, stirred as he had
 
 "To-Day is Sweet" 227 
 
 not been for years. "If that 's not worldly wisdom 
 at least it 's heavenly folly. " 
 
 "But I am not at all worldly wise," said Hesper, 
 with a little smile, "and I think that remark verges 
 dangerously on the personal." 
 
 Something wistful in his regard stirred the mother- 
 nature which is latent in most women, and disturbed 
 her poise for the moment. Any need of her woke 
 generous response, and it was with a distinct effort 
 that she steeled herself against appeal. She turned 
 to see Moussa standing near. 
 
 "I don't know how long Moussa has been standing 
 here with your painting things." 
 
 ' ' The mood has passed . " He shrugged his shoulders . 
 "The desire has vanished. I hope there has not been 
 Black Magic at work." 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 "I wonder?" he said, with a swift glance. "Per- 
 haps I had better fight against it. Here, Moussa." 
 He arranged himself where he could best see his 
 symphony of amber and grey, and be out of earshot 
 and eyeshot of this disturbing person who began to 
 occupy his thoughts more than he approved or 
 desired. 
 
 He knew himself; he knew his temperament, and 
 he saw danger-signals far ahead. In their distance 
 lay his safety. To-day was his. He would enjoy it 
 to the full. On the thought he rose, pushed aside his 
 easel, and came back to the divan where Hesper sat 
 warm with a sense of quickened life, of newly dawning 
 interests. 
 
 " Don't you agree with the Germans, " he said with- 
 out preamble, " that To-day is worth ten To-morrows?
 
 228 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ' To-morrow, why To-morrow I may be, Myself with 
 Yesterday's sev'n thousand years. ' ' 
 
 "Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday." 
 
 "Why fret about them if To-day be sweet?" 
 capped Hesper. 
 
 "Ah, you love the old Pagan too!" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And is To-day sweet?" 
 
 "It is indeed," said Hesper, with convincing sin- 
 cerity. "I love old Omar's rapid transitions, and 
 some of his philosophy." She elongated the "o" in 
 love with a caressing effect which Ivors, later, came 
 to know and look for. 
 
 "He fits my case so often," said Ivors ruefully. 
 "The Persians give the Rubaiyat a mystical meaning 
 and say that Omar meant by the Tavern the Soul, 
 by the Cup the Universe, and by Wine Truth, but I 
 prefer the more literal rendering. Have n't you, too, 
 sworn repentance before Spring came 'and Rose-in- 
 Hand, My threadbare Penitence to pieces tore?" 
 
 " I don't know, " replied Hesper dubiously. " You 
 see, until lately I have never had a chance of doing 
 anything that called for much repentance." 
 
 "You speak in a delightful tone of regret. I hope 
 you made full use of your opportunities when they 
 came." 
 
 "They didn't come. At least perhaps only 
 those that would n't have been worth repenting for. " 
 
 It was a curious remark; an odd regret. Ivors 
 had an impression as of the momentary subsidence 
 of the froth of conversation which showed deep waters 
 flowing beneath. 
 
 He wondered where the depths of this woman's
 
 
 " To-Day is Sweet " 229 
 
 nature ran. Her contradictions of character at once 
 piqued and drew him; her delicate aloofness, her warm 
 responsiveness; her quick sympathy, her power of 
 instant detachment ; her gaiety, her light reticence, all 
 combined to form a personality as elusive, and attrac- 
 tive as he sought for a simile, but found no fitting 
 one. 
 
 Meanwhile Gerda and Hildred, tired of arranging 
 their photographs, strolled up to them. 
 
 The Nitocris had emerged from the shadow of the 
 Bird Mountain which now bulked behind them, almost 
 titanic in that level country. 
 
 "Why is it called the Bird Mountain?" Gerda 
 demanded. "Smarlie is thirsting for information, 
 but she 's too polite to say so. " 
 
 "Study thy Baedeker," answered Ivors lazily. 
 "You will find an invaluable amount of information 
 therein." 
 
 "But have you nothing personal to add? You, 
 Mr. Ivors, as an old resident should be full of those 
 little odd touches which add er human interest to 
 foreign travel. " 
 
 "In the days of my younger youth and wilder 
 energy," answered Ivors, "I was drawn in a basket 
 by means of a windlass up a cleft in that mountain. 
 It 's a miserable place when you get there, and the 
 only pleasure is to get away. My one personal recol- 
 lection is of a dim little sanctuary cut out of the solid 
 rock, and a fine old Byzantine gateway half-buried in 
 the accumulations of years. Will that satisfy you, 
 your ladyship?" 
 
 " It 's dull, " said Gerda, sitting on a cushion on the 
 deck. "We want to be amused, don't we, Hildred?"
 
 230 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Yes," responded Hildred, perching herself on the 
 end of the divan. "Did I hear you talking of Omar 
 Khayyam? Have you any fresh lights to throw on 
 the Rubaiyat?" 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" cried her father. "We can't 
 have the infallibility of young England casting its 
 searchlight on our ignorance!" Then, as he noted 
 Hildred's ready flush, he turned to her and said, 
 "But here 's a personal note which may interest you. 
 I Ve seen the place where Omar was buried. " 
 
 "Have you been to Persia? I never knew," 
 exclaimed the girl. 
 
 "You don't know much about my wanderings." 
 
 "Whose fault is that?" she cried under her breath, 
 yet not so low but that the words were heard both 
 by Miss Marlowe and Ivors. 
 
 "Whose misfortune, you mean?" retorted Ivors 
 quickly continuing: "He was buried, by his own 
 desire, at the foot of a garden wall over which hung 
 the branches of pear- and peach-trees, which strewed 
 his tomb with a perfumed rosy snow. Eastern writers 
 call it the snow of Paradise. Now neither wall nor 
 garden remains and only the blossoms of the wild shed 
 their petals where he lies. Still, his desire is fulfilled, 
 for, as he wished, his tomb is in a spot where the 
 north wind may scatter roses over it roses whose 
 fragrance what 's the matter?" 
 
 " I Ve got a cramp, " cried Gerda, jumping up and 
 hopping about on one foot. "It 's from sitting still 
 so long, I do believe." 
 
 "Stand on your head for a change," Roddy sug- 
 gested, looking up from his book. 
 
 "Learn step-dancing," said Ivors. "I once knew
 
 " To- Day is Sweet " 231 
 
 the Highland fling. That ought to work off some of 
 your superfluous energy." 
 
 "Or the can-can," put in Hildred, who had not yet 
 quite forgiven her father. 
 
 " I can teach you an Irish jig if you like, " said Miss 
 Marlowe quickly. "But I warn you that it 's warm 
 work, and I may find some difficulty in playing and 
 dancing at the same time unless I ' jig with me mouth ' 
 as our old gardener used to say. " 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 " Hum, of course, you duffer, " said Roddy. " Don't 
 let them bully you, Smarlie. They 're well able to 
 amuse themselves. " 
 
 "Come along, Hildred, let 's get our cameras and 
 snap these Nile-boats coming down," cried Gerda, 
 confiding to the girl as they disappeared that it really 
 was more the poetry than the cramp which had upset 
 her she could n't stand poetry at any price !
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BELHASARD 
 
 AT sunset the Nitocris moored below Minieh. 
 The town showed picturesque in the glowing 
 dusk with its flat-topped houses, its palm-clusters, 
 and its three slender minarets which stood clearly 
 outlined against the evening sky. 
 
 To the left the Arabian Hills, here rising like a 
 fortress, there bulking like some colossus lying in state, 
 glowed like deep gold. Their reflection stretched 
 across the Nile, turning it to a river of molten gold, 
 ever burning deeper and more intense until the sun 
 suddenly dipped below the Libyan horizon, leaving 
 the world agasp at the swift change. The golden hills 
 became dun; the golden river a dark flowing mass 
 slashed here and there with silver spears, until the 
 afterglow brightened the sky and faintly flushed the 
 disconsolate mountains with rose. 
 
 A cottage piano was on the upper deck, and every 
 evening after dinner Hesper played. 
 
 Ivors did not know whether he was pleased or 
 disappointed to find that Hildred was not musical. 
 To Hildred it came with a little shock of distaste to 
 hear her father sing love-songs in a light and pleasant 
 baritone voice. 
 
 232
 
 Belhasard 233 
 
 The Nugents declared that they loved music, but it 
 is to be feared that they preferred Gerda's two-steps, 
 and one-steps and rag-time rubbish to the more classi- 
 cal expressions of the art which Hesper Marlowe had 
 carefully instilled into her. 
 
 Of them all Hesper and Ivors were the only real 
 music-lovers, and when he discovered this further 
 bond, the slim fingers, which drew such delicious 
 harmony out of the indifferent piano, and which 
 accompanied with such rare sympathy, were seldom 
 left idle. 
 
 Now, out into the blue dusk throbbed the longing 
 notes of a Chopin waltz. It stirred Hildred to a 
 woodland memory; it drew for Roddy a girl's face 
 framed in chestnut hair; it tapped and peered at a 
 locked door in Ivors's heart, and it set alight the fires 
 of youth in Gerda's feet and made her long to dance. 
 
 She rose with a whirl of white skirts and swooped 
 on the player. 
 
 "Play us a real waltz, Smarlie, " she cried. "I 
 shall scream or burst if I don't dance. Come, Mr. 
 Ivors, and Roddy, take Hildred. No one plays a 
 waltz like Smarlie. Play May Dreams like a lamb, 
 and the very deck chairs will get up and dance. " 
 
 "How do lambs play waltzes?" asked Hesper with 
 a smile and a half -smothered sigh, as she turned from 
 Chopin into the swinging melody desired by Gerda. 
 
 One dance followed another. Roddy forgot his 
 invalidism, and he and Gerda volunteered to teach the 
 Ivorses all the newest varieties. 
 
 With flushed cheeks and girlish zest Hildred entered 
 into the spirit of the moment. So did Ivors, who was 
 quicker to learn and more alert than his daughter.
 
 234 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "I 've had more practice, you see, " he said, as she 
 stopped once, breathless. "This is the way it goes." 
 He swung her round lightly. He was a far better 
 dancer than Roddy. 
 
 At last he stopped near the piano. 
 
 "You have piped long enough for us to dance to," 
 he said. " Come, dance with me for a change. Miss 
 Nugent will play. She looks quite worn out. " 
 
 "Worn out? Well, I like that," said Gerda, sub- 
 siding on the piano stool. "I could dance all night 
 without turning a hair. " 
 
 "Ah, wait until you are my age," Ivors retorted 
 over his shoulder, as he slipped his arm round Hesper's 
 waist and moved, swaying, into the cleared space. 
 
 The refrain rose and fell rhythmically, and though 
 the music lacked the witchery of Hesper's touch it was 
 a loss unfelt by her. She heard, in response to the 
 honey-sweet notes, the beating of the wings of her 
 vanishing youth. It was an exquisite physical joy, 
 and her feet could have woven that measure until 
 Night drew her veil from the face of the waters, and 
 left the world still enough, as in primeval days, to hear 
 the morning-stars sing together. 
 
 Ivors had never danced with such a partner, or one 
 so responsive to the faintest hint of movement. He, 
 too, felt the thrill and zest of youth; he, too, had 
 the sense that but one body moved in such perfect 
 harmony. 
 
 "Where did you learn to dance?" he asked at last. 
 
 "I never learned. I always knew. " 
 
 "The magic of the night is in your feet," he mur- 
 mured. " Black magic, or white magic? Which is it, 
 I wonder?"
 
 Belhasard 235 
 
 "Let 's stop," said Hesper, shrinking vaguely from 
 she knew not what. 
 
 Ivors's clasp tightened slightly. "Just one more 
 turn and then we '11 go and look at the stars. " 
 
 Not one more turn but many, till seconds merged 
 into unnoted minutes a time-forgetful spell woven 
 by pleasure, acknowledged and unacknowledged. 
 
 At last the music stopped, and Hesper drew away 
 from him. She moved towards the railing and looked 
 into the dark water which slipped mysteriously past 
 the moored vessel. 
 
 Beyond, the minarets in the blue dusk of night were 
 delicate as the silhouette of a seeded flower. The 
 orange lights of the town winked and glimmered. 
 Away from the distance came the howl of a jackal. 
 
 In the circle of light near the piano Sir George was 
 being initiated into the mysteries of the Boston. Lady 
 Nugent knitted placidly, smiling at her thoughts, 
 which were Machiavellian (in her own innocent esti- 
 mation) to a degree undreamed of by those around 
 her; smiling placidly at the two who had withdrawn 
 themselves into the shadows; over whose heads shone 
 a remote beneficent moon in a sky bejewelled with 
 stars. 
 
 No sound reached them except the lapping and mur- 
 muring of the water and the thin howl of the jackal, 
 prowling perhaps where kings once had trodden. 
 
 "You enjoyed it?" Ivors whispered. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 He straightened himself with a hard little laugh. 
 
 "Absurd to think that I, the father of a grown- 
 up daughter, should dance with all the zest of a 
 boy!"
 
 236 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 If the self-accusatory phrase stung Hesper she made 
 no sign. She echoed his laugh. 
 
 "And to think that I, a middle-aged woman ' 
 
 " Don't be ridiculous. " His tone sounded cross, but 
 it was an ire that warmed rather than chilled the heart 
 of the woman beside him. " You 're not middle-aged. " 
 
 "Ah, but lam." 
 
 "Ah, but you 're not," mocked Ivors. 
 
 "Then neither are you," she retorted. 
 
 "Neither am I?" he echoed sadly, looking into the 
 vista of empty years, and seeing old Time, the cynic, 
 with his scythe and swelling sheaf of days. "You 've 
 got the true secret, you wonder-worker. Perhaps you 
 could teach me how to be really young. " 
 
 "Ah, no. You know yourself . " 
 
 "It's a mockery and a delusion," said Ivors. 
 "What paints the semblance of my youth is that I 
 am always wondering, always wanting." 
 
 "What are you wanting?" she asked half -shyly, 
 fearful of trespassing. 
 
 "I am wanting," he began. Then he stopped and 
 bent towards her in the starlight. " Most of all I am 
 wanting as you picturesquely put it to know how 
 you kept your heart and soul unwarped in those 
 dreary days in which you sold the art you love for 
 a miserable pittance?" 
 
 "Ah, but it was n't a miserable pittance, " answered 
 Hesper, spreading out her fingers and looking at them. 
 Ivors looked at them too, and thought, for one mad 
 moment, how good they would be to have and to hold, 
 to caress, to cling to in an hour of need. " My salary 
 was considered very good." 
 
 "How much was it?"
 
 Belhasard 237 
 
 She told him. 
 
 "Good Lord!" he said. "What beasts we are!" 
 
 She made no comment. She did not try to follow 
 his train of thought. 
 
 "And you had a starved life," he continued in a 
 fierce tone. " I know. You 've told me that you had 
 no one belonging to you. " 
 
 "Yes, I was often lonely," she answered simply. 
 " I had no one of my very own. " 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 "You had Hildred, " she said quickly. 
 
 "True. I forgot." He thought for a bitter 
 moment of the full life a man may have who owns 
 wife and children. "But you? You must have had 
 something or some one. " 
 
 "Yes, I had some one." She turned away with 
 a little catch in her breath. 
 
 "Who was your friend?" he asked quickly. 
 
 In the darkness he could not see the sudden red that 
 rushed to her face. Her cheeks were burning. She 
 felt tongue-tied ; shy as a child and yet with a wistful 
 desire that he should understand. 
 
 "Do you know Browning?" she asked, hesitating. 
 
 "Tolerably well," he answered, surprised at her 
 irrelevance. 
 
 " Do you remember a poem of his called Fears and 
 Scruples?" Timidity fluttered her tones. 
 
 He wondered why. 
 
 "Do you remember the last line? 'What if the 
 friend happen to be God?' " she whispered. 
 
 Ivors was silent. He was no frequenter of church or 
 chapel, sanctuary or synagogue. It was years since 
 he had heard the sacred Name uttered otherwise than
 
 238 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 in vain. He cried to himself, "O, you dear woman! 
 You dear woman!" but he did not dare to give his 
 cry utterance. 
 
 For one moment, fleet as thought, he touched the 
 hand that lay white beside his on the rail, and with- 
 drew it again while he sought mentally for a fitting 
 comparison for her. Rainbow, dawn-mist, moonlight 
 were too ethereal, too unstable. Beneath the surface 
 lay qualities as true and unchanging, as high and pure 
 as any "fixed star." Ah, that was it! The idea 
 pleased him "a fixed star. " 
 
 "What is your name?" he asked in his usual 
 impulsive way. 
 
 "Is this a new form of catechism?" She drew 
 herself up a little, surprised, yet grateful for the 
 unexpected turn of the conversation. 
 
 "No, but I 'm odd. I have fancies about people's 
 names. I like to know what they are to see if they 
 fit." 
 
 "Your own, for instance?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
 
 " My own is like that of the silliest possible hero of 
 the silliest possible novelette. Ingram Ivors! Did 
 you ever hear anything so absolutely revolting? For 
 many years my most burning desire has been to choke 
 my godfathers and godmothers. " 
 
 "And your nom de brosse?" she laughed softly. 
 
 "My nom de brosse, as you call it, is I believe the 
 farthing rushlight which for years I have been pleased 
 to consider my guiding star. " He gave his head an 
 impatient shake, as if he would have flung from him 
 some accustomed burden. "But yours? You have n't 
 told me your name yet?"
 
 Belhasard 239 
 
 " My name is Hesper Belhasard Marlowe, at your 
 service. " 
 
 "Hesper Belhasard. Ah," he said with soft 
 exultance, "I knew it. I knew that you were a star 
 of some sort. " 
 
 " How did you know? Was it intuition or thought- 
 reading? I begin to suspect that you accuse me of 
 practising the Black Art in order to divert attention 
 from yourself." 
 
 "It's the artistic temperament, I suppose," he 
 answered, ignoring her little jest. "I feel things; I 
 know things, somehow. I knew you were a star." 
 
 The earnestness of his insistence robbed the words 
 of any petty complimentary meaning. 
 
 "I was called Hesper because I was born in the 
 evening. I was called Belhasard because it was the 
 name of the place where my father and mother first 
 met " her voice broke, but Ivors understood. 
 
 "Hesper Belhasard," he repeated half under his 
 breath. "Hesper Belhasard. The beautiful hazard 
 of the evening Star! It is the loveliest name I have 
 ever heard. It exhales the fine flower of mediaevalism 
 and the spirit of- old romance, and yet it is as much a 
 part of you I must say it as is your beautiful hair 
 or your milk-white skin. Hesper Belhasard! I could 
 repeat it a thousand times for the mere pleasure of the 
 sound of it. It 's like a bell in a forest, or water 
 lapping, or a bird calling." 
 
 " I am glad you like it, " said Hesper simply. 
 
 She turned as if to join the others, then paused for 
 a moment, hesitant on the verge of an impulse. 
 
 "Won't you forget my unconsidered speeches?" 
 she asked at last, with a low coaxing inflection.
 
 240 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "No, I won't," answered Ivors bluntly. 
 
 "Please believe," she went on, looking down at the 
 narrow boards of the deck, "please believe that the 
 night, or the dancing, or the atmosphere, got into my 
 head and bewitched me to the point of a very unusual 
 confidence." 
 
 "Don't regret it," said Ivors without moving. 
 "Perhaps unknown to yourself you Ve done the best 
 deed you ever did in your life. You 've shown me that 
 there is at least one woman in the world who has a 
 soul." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you Hesper Belhasard, " he answered softly. 
 
 Her face was in shadow, but the lights near the 
 piano shone upon his, and showed it suddenly tired 
 and worn. 
 
 "Yes, you Hesper Belhasard," he repeated, and 
 there was something in the smile with which he 
 accompanied the words that brought a swift rush of 
 tears to Hesper 's eyes.
 
 N 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 DRIFTING 
 
 EVER again," answered Lady Nugent firmly. 
 "Wild horses " 
 
 "Or tame donkeys," put in Gerda. 
 
 "Shall not drag me sight-seeing unless I can go in 
 comfort. I consider that it is positively indecent 
 for a woman of my age and size to ride a donkey. " 
 
 "Yes, you did bulge rather over yours, mammy," 
 said the disrespectful Gerda. 
 
 "Don't mind her, Lady Nugent. I believe she 
 picked out the smallest donkey for you and the largest 
 for herself," exclaimed Hesper. 
 
 "Don't flatter yourself Smarlie. You bulged 
 too." 
 
 "I don't care," answered Hesper, lying back in her 
 deck-chair. " I enjoyed it all. " 
 
 Yes, she had enjoyed it all; the peaceful ambling 
 by Lady Nugent's side over the biscuit-coloured sands, 
 whose rocks held little sand-coloured birds with pink 
 bills, which cheeped and peeped at them as they passed 
 on their way to the famous Tombs at Beni-Hassan. 
 
 Gerda had incited the more energetic spirits to a 
 donkey-race, and the five had vanished in a cloud of 
 dust, halting not until they drew up, breathless, at the 
 
 16 241
 
 242 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 foot of the steep crumbling ascent which led to the 
 Tombs, where a knot of Arabs, white-robed, wild-eyed, 
 and armed with guns the Guardians of the Tombs 
 awaited them. 
 
 Ivors, who had been talking to the Arabs, came 
 forward as the slower travellers approached. Roddy 
 had forestalled him in mounting Hesper, but neither 
 Roddy nor Arab donkey-boy should dismount her. 
 
 It was with an odd dream-like sensation that she 
 had felt the touch of his arms about her again. A 
 dream-like sensation which lasted through the steep 
 ascent and the opening of the modern iron gates that 
 guarded the many-centuried tombs; which coloured 
 her subsequent impressions of square chambers arched 
 and pillared and cut out of the living rock, whose roofs 
 were diapered in faded brown and cream and blue, and 
 whose dim wall-paintings of dancers, fan-bearers, 
 hunters, wrestlers, weavers, potters, in stiff subser- 
 vience to the mighty dead, gave a faint impression of 
 colour to the big bare place. 
 
 It was the view outside the Tombs which had inter- 
 ested her most, and she left the others to explore 
 farther while she stood upon the narrow plateau, and 
 looked from the buff and umber hillside, barren and 
 crumbling, to the winding Nile, which lay beneath in 
 broad blue stretches, its colour enhanced by the vivid 
 green of the springing corn at either side, its hyaline 
 surface reflecting, with almost startling clearness, the 
 snow-peaked sails of the boats upon its bosom. 
 
 She had sighed with pleasure, and then smiled to 
 find Ivors at her side. 
 
 "I hate underground or enclosed places," she said. 
 " I always feel as if I must come out to the air again. "
 
 Drifting 243 
 
 " So do I, " he answered. "That is why the Tombs 
 of the Kings and even the perfect temple of Edfu 
 depress me. " 
 
 "Which is your favourite temple? Philae?" 
 
 "Lord forbid, no! Poor drowning, mildewing, 
 moribund Philae ! Her beauty is the beauty of tears 
 and death now. No, I won't tell you. You '11 have 
 to tell me." 
 
 "Will you be disappointed if I am wrong?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "You won't be wrong,' ' he answered with confidence. 
 " I '11 give you a hint. It is the temple where the love- 
 colour is found in its greatest perfection. Lord, listen 
 to those bees! If you shut your eyes to Egypt you 
 could imagine yourself in a garden full of mignonette 
 and roses." 
 
 "Bees?" she echoed. "I thought I heard them." 
 
 "Yes, the place is full of them. Wild bees and 
 sparrows are the sole inhabitants of the temples these 
 days. You will hear their hum and chirp through the 
 Nile-Song if you listen." 
 
 "Another note of it, thanks, " she said softly, closing 
 her eyes till her lashes lay like a curved fringe against 
 the warm pallor of her cheek. 
 
 Ivors drew a sharp breath and turned away. But 
 he mounted her before he started with the others on 
 the homeward race, and he was ready to dismount her 
 again when they had passed the clustered mud village, 
 through whose palm-stems the sun shone red, and 
 reached the stage where the Nitocris was moored. 
 
 There were no more such intimate moments as in 
 the starlight at Minieh. The lotus-life, as Ivors called 
 it, added a petal each day towards its full flowering,
 
 244 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 and Hesper steeled herself no longer against this man, 
 who, but for his little-known daughter, seemed to be 
 just as lonely at heart as she was. She warmed her- 
 self in the sunshine of life as it came, not realising what 
 filled each day with a greater radiance, a more encom- 
 passing brilliance. She floated on the stream of hours 
 without pausing for an instant to conjecture whither 
 she was drifting. 
 
 The ancient magic of the Nile was enforced by the 
 spell which Ivors found therein and imparted hourly 
 to her. It was as new and yet as old as the daedal life 
 which unfolded itself daily upon the banks. It whis- 
 pered in the tracts of tall purple-stemmed sugar-cane, 
 always rustling, never silent, through whose miniature 
 thickets flitted water- wagtails, bright-eyed, vibrating, 
 and bee-eaters, green as the fires of spring ; in the palm- 
 groves, in the feathery mimosa, whose scent the warm 
 wind blew across the still waters, or in the dark acacias 
 beneath whose shade sat the village patriarchs in 
 flowing robes. 
 
 He showed her the blue, green, and brown which 
 are the prevailing tones in the colour-harmony of pas- 
 toral Egypt, and then, with whimsical insistence, 
 pointed out the value of the variants from the general 
 scheme. She loved to see the creaking water-wheels 
 whose strings of red earthen pots gleamed like a neck- 
 lace of cornelians as they rose dripping from the water 
 beneath; the bronze-limbed, half -naked men who 
 worked the shaddfs on the bank ; the strings of camels 
 silhouetted against grotesque hedges of pale green 
 prickly pear. 
 
 Together they watched the blue-girt felldh, as he 
 drove his plough, the primitive implement of past
 
 Drifting 245 
 
 centuries, along the rich brown furrows; singing, as 
 he guided his fawn-humped cow, a rude primal melody 
 of two or three notes with a sudden turn and an 
 unexpected drop at the end. Together they noted the 
 pylon-shaped pigeon-houses which rose above the flat- 
 topped huts, ramparted with red earthen pots and 
 serried with horizontal branches for the birds to perch 
 on; while down to the watering-places, in the orange 
 dusk, came black-robed women with grey-green water- 
 jars, mites of red-shawled girls or white-capped urchins 
 driving dun cows or lumbering water-buffaloes; shep- 
 herds, staff in hand, leading their flocks of curly black- 
 horned sheep or piebald, flap-eared goats; while, 
 squatting on the bank above, men in rolled turbans 
 and rough white draperies shouted out jest or comment 
 as they busily plied little wooden spindles, spinning 
 wool, black or brown. 
 
 Sometimes when the Nitocris tied up at night they 
 would see tiny huts made of straw mats sheltering 
 fellahin who watched their crops by leaping fires; 
 the incessant barking of dogs being the only indication 
 of the proximity of a village, and the querulous howling 
 of jackals reminiscent of the desolation so hardly kept 
 at bay. Above all and through all sounded the insist- 
 ent lapping of the water, as if to tell them that the 
 Nile was Egypt, and Egypt was the Nile. 
 
 " I should like to die by running water, " Ivors said 
 once. 
 
 " I would rather live by running water, " Hesper had 
 answered. "What does it matter where one dies? 
 One has to leave it all. " 
 
 "Oh, it does matter, " said Ivors with a little shrug. 
 "Dying is the last great adventure. One should
 
 246 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 set forth on it fittingly. I hope I shall. I often doubt 
 it. I am a coward at heart, I think," he continued 
 after a moment's pause. "I am not fit for the great 
 adventure yet. " 
 
 Hesper had no words in which to answer him. She 
 wanted to comfort, but her natural reticence put bonds 
 on speech. How was she to judge another human 
 being, that hieroglyph which no mere mortal can ever 
 hope to read? 
 
 "Don't think too much about it," she answered at 
 last, smiling at him with her eyes more than her lips. 
 "If one could only live well the rest would be easy 
 enough." 
 
 Live well! The words echoed and stung. The 
 memory of past follies, past indulgences, past caprices 
 crowded upon Ivors. An innate fastidiousness had 
 always kept him from the grosser evils, but cut adrift, 
 rudderless, as he had been in the hottest fire of his 
 manhood, what wonder if he had fed the flame with 
 the chaff and tinder of life? The ashes were, for the 
 most part, dead and ghost-like now, yet they were 
 there, crowding but not extinguishing the embers 
 that still smouldered, ready, if fed, to flare into life 
 again. 
 
 "What do you mean by living well purple and 
 fine linen, or being a good boy and going to church 
 twice on Sundays?" 
 
 ' ' Neither, ' ' answered Hesper shortly. The mockery 
 of his tone ruffled her. 
 
 "Do you mean dropping anchor in some peaceful 
 harbour and never sailing on the troubled waters any 
 more?" He felt a sudden desire to tease her, to prick 
 her into warm retort.
 
 Drifting 247 
 
 "You know I don't." She turned sparkling eyes 
 on him. 
 
 "Marriage is supposed to be an anchor," he went 
 on, looking at a kite which wheeled and screamed with 
 thin petulance as it swooped to snatch some morsel 
 from the water with its strong claws. " Since mine 
 dragged I have drifted in strange waters." 
 
 "Is that simile original, Mr. Ivors?" asked Gerda, 
 joining them. "I fancy I Ve heard it before." 
 
 "Nothing is original in this time-worn planet, your 
 ladyship," he said with forced lightness. "Every 
 phrase and fable can be traced either to the sun-myth 
 or the story of Eden. " 
 
 " Still, I don't see where the anchor metaphor comes 
 in," Gerda persisted. "For my own part I should 
 never like to anchor. I 'd like to tie up occasionally, 
 but that 's all. " 
 
 "Do you speak matrimonially? What shocking 
 sentiments!" 
 
 "Matrimonially? Me?" cried the girl with em- 
 phatic lack of grammar. " I 'm dead off matrimony. 
 So 's Hildred. Are n't you, Hildred? Come here 
 and join the fray." 
 
 Hildred came slowly forward. She had no desire to 
 be forced into a discussion upon such a subject. Her 
 father's eyes met hers with a sort of mocking challenge. 
 A Pan-spirit of impersonal defiance seemed to have 
 seized him. 
 
 "Well, Hildred? What are your views?" he asked, 
 swinging his foot against the rail on which he 
 sat. 
 
 He looked boyish, irrelevant, perched there, and 
 a wave of anger at his callous insouciance broke over
 
 248 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hildred. How dared he? How dared he ask her such 
 a question before these people, who, charming as they 
 were, were strangers yester-year? 
 
 " I have none, " she answered coldly. " How could 
 I, unless you consider me in the position of the on- 
 looker, who is popularly supposed to see most of 
 the game?" 
 
 For the first time she looked at her father with her 
 mother's eyes, and saw something of the maddening 
 indifference, the careless self-confidence which had 
 driven the older woman to revolt. She felt for the 
 moment that she hated his assumption of youth and 
 the youthful graces that made him so popular, his 
 singing, his dancing, his charm of manner. She would 
 have better understood a more dignified attitude to- 
 wards life; a calmer resignation to its buffets would 
 have won her sympathy, but this careless enjoyment 
 of to-day and to-morrow, this almost boyish zest in 
 the trivialities of the moment alienated rather than 
 drew the spirit of her own youth. Infallible Youth! 
 Life holds no more pitiless judge. 
 
 In his apparent light-heartedness she read no need 
 of her, no desire to make up for the castaway years. 
 Between them was a great gulf fixed which only a 
 real affection or a real sympathy could cross, and in 
 Hildred's nature was mingled a sufficiency of her 
 mother's temperament to make the crossing of such 
 frail bridges a difficult venture. 
 
 Still, in spite of herself, she felt and reluctantly 
 acknowledged his charm, and when he put out a hand 
 to draw her near she did not resist, but went and stood 
 by his side. 
 
 "Wise child!" he said, with a sudden softening.
 
 Drifting 249 
 
 " I doubt if even the players of the game are justified 
 in giving an opinion on it. " 
 
 "They don't know much about it either," pursued 
 Gerda. "They only see their own hands. For 
 instance, if mammy's is full of hearts " she smiled 
 across at Lady Nugent, "what help will that be to 
 you if yours is full of clubs? Each person has to play 
 quite a different game, and they 've got to play it 
 themselves just the two of them like Beggar-my- 
 neighbour. " 
 
 "Is the object the same?" asked Ivors. 
 
 "Oh, you can't pursue a metaphor to its vanishing 
 point like that!" retorted Gerda airly. "I 'm going 
 to write a treatise on marriage some day, and I '11 
 get you to polish my epigrams for me." 
 
 " I might put too fine a point on them. " 
 
 "You could n't, because my object is to prod the 
 shall I call them victims or imbeciles? into common- 
 sense once more." Gerda curled herself up on the 
 divan and clasped her hands around her knees. " The 
 first thing that marriage produces is a softening of 
 the brain almost akin to idiocy. It completely de- 
 stroys all sense of proportion, and is warranted to 
 deaden the strongest sense of humour. " 
 
 "Gerda, my dear, don't talk such hopeless non- 
 sense," begged Lady Nugent. 
 
 "It's hopeless sense if you like, mammy dear. 
 Look at Sylvia, for instance. Before her marriage she 
 was lively, gay, full of fun, and on for any sort of lark. 
 Now, behold! she is as dull as ditch-water, without a 
 thought beyond Dick and the baby." 
 
 "Quite right and proper." 
 
 " Oh, it 's not, mammy. Dick and the baby are all
 
 250 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 very well in their way, but they make a very narrow 
 boundary." 
 
 "I don't know," said Hesper softly. "I think 
 Sylvia is rather to be envied. A man and a boy of 
 her own ! What possibilities ! ' ' 
 
 "Now, don't you side against me, Smarlie. We 
 bachelor women should stick together. Besides, 
 Sylvia 's drivelling. She calls Dick Toots, and he 
 calls her Toots! The Trent cousins are just the same. 
 They call each other Winkums and Winkums. Now 
 if they called each other Winkums and Blinkums, 
 or Toots and Boots one might possibly understand 
 it " 
 
 "Lord, you are a funny child!" said Ivors, going 
 into peals of laughter at Gerda's disgusted face. 
 
 "Laugh as much as you like, but all I say is per- 
 fectly true, " cried Gerda. " Remarks about pearls are 
 a little obvious, so I '11 refrain. Here comes tea, thank 
 goodness, in time to prevent a split in the camp." 
 
 She put her arm round Hesper 's neck in passing. 
 "You would n't call your husband Toots if you had 
 one, Smarlie dear, would you?" 
 
 "Certainly not," answered Miss Marlowe. "I 
 should not dream of infringing Sylvia's copyright. " 
 
 In a moment Ivors stood before her, bearing her 
 tea on a little inlaid stool which he placed beside 
 her. 
 
 "In all my wanderings," he said, for her ear alone, 
 "I never threw my dreams overboard, no matter 
 how near the vessel came to capsizing. " 
 
 " Dreams are light things, " she answered, without a 
 glance. 
 
 "Sometimes they cost a good deal, Hesper Belhas-
 
 Drifting 251 
 
 ard," he murmured. "But how should you know, 
 you white aloof star?" 
 
 How should she know indeed? She raised her eyes 
 to his, and in them he read more perhaps than she 
 was aware of. Danger-signals loomed near at hand, 
 but as yet Ivors ignored them.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TEMPLES 
 
 SO the days passed. 
 With such a party there was infrequent 
 opportunity for the dangerous but delightful solitude 
 d deux, and the irrepressible Gerda found outlet in 
 various devices for merrymaking which included 
 each individual. 
 
 As Lady Nugent declined flatly to ride a donkey 
 again, she was left to peaceful somnolence while the 
 rest scampered off to see the Temple of Hathor at 
 Denderah. 
 
 The way led through rolling plains of green vetch 
 starred with tiny purple flowers, and crested here and 
 there with high flat stacks of dry dhurra-stalks. 
 
 A string of camels came ambling towards them, led 
 by a keen-eyed man in a white burnouse. On the 
 foremost, which was decorated with woollen tufts 
 and a three-cornered amulet, sat a woman in a loose 
 blue garment with a baby at her breast. Round her 
 neck was a string of gilt beads and her arms were 
 covered with gay glass bangles which made a little 
 tinkle as she drew the corner of her head-shawl 
 forward to conceal her face from the Englishmen. 
 
 As they passed she said something to the man and 
 laughed. 
 
 252
 
 Temples 253 
 
 "What was it?" asked Gerda. 
 
 "Something not very complimentary to the English 
 ladies who go about unveiled," answered Ivors. 
 "They consider all of you mad, and most of you 
 bad, I fear." 
 
 "Father!" cried Hildred, shocked and hurt. 
 
 "Fact, my dear. Fly to the farthest wing of the 
 pendulum from your own outlook, and you may grasp 
 something of their point of view. Otherwise the East 
 must be as a closed book to you. " 
 
 "Your metaphors are as mixed as my own, Mr. 
 Ivors," put in Gerda saucily. "I like the 'Curfew- 
 shall-not-ring-to-night ' picture you conjure up of 
 Hildred clinging to the pendulum! For my part I 
 believe that most men are Turks at heart, at least 
 where their own womenkind are concerned!" 
 
 "There is perhaps a grain of truth in your chaff," 
 retorted Ivors. "I can understand the idea of those 
 who would seclude their infinitely precious. There is 
 the temple." He pointed with his switch. 
 
 "That mound?" cried Gerda. 
 
 "Yes, that mound, as you call it. It is not impres- 
 sive as you approach, I admit, nor does its fascination 
 touch you until you are quite close. " 
 
 They cantered over the sand, past the fallen half- 
 buried blocks of stone, and dismounted beneath the 
 great gateway, with its deeply cut figures of gods 
 and goddesses, and the broken outline of its cream 
 cornices standing out against an intensely blue 
 sky. 
 
 "Hathor was the Egyptian Venus," said Ivors 
 as he lifted Hesper off her donkey. "And all the 
 pillars are crowned with her head, which some Goths,
 
 254 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 who called themselves Christians, have mutilated 
 horribly." 
 
 The spirit of the dead centuries laid hold upon 
 Hesper as she entered the great hall. Its vast pillars, 
 crowded together in towering bulk, seemed to shut out 
 the present from the past, out of which looked down 
 the titanic heads of the Goddess of Love, touched with 
 majesty despite their mutilation; instinct, one could 
 fancy, with a calm pity for the endless generations of 
 mortals who had had their little day, crowded to do 
 her homage, and passed away to give place to yet 
 another race. In dignified procession they were 
 carved upon the temple walls, gods and goddesses, 
 kings and slaves, in row upon row of high and low 
 relief, up to the very roof which had once been blue 
 and star-studded to represent the sky, but which now 
 loomed brown from the torches of the excavators, 
 whose smoke had also dulled the topmost row of 
 figures to a frieze of bronze, in contrast with the dove- 
 colour of the lower walls. 
 
 Over the portal were enormous winged sun-discs, 
 touched with soft blue, dull faded red, and deep 
 golden yellow. 
 
 Hesper wandered about the great dim hall, detached 
 from the rest, feeling the mystery, the sense of ancient 
 magic which hung like a cloud about the time-deserted 
 place. Ivors watched her from a little distance. The 
 mighty pillars blotted out the others from sight, but 
 a murmur of voices reached them from where they 
 were seeking knowledge through the lips of the Arab 
 custodian. 
 
 Always she came back to the portal with the sun- 
 discs, and stood looking upwards with a certain wist-
 
 Temples 255 
 
 fulness. Was she looking for the love-colour? Ivors 
 wondered. Here, in the temple of Hathor, it should 
 surely be found, yet here, save in its inner sense, it was 
 not. 
 
 He emerged from the shadows and stood near her 
 for a moment without speaking. 
 
 "They all came to pay her homage, you see," he 
 said at last, indicating a carven procession. "King 
 and queen, god and goddess, Isis the calm, Horus the 
 majestic, hunter and hunted, worker and slave. Some 
 time or other in their lives they all passed through the 
 spiced dusk of her temple. " 
 
 Hesper did not answer; no words seemed needed. 
 The sense of dream returned, even while she was being 
 swept by the impetuous Gerda from chamber to cham- 
 ber; even while with beating pulses she crept from the 
 light of day through a narrow crevice, and groped her 
 way down steep steps, vaguely illumined by the flicker- 
 ing candle of the custodian, to the hot dark crypt, 
 whose sparse chambers were floored with fine sand, and 
 whose walls were covered with the richest reliefs of 
 birds, and gods, and lotuses, and kingly symbols. 
 
 The stifling dusk oppressed, half -choked her, and 
 when a fluttering, squeaking noise attracted her atten- 
 tion, and in response to an exclamation the custodian 
 held his light aloft with a laugh, and disclosed hund- 
 reds of disturbed bats hitching themselves about the 
 rough ceiling with their wing-hooks, she felt a deadly 
 fear. Clutching at the nearest person, who hap- 
 pened to be Sir George, she buried her head on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "There, my dear, there," he said kindly, "don't be 
 frightened. We '11 come out at once. "
 
 256 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Ivors stepped forward. He felt an unreasoning 
 distaste at the contact. He held out his hand. 
 
 " Come with me, " he said quickly. "I '11 take you 
 out to the air. The others can finish their explora- 
 tions if they don't mind bats." 
 
 Hesper took the proffered hand, and they groped for 
 the opening and stumbled up the narrow steps once 
 more. Up and up he took her, through dim chambers 
 and empty corridors, up shallow flights of stone steps 
 until, to her vast relief, they came out upon the temple 
 roof. 
 
 " Sit down and breathe the fresh air again. " 
 
 He put her gently on a block of stone and turned 
 away to let her recover herself. 
 
 The temple roof, which had various levels reached 
 by rough flights of steps, was paved with great square 
 blocks of buff stone. 
 
 In one corner stood a little columned pavilion, whose 
 Hathor-headed pillars and broken cornice stood open 
 to the sky, against whose intense blue they glowed like 
 beaten gold. Sparrows hopped and twittered in and 
 out, while, in a deep-cut falcon-head of Horus, wild 
 bees had made their nest, round which they hummed 
 with a homely persistence. 
 
 The air, the quiet, and the sense of the familiar 
 quickly restored Hesper's poise. 
 
 "I am sorry I was so foolish," she began. 
 
 Ivors turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and 
 came and sat on the steps at her feet. 
 
 "But you weren't, you were very wise," he inter- 
 rupted. "This is a thousand times better than that 
 bat-haunted abomination. " 
 
 " I like that little temple, " she said, pointing to the
 
 Temples 257 
 
 pavilion. "It has the beautiful sun-disc over its 
 portal." 
 
 "That is the emblem of Re" the Sun, who was the 
 father of Hathor, Mistress of the Heavens. It is sup- 
 posed to avert all evil, " Ivors smiled suddenly. " Now 
 I know that you will love my favourite temple best. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Don't expect to learn all my secrets, Hesper Bel- 
 hasard," he answered, looking up with the smile that 
 had provoked Hildred before. It irritated her now as 
 she came up the steps with the others. Could she 
 possibly be jealous of her father's friendship for Miss 
 Marlowe, she wondered. No, it was not that. She 
 had not a mean or grudging nature. She did not 
 probe deep enough to realise that it was the clanship 
 of sex stirring in her on her mother's behalf; that she 
 unconsciously resented his growing friendship for 
 another woman. It did not chime with her sense of 
 the fitness of things. That was all she vaguely 
 acknowledged, and she wondered, as she kept up a 
 desultory conversation with Roddy on the homeward 
 journey, as she had often wondered before, how the 
 tangle of their lives would unravel itself. 
 
 As regarded her own skein, if it knotted, she pos- 
 sessed a knife sharp enough to cut the knot, and she 
 meant to use it too. Through all the novelty, gaiety, 
 and colour of this new experience loomed a solid back- 
 ground of the uses of life, an unacknowledged yearning 
 for the purposeful quietude of England and a sphere in 
 which one could use heart and hands as well as brain. 
 She, too, drifted on the stream of days, but it was 
 pleasant to think of action, of a niche and its filling 
 when the lotus hours were over. 
 17
 
 258 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 As they turned and rode along the broad bank 
 which skirted the Nile a flotilla of boats came towards 
 them, laden with the kuldl, or water-jars, which are 
 manufactured in thousands at Keneh, on the Arabian 
 side of the river. The sunlight fell slanting upon 
 them, bringing them into strong relief, and accent- 
 uating the faint colourings of their cargo the packed 
 masses of jars, round ends outwards, showing like 
 great delicately-tinted eggs, pink, grey-green, and 
 reddish-cream. One boat had a bright blue mast and 
 rudder ; the bows of another were striped with dull red 
 and orange, and of another with green and white, 
 while in the stern of one whose rudder was chequered 
 with faded red and yellow sat a man in a purple robe 
 and flame-coloured turban playing a reed-pipe. As its 
 notes came shrilly across the water a boy at his feet 
 suddenly struck up an accompaniment on a darabdkkeh, 
 beating its fish-skin-covered end with lithe brown 
 hands. 
 
 Colour and sound mingled in one curious harmony, 
 typical of the East which only could have produced 
 such a perfect blending of the suave and the bizarre. 
 
 "I should like to paint that," said Ivors suddenly. 
 "All those delicate colours with the two strong dashes 
 of purple and red. Just look at the exquisite effect of 
 the reflections quivering on the water." 
 
 "Very pretty," commented Gerda. 
 
 He turned towards Hesper; their eyes met, and she 
 smiled and nodded. 
 
 " Is n't there a pottery at Keneh where they make all 
 those things?" Gerda continued. "I'd like to go 
 over it." 
 
 Ivors laughed. "What 's your idea of a pottery?
 
 Temples 259 
 
 Tall chimneys, big rooms, furnaces, the whole mechani- 
 cal process neatly progressing from stage to stage?" 
 
 "Well, is n't it?" 
 
 "Not as represented at Keneh. I went there once. 
 The Arabs thought it was only a mad English freak. " 
 
 ' ' Why ? What happened ? ' ' 
 
 "First we drove along a pretty road shaded with 
 acacias." 
 
 "We?" 
 
 " I was with some people. Then we turned into the 
 town a place of narrow streets, whose houses had 
 high Moorish archways, painted in red and cream, of 
 little squares giving one a glimpse of tattered bazaars 
 full of colour gourds, tomatoes, cheap calico, and 
 sticky sweetmeats of poorer mud houses on whose 
 flat palm-thatched roofs fowls scratched and picked, 
 of a bare plain, dotted with ramshackle shelters and 
 pitted with holes and mounds. This was the pottery. 
 In black hollows the furnaces were stacked, beneath 
 the crazy straw shelters sat the potters at their wheels, 
 turning the wet grey clay into shapes of use and 
 beauty as they have done from time immemorial. 
 Here and there amid the desolation were rubbish-heaps 
 where the broken shards were flung. " 
 
 "And was that all?" asked Gerda. 
 
 "Quite enough too. Isn't it enough to see the 
 vessel swell beneath the potter's fingers like the bulb of 
 a flower, thin out and upwards, and twist over like a 
 petal? It 's exquisite. I love to watch it. We were 
 taken to see a special expert who worked in a dark 
 crumbling little house in the street. He squatted 
 before his wheel, pale, impassive as a Buddha, mould- 
 ing the clay to his desire. The place was full of Arabs,
 
 260 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 men and children, who crowded upon us. Buddha 
 made and destroyed shape after shape, still sitting 
 unmoved, with the only light, a shaft from the ceiling, 
 full on his inscrutable face. At last a smile flickered 
 across his features. 
 
 " 'Now I will make you something beautiful!' he 
 said, and made what do you think? A common 
 vulgarly-shaped cup and saucer! I could almost 
 have wept. I expected something rare after what 
 we had seen of lovely curve and line. " 
 
 "What it is to have the artistic temperament!" 
 mocked Gerda. "I '11 race you to the landing-stage 
 to work it off." 
 
 "I accept your challenge," said Ivors, and aided by 
 the efforts of the blue-girt, grinning donkey-boys the 
 two galloped off along the highway, raising clouds of 
 dust. 
 
 "Let's all have a gallop," suggested Hesper, 
 flicking her donkey. 
 
 "You 're a great old sport, Smarlie, " cried Roddy 
 admiringly, as he urged on his steed with cries and 
 grunts. 
 
 For the first time Hesper felt a gulf of years. What 
 was a matter of course for the active youngsters 
 became cause for commendation in one of her fuller 
 maturity. It was absurd that such a tiny trifle should 
 prick, but it did. Was her youth really gone? Must 
 she range herself among the elders? 
 
 To hear departing footsteps is always sad, and no 
 woman can hear the footsteps of her departing youth 
 without a pang. 
 
 She did not analyse the cause of her regret. She
 
 Temples 261 
 
 was only conscious of it ; conscious as of something to 
 be shut away in the depths of her heart, while she 
 watched the daily pageant of the river ; while she heard, 
 never without a sharp thrill of unaccountable pleasure, 
 the crude song of the boatmen on the water, the pipe 
 of reed, or the pulsing beat of a darabukkeh; or watched 
 the black and white kingfishers dart from bank to 
 bank with sweet startled cries, or saw the red-throated 
 swallows skim the surface of the Nile in long sweep 
 and eddy. 
 
 White dome and fretted minaret loomed as they 
 approached palm-fringed Luxor, whose houses, pink, 
 cream, and blue, with gay green shutters and brown 
 balconies gave hints of moving figures and fluttering 
 draperies; while in the narrow dusty streets life, 
 kaleidoscopic, picturesque, squatted contemplatively 
 in the sun or moved leisurely through the shade, 
 whether in contented cotton rags or dignified silken 
 robes. 
 
 The great brown lotus-columns of the Temple 
 dwarfed the modernity by its side, seeming, by its 
 timeless antiquity, to cheapen the youth of the town 
 which surrounded it. 
 
 "Letters! Letters!" Gerda cried. "We are to 
 get letters here. " 
 
 "I '11 send Moussa for them," said Ivors. "Let 's 
 come to the Temple before the light turns red. " 
 
 Impatient to land, Gerda led the way up the tree- 
 shaded street with its little shops at one side, and its 
 group of insolent-eyed Arabs sitting smoking, playing 
 dominoes or tric-trac outside the cafes. 
 
 Somewhat to her surprise Hesper found Hildred by 
 her side. She had drifted apart from the girl of late.
 
 262 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 The companionship of the others had absorbed her, 
 and there were no such moments of confidence between 
 them as had marked their parting. The older woman 
 felt a great tenderness towards the younger, and 
 a rush of regret at the jarring note that seemed 
 occasionally to be struck between her and her father. 
 At other times, oddly enough, the touch of camara- 
 derie in their intercourse caused her a swift pang of 
 loneliness. 
 
 A tincture of suppressed excitement in the girl's air, 
 an unsubdued sparkle in her eyes drew Hesper's 
 notice. The girl's occasional glance over her shoulder 
 gave the clue. 
 
 "Are you looking forward to your post?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, aren't you? But how did you know?" 
 
 "Ah, I knew," answered Hesper, with her little 
 nod. "I don't expect my letter, if I get any, to be 
 very exciting. " 
 
 Hildred flushed. Even to herself she did not ac- 
 knowledge how much she was looking forward to 
 hearing from Dr. Lisle. She had taken him at his 
 word, and tested him in a matter of friendly service, 
 and she hoped that a reply would reach her here. 
 
 "I have no specially interesting correspondent," 
 Hesper continued. " But somehow one seems to have 
 no need for letters here." 
 
 "Surely this life doesn't content you, Smarlie?" 
 said the girl, who had dropped into the use of the 
 Nugent's ugly nickname. "Don't you want to be 
 up and doing? I do." 
 
 " I 've been up and doing for so long that I find 
 this land of golden afternoon quite sufficient for the
 
 Temples 263 
 
 present. Perhaps it is old age creeping on; perhaps 
 it 's only laziness. " 
 
 "Old age indeed! You'll have many years of 
 waiting before you find out what old age is like!" 
 She gave Miss Marlowe's arm a friendly squeeze, and 
 Hesper felt warmed by the sudden return to the old 
 terms. 
 
 "There 's old age," she responded, pointing to the 
 Temple. " I only hope that mine will be equally calm 
 and dignified." 
 
 They had passed the little riverside stalls with their 
 clamorous vendors calling shrill attention to the glitter 
 and colour of their wares ; the red and green pottery, 
 tinsel scarves, gay bead and shell ornaments, and 
 antelope-skin necklaces threaded with beads of every 
 hue ; and reached the portals of the Temple. 
 
 Hesper had an impression of vast brown lotus- 
 columns, of clustered papyrus-pillars, of sunken pave- 
 ments and mutilated colossi, of sharp black shadows 
 cast by wall and colonnade, of rows of gigantic 
 Rameses clustered about the foot of the great pylon, 
 which stood clear-cut against a luminous sky. 
 
 A crazy mosque and squalid houses pressed above 
 and around the echoing emptiness of the Temple. 
 Children, goats, and fowls scrambled in a rubbish heap 
 that poured over a partly excavated corner. A boy 
 on a donkey ambled along a narrow pathway, beating 
 a tambourine and singing a nasal love-song as he 
 went. 
 
 The light grew deeper and redder. On the balcony 
 of the minaret a Muezzin came forth to chant the call 
 to prayer. 
 
 Hesper sat on a tumbled block of granite, and
 
 264 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 watched and listened. The long-drawn chant, dying 
 and swelling as he paced the creaking balcony, woke 
 a memory of the bell heard from the rock-perched 
 monastery on the Portuguese coast, the voice of prayer 
 which wove an endless chain about a sleeping world. 
 The fancy held her. She listened until the last 
 " Ld ildha illd'lldh!" had droned away into silence, 
 wrapt in content, remote from the world. 
 
 Through the fast-falling shadows came Ivors with 
 the letters and broke the illusion. 
 
 "Three for Hildred, two for her ladyship, none for 
 Miss Marlowe, and one for me, " he announced. 
 
 He sat down on the block near Hesper without 
 further speech. She was always conscious of his 
 presence. It troubled her with a sweet disturbance 
 which she did not understand. 
 
 "My letters are from school-friends," Gerda 
 announced. "They '11 keep till we get back." 
 
 Hildred had opened hers without comment a curt 
 communication from her mother, hoping that she was 
 well, and announcing that Katherine was horrified at 
 the bareness of the hussies on the picture-postcard 
 Hildred had sent her, who seemed to think that the 
 face was the only portion of the body it was necessary 
 for them to cover. "Remember the morals of the 
 post-mistress in future," ended the letter with an 
 unwonted touch of humour, from hers sincerely, 
 H. D. Ivors. 
 
 Dr. Lisle's letter was eminently satisfactory. 
 
 "I have done as you requested," he wrote. "My 
 sister will send you full particulars." Then later, 
 " Miss Arab tells me that you have a knack of letting 
 dreams out of cages. May I suggest for the new
 
 Temples 265 
 
 accomplishment that you should learn how to put 
 them back again?" 
 
 The girl drew a long breath and smiled. Egypt 
 vanished, and once more she feasted on wild fruit in a 
 wood beside a running stream; once more she saw a 
 spare lazy figure with a cap tilted over its eyes; once 
 more she heard a voice telling her to wait until she 
 came to the fork in the road, and then to be sure that 
 she chose the right path a voice which had said: 
 " This is my hour. Don't shorten it. " 
 
 She shut the door quickly on that memory and 
 opened Arab Lebarte's letter, which told her that Mrs. 
 Ivors and "Auntie" had had "words" on the subject 
 of Woman's Suffrage; that the dahlias had been 
 ruined by an early frost ("though I think I must 
 have told you that in my last!"); that Dr. Lisle 
 worked harder than ever, and that she was going in 
 for a new competition in which a prize was to be 
 given to the person who sent in the greatest number 
 of words containing all the vowels. 
 
 " If you were only here I 'm sure you could help me, 
 you are so quick at that sort of thing, " she ended. 
 
 How far away it all appeared! What an aeon 
 seemed to have elapsed since that epoch-making 
 journey to Burnaby! Truly this year of her full age 
 was the strangest and most crowded of any she had 
 as yet experienced. 
 
 Gerda's indignation cut in upon her musings. 
 
 "Just come and look at this!" she cried. " Here is 
 an ideal marriage according to the ideas of the an- 
 cient Egyptians ! Mr. Ivors, Smarlie, you must look. " 
 
 She led them excitedly to where a vast unmutilated 
 Rameses stood, calm and colossal, placid and inscrut-
 
 266 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ably smiling, with a beautiful little figure of his wife, sig- 
 nificantly insignificant, hidden away behind his knee. 
 
 "That just shows their relative positions," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Admirably," said Ivors. "A perfect example." 
 
 "Of what?" asked Gerda suspiciously. 
 
 " Of the ideas of the ancient Egyptians, " he returned 
 innocently. 
 
 "Of course I know men don't like clever women," 
 Gerda pursued. " If ever I contemplate matrimony I 
 shall conceal any little brains I have as carefully as 
 I possibly can. They always marry the stupid ones. 
 I wonder why? But they get deadly tired of them 
 afterwards. Men can't stand being bored, and variety 
 is the salt of life." 
 
 "Take care that your husband won't be pickled ! " 
 
 Gerda laughed. " Oh, no he won't be. I shall wait 
 till I find the right man, and then you '11 see that we 
 shall be an ideal couple. " 
 
 "What 's your idea of an ideal couple?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," she said, reddening self-con- 
 sciously at the hint of seriousness. 
 
 "Those who fill each other's chinks," suggested 
 Hesper softly. 
 
 "And don't take hammer and chisel to make the 
 gaps larger, as so many do," exclaimed Hildred, her 
 tone tinged with bitterness. 
 
 Ivors looked at her. The sudden hardening of her 
 young face was painfully reminiscent. Was it his 
 hammer and chisel which had marked those stern 
 lines? He drew a quick breath. 
 
 "The bats are coming out. Look!" he said. 
 "We'd better be off."
 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IVORS FINDS THE LOVE-COLOUR 
 
 LADY NUGENT watched what she called "the 
 affair" with interest, and wondered to Sir 
 George "if anything would come of it?" 
 
 To which he had responded : 
 
 "You women are all alike! If a fellow pays a 
 pretty woman the least attention you at once hear 
 the sound of wedding-bells ! Ivors is n't a marrying 
 man, my dear, or he 'd have been caught long ago. " 
 
 Lady Nugent was content. Of course like other 
 matrons she considered it a pity that Miss Marlowe, 
 with her looks, her money, and her charm, should 
 remain unmarried; but her winter was speeding 
 pleasantly, her party was harmonious, and "the 
 children" were enjoying themselves, while Roddy 
 grew daily stronger and browner. She too, drifted, 
 and saw no rocks ahead, but, in candour, she never 
 was aware of a possible rock until she struck upon it. 
 Fortunately her shallop had always floated on easy 
 waters below whose surface the rocks lay deep, other- 
 wise she had never escaped shipwreck. 
 
 Ivors never queried, mentally or verbally, whether 
 his friends were aware that his wife was alive or not. 
 To him, his private affairs were purely personal and 
 
 267
 
 268 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 no concern of any one save himself. No circum- 
 stances had hitherto arisen to make disclosure impera- 
 tive. He had trodden in pleasant places and avoided 
 the stony ways, plucking only those flowers which 
 were near at hand. He had never cried for the moon. 
 Now, above the peaks shone a star, and led by its 
 light, he did not note whether the path was smooth or 
 rough, or whither it led. 
 
 He only knew that Hesper's friendship and sym- 
 pathy were passing sweet ; that her comprehension of 
 his moods and fancies was as delightful as it was 
 unusual; that he savoured daily a new joy, a new 
 delight. 
 
 He did not monopolise her attention, but he was 
 always at hand to do her service. He did not make 
 love to her in words, but his voice changed subtly 
 when he spoke to her, and her name, when he uttered 
 it softly, was tender as a caress. He was the best, the 
 gayest of good company. His verbal flights were as 
 wild as Gerda's own, his spirits as light as Roddy's. 
 He swept Hildred, the appraising daughter, into the 
 orbit of his charm and woke something in her heart 
 which loved him even while it disapprove^!. 
 
 Hesper was conscious of the new magic, the un- 
 wonted glamour of life which seemed to her inex- 
 tricably one with the ancient spell of the Nile. Her 
 teaching days had been almost cloistral as far as 
 contact with men was concerned, and her brief 
 wander-years had brought her only admirers and 
 friends, in the more superficial sense, who had come 
 and gone without leaving visible impress. No one 
 had really knocked, no one to whom she could ever 
 open the door of her heart. Hence she was innocent
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 269 
 
 as a child of the real meaning of the golden haze 
 which enwrapped her days, through which she moved 
 content, detached, like a dream-figure in a dream- 
 world, all unheedful of the fact that in life's dictionary 
 to dream means to awaken. 
 
 Ivors worked fitfully at his pictures. Sometimes 
 he was up in the dim dawn, painting with feverish 
 energy when he had the world to himself. Once 
 Hesper found him there on deck when she came up to 
 watch the rising sun flood the Libyan hills with molten 
 rose. The hand with which he clasped hers was icy, 
 and he shivered slightly as he stood up to greet her. 
 
 "You are very cold," she said, all her motherly 
 instincts awakened. 
 
 "Am I? I did n't know. It does n't matter. " 
 
 "But it does matter," she persisted. "You ought 
 to take care of yourself. " 
 
 "Ought I? Why?" 
 
 "Because " she began, and stopped. 
 
 "That 's a woman's reason! Please go away, 
 Hesper Belhasard. I hate being watched while I 
 am at work." The words were accompanied by a 
 smile that robbed them of any sting. 
 
 She only thought how badly he needed some one to 
 take care of him as she moved away and knelt on the 
 divan, looking across the river towards the flushed, 
 towering hills, in which, beyond the amethyst hollows 
 which marked the rock-tombs, the peach-coloured 
 colonnades of the Temple of Deir-el-Bahari were 
 faintly discernible. 
 
 A feldkeh full of men who rowed, standing, came 
 down the river. One sang a line of wild love-song, 
 which the others repeated in rude unison. The dip
 
 270 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 of the oars, the barbaric quality of the music mingled 
 with the rush of the river and the querulous complaint 
 of the kites in the air overhead. 
 
 "There 's so often a touch of savagery mixed with 
 the beauty, is n't there? " said Ivors suddenly. "You 
 see it definitely marked at Assuan, and you hear it in 
 the names of some of the places on the Nile-bank. 
 K6m Ombo, Nag-Hamadi, Manfalut! You can hear 
 the clash of cymbals, the blare of horns, the throb 
 of drums in every syllable. It 's only a suggestion, 
 though, which finds no real echo in the pillared peace 
 of the one or the superficial modernity of the others. " 
 
 He rose and stood beside her. He could work no 
 more; her presence drew him. 
 
 "You feel it in the valley which leads to the Tombs 
 of the Kings too," she answered. "The burning red 
 rocks and shingle, the blinding white path with its 
 sharp black shadows, the blazing blue sky, the silence, 
 and the sense of awful, lifeless desolation terrified and 
 depressed me. There was n't even a kite to be seen. 
 No sense or sound of life, except once, when a little 
 brown bird, which I could have kissed, flitted across 
 the path and was lost in an instant among the 
 stones. " 
 
 "What a sense of colour you have!" he exclaimed. 
 "Now you understand why I did n't go. I hate the 
 place. Was n't I wise?" 
 
 " That depends. " 
 
 "Did you miss me a little?" 
 
 Hesper looked at him. Her eyes were very blue 
 in the morning light, but she dropped them quickly 
 before his gaze, and a flush, faint reflection of the dawn 
 glowed through the whiteness of her skin.
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 271 
 
 "What do you think?" she asked softly, answering 
 his question, Irish fashion, with another. 
 
 "I think " he began, then stopped. 
 
 "That's a man's thought," she said, with a little 
 smile, half -mocking, half-shy. "Just as vague as the 
 woman's reason you laughed at a moment ago." 
 
 "It is a man's thought," he admitted slowly, "but 
 I assure you it is not in the least vague Hesper 
 Belhasard. Do you want to hear it?" 
 
 The Eve-spirit vanished, giving place to the Dian- 
 spirit which would fain elude capture. 
 
 "I must postpone the pleasure," she said hastily. 
 "Here comes Moussa to tell us that breakfast is 
 ready." 
 
 She thought of his words weeks later when the first 
 glimpse of K6m Ombo came in sight: four corniced 
 columns against a sky of deepest sapphire, stand- 
 ing out on a little bluff some forty feet above the 
 river. 
 
 Before her feet touched shore or trod its sunken 
 pavements she knew instinctively that this was Ivors's 
 favourite temple. She had intuitions about him, his 
 tastes, his distastes; she understood him, she felt, 
 as no one else did ; as no one else could. At last she 
 realised what had befallen her ; realised it with a rush 
 of glorious shame, of golden confusion. That the 
 ivory shrine was filled at last, she scarcely admitted 
 to herself, but she locked and guarded its door lest 
 any should catch a glimpse of its secret. 
 
 She could fill his chinks, she thought, if and the if, 
 large as it loomed, melted somewhere into when. She 
 saw his faults, his brief petulances, his occasional
 
 272 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 selfishnesses, the many accessories of the artistic 
 temperament, but she regarded them all with a large 
 tenderness. 
 
 The Silent Spinners must have smiled at the tangle 
 they had wrought in these human threads, for here was 
 Hesper, proud in her ripe womanhood, the "branch 
 of Evin's apple-tree, with twigs of white silver and 
 buds of crystal with blossoms," bent for the plucking 
 of one whose hands were fettered, whose freedom lay 
 in chains. 
 
 The stately Temple crowning the crumbling height 
 above a wide shimmering stretch of water exhaled an 
 ancient magic which merged into the quality of 
 Hesper's visions. It was not alone the magic of sheer 
 beauty which held her heart in thrall ; it was something 
 subtler, less tangible the exquisite moment of the 
 dream before the awaking ; a spell expressed in sculp- 
 tured columns, ruined but beautiful, where king and 
 god stood out in delicately coloured relief; in double 
 portals over whose square entrances the sun-discs of 
 Re* averted all evil with their outspread wings of faded 
 turquoise faintly tipped with red ; in broken cornices, 
 curving like the crest of a wave; in frieze of sun- 
 crowned serpents, cream, Egyptian-red and golden- 
 yellow; in colonnade and architrave free to the blue 
 of heaven, in the dim loveliness of vanishing colour, 
 the mere echo of a pageant of past brilliance. 
 
 The spirit of dead centuries seemed to brood over 
 court and columned aisle, which echoed no longer to 
 festal hymn or tread of worshipper. The warm sun- 
 filled silence was only broken by the inconsequent 
 chatter of sparrows, the honeyed hum of wild bees,
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 273 
 
 and the murmur of voices from a knot of white-robed 
 Arabs who squatted by the entrance gate. 
 
 Hildred "did" her Temples thoroughly and con- 
 scientiously, aided by Roddy, who cared no more for 
 the richly carved history of the animal-headed gods 
 and goddesses than she did. Gerda flitted from point 
 to point, punctuating discoveries with little shrieks 
 of delight, and dragging her parents hither and thither 
 to share them with her. 
 
 Hesper wandered about, heart and soul responsive 
 to the lightness and delicacy of the ruined loveliness 
 which surrounded her a joy enhanced by the pres- 
 ence, unobtrusive yet understanding, of the one 
 person in whom the light of Hesper's firmament was 
 fast becoming concentrated. 
 
 At last, as ever, the river drew her, and she sat on 
 the low parapet in the outer courtyard, which over- 
 looks the Nile. Behind her rose the Temple; around 
 her broken columns cast deep clean-cut shadows on 
 the uneven pavements, shadows which lay almost 
 purple upon the biscuit-coloured stones. Away to the 
 north a shimmering blue stretch of water ended in 
 peach-coloured desert and sand-hills, while to the 
 southwards the river-banks were fringed with palms. 
 
 Ivors stood beside her, one foot on the parapet, 
 elbow on knee, chin on hand, gazing towards some 
 unseen distance. 
 
 She looked at him, moved, sighed, spoke, and 
 invoked the interference of the Fates. 
 
 " It 's this one, of course," she said, in her softest, 
 most melting tones. 
 
 "How did you know?" He did not need to ask 
 what she meant. 
 
 IS
 
 274 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Ah, I knew. Of course I knew." 
 
 "But how?" he persisted, still without looking at 
 her. 
 
 The fact gave her courage. Speech, which had 
 suddenly become difficult, was easier when his eyes 
 were not upon her. 
 
 "Because because of the love-colour," she half- 
 whispered. 
 
 "Because of the love-colour," he repeated slowly, 
 dully. 
 
 Between the instant of her speech and his echo a 
 strange thing had happened. The scales had fallen 
 from his eyes and he saw in one illuminating flash that 
 to which he now knew he had wilfully blinded himself. 
 He loved her, he desired her, she was the one woman 
 in the world for him, and he could not tell her so. He 
 had had other easier loves; into other ears had he 
 poured foolish nonsense (which he had called by the 
 great name, that elastic monosyllable into which one 
 packs so many and such divers meanings), but any- 
 thing like this irresistible flood of emotion had never 
 before touched him. The sudden rush of feeling 
 caught, enveloped him, swept him off his feet, yet all 
 the time he stood rigid beside her, his hands clasped 
 behind his back, struggling, wrestling with the force of 
 the sudden passion which had him in its grip. 
 
 Hesper looked dreamily across the hyaline water. 
 She was used to his silences, silences which held 
 comprehension rather than constraint. ... So still 
 were they that a hoopoe alighted among the broken 
 columns with a flash of cinnamon wings, and hopped 
 nearer and nearer, spreading its fanlike crest now and 
 then in a flutter.
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 275 
 
 "What a pretty bird!" she said. 
 
 Ivors strove for speech. When he found it his 
 words seemed to himself hoarse and choked, but she 
 apparently noticed nothing. She did not know ; she 
 must never know. For him, his only safety lay in 
 flight, in abstention from sight of that disturbing 
 dearest face, over which shades of emotion fled swiftly 
 as cloud-shadows ; out of hearing of that soft melodi- 
 ous voice which stirred the very deeps of his heart. 
 
 "The the Persians consider the hoopoes sacred 
 birds as well as lucky," he said. How forced and 
 banal the trite guide-book phrase sounded! 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because they were Solomon's messengers to Balkis, 
 Queen of Sheba. " 
 
 "Were they?" The hoopoe hopped nearer and 
 nearer, perking its crested head. " I wonder if he has 
 a message for me?" 
 
 "From King Solomon?" Inwardly he thanked 
 the fostered gift of trivial conversation which now 
 enabled him to cloak his pain decently with light 
 words. He wondered dully at the empty years he had 
 spent without Hesper, at the empty years he would 
 have to spend without her, and in his heart he cursed 
 himself for not having demanded legal freedom from 
 his wife when she had thrust bodily separation upon 
 him. He had not dreamed of the need he should 
 feel, the desperate, clutching, aching need. Self had 
 rarely been denied, and now the toll demanded was 
 heavy beyond words. 
 
 "No, not from King Solomon." 
 
 She laughed softly, and the sound smote him like 
 a blow. How could she laugh when he was in tor-
 
 276 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ment? And yet and yet, he would not have her 
 suffer. 
 
 "A Persian friend told me the legend in his garden 
 near Teheran," Ivors continued. "We were sitting 
 by a little brook which ran between tall banks of white 
 irises and yellow narcissi over a bed of turquoise-blue 
 tiles, until it vanished in an orchard of blossoming 
 peach, pear, and almond trees." 
 
 " Turquoise-blue tiles, " she repeated in the same low 
 coaxing tones. "Then the Persians loved the love- 
 colour too." 
 
 He moved abruptly, and thrusting his hands in his 
 pockets, felt something there which he had forgotten. 
 The hoopoe, startled, flew to the top of a column. 
 
 " Perhaps the hoopoe wanted to bring you a bit of 
 it, " he said hoarsely, taking a little flat parcel from his 
 pocket. "He finds he can't now, so it may as well 
 seek refuge in old Nile. " He made a gesture as if to 
 throw the little packet into the water. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Hesper, checking him. "What is 
 it? Why can't he?" 
 
 "He can't," repeated Ivors. 
 
 She looked full at him, startled as the bird had been, 
 touched with a chill sense of fear at the pallor of his 
 face, the brooding hunger of his eyes. She drew her- 
 self up a little. 
 
 " Let me see it, " she said gently. " What is it that 
 one cannot take from a friend?" 
 
 He felt a wild impulse to fall at her feet, to worship, 
 and to remain kneeling. Her fine pride had come to 
 his rescue. In justice to her he made an effort to pull 
 himself together. 
 
 "Will you take this, then, from a friend Hesper
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 277 
 
 Bel " his voice failed altogether at her name. He 
 slipped the little box into her hand. 
 
 Instinctively she knew that all was over that the 
 golden haze had departed and left her days glaringly 
 bare, that she had awakened, shivering, from dreams 
 to which she had had no right. What had happened 
 she could not even remotely guess; she only knew 
 that Ivors had awakened too, and that for some reason, 
 inevitable as Fate, the vague half-sensed joy, the rights 
 of her womanhood which she had never claimed, were 
 not to be hers. He did not want her. It amounted 
 baldly to that. And yet, and yet, the hunger in his 
 eyes told a very different story. She thanked God 
 that there had been nothing definite, as far as tangible 
 human relations were concerned, between them, that 
 there was no need for explanation or reproach. She 
 could not understand; she did not even now conjec- 
 ture ; she knew. That was enough, and the fire of her 
 Celtic pride set alight a Brunhild barrier between 
 them. 
 
 Slowly she took the white paper from the little card- 
 board box with fingers which trembled slightly in 
 spite of herself; slowly she removed the cover, and 
 disclosed a finely enamelled winged sun-disc, the 
 serpent-crowned centre being represented by a great 
 carved turquoise. 
 
 He never took his eyes off her face, the face which 
 had whitened so suddenly, so cruelly. She looked up 
 with a forced smile, but her gaze got no farther than 
 his chin; she could not meet his eyes again until she 
 had had time to recover her poise. 
 
 " It is really beautiful, " she said tonelessly. " How 
 very good of you to think of it!"
 
 278 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "It's not good. I wanted " Absurd that he 
 could not control his voice. He cleared his throat 
 and began again: 
 
 "I had it made some little time ago. I I 
 thought you might like it. I I meant to give it to 
 you here." 
 
 "Here, in your favourite Temple? How nice of 
 you!" She laughed unexpectedly. She felt cold, 
 rigid, a woman of stone. She only hoped that she 
 would be able to retain coherence until this dreadful 
 moment was over, until she could get away by herself 
 for a little, even for an hour. 
 
 "You like it?" 
 
 "Of course I like it. It 's my favourite symbol." 
 Oh, God, was she going to faint? She swayed a little, 
 and steadied herself against the parapet. 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 "111? No. The sun on the water dazzled me a 
 little. That was all." 
 
 "You're sure it was nothing else?" he asked 
 miserably. 
 
 "What else could it be?" she said, with a rush of 
 anger which sent the hot shamed blood to her cheeks, 
 her throat, surging over her whole body. Oh, why 
 had she not steeled herself all the time against him as 
 she had done at first? Why had she succumbed to his 
 easy charm? She buttressed her outward pride. At 
 any rate he should never know. 
 
 "I must show this lovely thing to the others," she 
 said, turning away. 
 
 "Hesper! Don't," he whispered. 
 
 " I forgot to thank you, " she said, over her shoulder, 
 hastening towards escape.
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 279 
 
 "Don't," he said again huskily. 
 
 His eyes followed her as she moved across the court- 
 yard, a white gracious figure, crushing his heart as 
 well as his gift in her two slim hands. 
 
 He railed inwardly at Fate, himself, his wife. Why 
 had Harriet deserted him, cast him, a man of his 
 temperament, adrift on the sea of circumstance? He 
 had always shirked the disagreeable; here misery 
 gripped him and shook him like a rat. His instinct 
 was all for flight. He could not stand daily contact 
 with Hesper; he would inevitably make a fool of 
 himself and wrong her. 
 
 He must leave the Nitocris; there were many possi- 
 ble doors of exit. Suddenly the vision of Hildred 
 acted as a check. What was he to do with her? He 
 had brought her out here for the winter ; that was the 
 bond. He felt again the gall of shackles of his own 
 forging. Then, with his usual reliance on the will- 
 ingness of others to make his path smooth, he decided 
 that he would leave her for the present with the 
 Nugents. Afterwards well, afterwards could take 
 care of itself. Just now his only chance lay in instant 
 separation. 
 
 He would have yielded to a lesser passion. It was 
 the strength and depth of this which made him 
 momentarily strong strong enough to flee but not to 
 stay. 
 
 He remained on deck that evening long after sunset, 
 and coughed a little as he came in to dinner, white and 
 apologetic, his natural buoyance quenched. 
 
 Hesper heard the sound with a pang. Hildred 
 looked up. 
 
 " I hope you have n't caught cold, father, " she said.
 
 280 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "I? Oh, no," he returned, and coughed again. 
 
 The occasion was festal; it was Lady Nugent 's 
 birthday. To Hesper and Ivors the dinner seemed 
 endless. She barely sipped her champagne ; he drank 
 an unusual amount, which had no other effect than to 
 make his eyes oddly bright. At the close of the meal 
 he proposed Lady Nugent's health felicitously. He 
 had finished the pictures in time, after all, and they 
 had been duly presented to her. 
 
 "Do you think," he asked, with quite a success- 
 ful travesty of his old whimsicality, "that you 
 could spare me for a little when we get to 
 Assuan?" 
 
 "Spare you?" echoed Lady Nugent, regretfully. 
 "Are you thinking of deserting us?" 
 
 "Not deserting you, exactly. I have been sent a 
 pressing invitation, with a commission included, by 
 some friends of mine, Austrians, who live on an island 
 near Assuan. With unheard of temerity they call the 
 place Geziret-el-Saada the Island of Happiness. 
 They spend the winter there, and they want me to 
 do some pictures for them. I don't quite like to 
 refuse, but " he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Of course you must not refuse, " said Lady Nugent 
 kindly. "We must n't be too grasping. We '11 keep 
 a hostage, though." She laid her hand on Hildred's 
 arm. 
 
 Ivors glanced across at the girl, whose eyes 
 were fixed on him. The sudden idea, hurled at 
 her without preparation, woke the old critical spirit, 
 and tinged her look with a coldness which Ivors 
 resented. 
 
 "Well, Hildred, what do you say to Lady Nugent ? "
 
 Ivors Finds the Love-Colour 281 
 
 "Have I been invited to the other place?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I thought I was to spend the winter with you," 
 she returned, stung to reprisal. " But, as Lady Nugent 
 is good enough to want me I would far rather stay 
 with her." 
 
 " That's right, my dear," put in Sir George. " Ivors, 
 don't be jealous." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not jealous," he returned. " I 'm glad my 
 little girl has found such kind friends. " 
 
 Hesper heard of the arrangement with mixed 
 feelings. A pang of regret, sharp and unavailing, 
 pierced through a sense of miserable satisfaction. It 
 was the only thing to do, she felt. He was the one 
 who could flee. She was bound by her former plans. 
 What had she done? What had she said? She won- 
 dered dully, knowing in her inmost heart that she 
 had given no cause for estrangement. She had only 
 made a mistake, she thought, as she rose in response 
 to Lady Nugent 's signal. Many other women had 
 done the same and paid for it, as she was paying 
 now. In her bitterness of spirit she asked herself 
 the old question, why should one seem to pay so much 
 more heavily for a mistake than for an actual sin? Her 
 wearied mind could find no answer. All she craved 
 was rest and quiet; she felt exhausted, mentally and 
 physically. Would the evening never end nor the 
 hour come when she might once more be alone, alone 
 to reconstruct the shattered world which had tumbled 
 to-day about her ears. 
 
 To-morrow she would be normal. It was merely a 
 case of readjustment. So brief an emotion could not
 
 282 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 colour a whole life, she told herself, knowing in her 
 inmost heart she was trying to deceive herself with 
 words which signified nothing. Love had come to her 
 late, and she realised too well that there was nothing 
 evanescent in his coming.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 11 HE WHO IS NOT A FOOL SOMETIMES IS A FOOL ALWAYS " 
 
 THE Nitocris drew near to Assuan. 
 All day long she had sailed between hills 
 and golden sand, vivid and glowing, whose high bluffs 
 of brown and purple stone were lightly powdered 
 with silvery sand, blown upwards from the river. 
 
 Hesper's pride had risen gallantly to the spur. She 
 talked and smiled as usual, avoiding Ivors neither 
 with eyes nor speech. 
 
 But he was miserably aware that her glance swept 
 him coldly, that her inclusion of him was delicately 
 frosted. He had no right to resent. He could not 
 claim the friendship which might have meant so much 
 to him. He would have trusted her, but he dared not 
 trust himself. He was reaping now what he had sown 
 in idleness, and the harvest was a bitter one. From 
 the net of the past there was no escape, and he took 
 it for granted that Hesper knew his circumstances. 
 To have questioned her would have indicated an un- 
 due assumption on his part, even if she had permitted 
 him to approach near enough for query. He took his 
 cue from her and remained aloof. 
 
 The sun sank behind a bank of reddish cloud with 
 rifts whose edges were dazzlingly bright. When it had 
 
 283
 
 284 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 vanished the edges were still golden, but the rifts were 
 filled with greenish-blue, the colour that swam per- 
 sistently before Hesper's eyes. She touched the 
 brooch Ivors's gift which she had forced herself to 
 wear. 
 
 "It 's exactly the same tone, is n't it?" she asked, 
 smiling coldly. 
 
 The smile and the question hurt him. He had not 
 the vaguest idea of how very much more they hurt her. 
 They seemed to move on different planes now, these 
 two who had trodden the same path all those magic 
 weeks. They had no common meeting-ground; the 
 trivialities they uttered could not bridge the distance 
 between them. One broken phrase, one halting 
 explanation would have gone far towards healing the 
 numb ache in Hesper's heart, and would have turned 
 her from stone back to warm, forgiving, understanding 
 womanhood once more, but Ivors never realised this. 
 He thought she knew ; that she was angry with him for 
 loving her; that she despised him. He did not dream 
 that her attitude was one of intense self -contempt, 
 that she imagined that he had been merely amusing 
 himself with her, not realising how far he had 
 gone until he saw or suspected that she cared. She 
 had not been as easy a conquest as some of the others, 
 she told herself bitterly, that was all; and at least she 
 had not pursued him. He should never have the 
 satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt her, so, 
 womanlike, she set about to see if she could hurt him. 
 It was a poor satisfaction, after all, for she only suc- 
 ceeded in wounding herself doubly with the weapons 
 she wielded. 
 
 As the sun vanished, seeming to withdraw all colour
 
 " He Who Is Not a Fool" 285 
 
 from the cloud-bank until it was a dim grey, he turned 
 to her with a last tentative effort. 
 
 "Won't you forgive me?" he asked hoarsely. 
 
 "Forgive you?" she echoed. "For what?" 
 
 He made a helpless gesture which touched her in 
 spite of herself, but she hardened her heart against 
 him. 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive. How could there 
 be?" She lifted scornful eyebrows. Her words 
 seemed to transport him to a still farther plane. 
 
 "Sorry," he said abruptly. "I made a mistake. 
 I thought you were a woman. I forgot for the 
 moment that you were a fixed star, shining remotely 
 above petty humanity." 
 
 His words stung, and her sense of justice rebelled 
 against them. How dared he, the aggressor, try to 
 put her in the wrong? 
 
 "No, "she said. "No." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Oh, I am a woman," she cried straight from the 
 depths of her sore heart. 
 
 He started and bent towards her, melted by her 
 tone. 
 
 "You are. The dearest " he began. 
 
 In a moment the miserable story would have been 
 out, the faulty confession of poor humanity would 
 have been made, and Hesper, out of the strength and 
 purity of her love, would have helped and healed him, 
 would have given of her best to strengthen his weak- 
 ness, would have striven to aid him to lift his tattered 
 ideals out of the mire, and so doing, would have found 
 double joys of knowledge and service; for sweeter 
 even than the knowledge of the man's love to the
 
 286 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 woman is the sense that she is able to help him in the 
 greater things of life if not in the lesser. 
 
 But it was not to be. Through the fast-falling dusk 
 came Gerda and Hildred to point out the nearing 
 Assuan, and the moment had passed for ever into the 
 grey valley where lie the days that were, and the 
 lost moments of life. 
 
 Afterwards Ivors would have given all he held dear 
 if he could, like the King of Averon, have gone down 
 on his knees and searched among "the dusty heap of 
 forgotten days" to find his yesterday and "certain 
 hours that were gone." He would have invoked the 
 Harper with the golden Harp to whose strings clung 
 " some seconds out of the lost hours and little happen- 
 ings of the days that were" ; but in vain, for opportun- 
 ity, if unseized in the instant of passing, is irrecoverable 
 as yesterday and unattainable as to-morrow. 
 
 The sky was deep blue and star-filled, and the town 
 of Assuan a semicircle of twinkling lights below it. 
 They glimmered on the palm-fringed Elephantine 
 Island like stray fireflies ; and shone on the steamers 
 and dahabiehs in orange clusters, casting quivering 
 reflections in the water. 
 
 "There's Assuan!" cried Gerda. 
 
 "Yes," answered Ivors, adding under his breath, 
 "thank God!" 
 
 "We shan't lose sight of you altogether, Mr. Ivors? 
 You '11 come back to us again, won't you?" 
 
 " If the Fates permit. " 
 
 " Can't you coax them a little? They 're only 
 women, after all." 
 
 "There 's nothing in the world more adamantine 
 than a woman, or more incomprehensible."
 
 " He Who Is Not a Fool" 287 
 
 "Come, now!" 
 
 "Proteus, who was supposed by some to have been 
 King of Egypt, was a woman really, " Ivors continued. 
 "Nothing else could have changed so quickly. His 
 favourite metamorphosis was being a man, of course, 
 for he was afraid that if he assumed his true shape 
 the other goddesses might kill him!" 
 
 "I thought they were all supposed to be im- 
 mortal " 
 
 "Which things are an allegory, " said Ivors, looking, 
 unrestrainedly now, thanks to the blue dusk, at the 
 profile beside him, the soft masses of hair, the clear- 
 cut outline of cheek and chin supported by one slim 
 hand. The other hung by her side and tempted him. 
 Unseen he seized it in his own and pressed it passion- 
 ately. At the contact the fire which ran through the 
 veins of both met and mingled. Hesper did not dare 
 to make any violent movement lest it should draw 
 upon her the scrutiny of sharp young eyes, and Ivors 
 knew, and, unpardonably, counted on this. Then as 
 suddenly as he had taken her hand he released it, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Hesper turned and walked away, despising herself 
 for the mad joy that the moment's contact had roused 
 in her. 
 
 Ivors put his hand unsteadily on Hildred's shoulder. 
 
 "You don't really want me, little girl, do you?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She looked up at him, trying to see whether the 
 question held appeal or assertion. 
 
 "Of course not," she answered. "I shall be very 
 happy here." 
 
 "I hope you will," he said, with a sudden and
 
 288 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 apparently unnecessary emphasis. "Lord! I hope 
 you will." 
 
 That evening, in spite of all, the strain was lightened 
 for the only two who had felt it. 
 
 Hesper played her emotions through nocturne and 
 caprice into the Pilger-Chor, and Ivors sang some of his 
 unavailing passion into lyric and love-song. In an 
 odd contradictory way these two illogical beings 
 tasted happiness in those last fast-fleeting hours; for 
 Ivors knew that he had touched a woman, not a star, 
 and Hesper's heart pulsed quicker with an absurd 
 delight that he had called her "dearest. " 
 
 Whether Ivors tried to wheedle the Fates or not the 
 fact remains that Assuan did not see him again that 
 winter, save for a fleeting visit to the Nitocris before 
 catching a train which was to take him back to 
 Luxor. 
 
 He found no one on board but Lady Nugent, who 
 begged him to leave Hildred with them until the 
 Nitocris returned to Luxor. 
 
 "They are having such a lovely time," she said. 
 "Dances, tennis, camel-rides, desert picnics, all sorts 
 of fun. We have met several old friends and have 
 made many new ones. It would be a thousand pities 
 to take her away, and my young people would be 
 lost without her. " 
 
 "I will gladly leave her for the present, as you 
 are good enough to want her, but you must n't let her 
 outstay her welcome. " 
 
 "There is no fear of that," beamed Lady Nugent. 
 
 "She is greatly sought after. Indeed, all my girls 
 are, for I may include Miss Marlowe too." She 
 paused. She was not pleased with Ivors for having,
 
 " He Who Is Not a Fool" 289 
 
 as she thought, neglected the chance thrown in his 
 path. She felt that she would like to show him 
 what he had lost. "Miss Marlowe is tremendously 
 admired." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 "Her type so unusual, you know." 
 
 Ivors knew. 
 
 "There are crowds, of course, but one in particular ! " 
 
 Ivors had been waiting for this. 
 
 "A German Count Graf von Biilitz very rich, 
 charming, a castle on the Rhine " 
 
 "Take care that it's not a castle in Spain," said 
 Ivors, inwardly consigning Germany in general and 
 Graf von Biilitz in particular to fiercest flames. 
 
 "Oh, no. He 's well accredited, and so handsome. 
 Dances divinely, I believe." 
 
 Ivors thought of that night at Minieh when he had 
 danced into love with Hesper, and felt the stored 
 jealousy of hot unreasoning youth surge within him. 
 He rose to go. 
 
 "Please convey my congratulations to her," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, nothing 's settled at all. It 's only " 
 
 "Oh, it 's only is it?" said Ivors, relieved. 
 
 As he went up the bank towards the palm-shaded 
 railway-station, dispersing wild-haired Bisharin and 
 vociferous sellers of bead-chains and mock antiquities 
 with a few well-chosen Arabic phrases, he pondered 
 long and earnestly upon the fable of the dog in the 
 
 manger. 
 19
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE TOLL 
 
 "Dahabieh Nitocris, Assuan. 
 " I WANT to come back to you. Please write to 
 
 1 Lady Nugent and demand me. " 
 
 Such was the gist of a letter from Hildred which 
 Ivors received late in February. It roused an un- 
 wonted sensation, and soothed, in a measure, the aching 
 sense of need, of loss which he had felt ever since he 
 left Hesper. She had put to flight his old preconceived 
 ideas of the eternal feminine ; she had aroused within 
 him a perception of the ideal, unlike the butterfly ca- 
 prices which in other women had attracted and amused 
 him. He had, in his easy, selfish way, demanded 
 nothing of life save his art and his amusement. A 
 certain selective fastidiousness had always supplied 
 the demand. He had flitted on, oblivious of duty or 
 responsibility, unaware of the vast net which sur- 
 rounded him and which would one day imprison him 
 when he really wanted to try his wings. Of the 
 higher beauties of self-sacrifice, of self-denial, he knew 
 nothing. His art, his sense of the beautiful, asserted 
 claims, but there was no unselfishness in satisfying 
 these; and the divine discontent which is the spur 
 to every artist alone saved him from sinking into 
 
 290
 
 The Toll 291 
 
 the slough of complacency. He was one of Nature's 
 spoilt children, and the secret of his retention of youth 
 was his constant demand " I want. I want. I want." 
 Until now he had always received. Of course there 
 had been a void, but he had accepted that as incidental 
 to his temperament until Hesper came. By the won- 
 der and generosity of its filling he had suddenly 
 realised the immensity of the vacuum, and almost 
 coincident with the recognition had come its with- 
 drawal. It was as if a "magic casement" had been 
 opened for a moment, and then not only closed, but 
 barred and shuttered in his face. 
 
 He felt an unwonted eagerness to see Hildred again, 
 a swift desire for his own flesh and blood. What had 
 he not wilfully missed all these years? He must try 
 to make it up to the child now if she would let him. 
 The possibility of doubt peeped at him out of her 
 mother's grey eyes, but with his usual impetuosity, 
 his usual certainty that things must go as he desired 
 them, he swept the idea away. This new revelation 
 of his failure in duty, this awakening to a sense of 
 responsibility, had come late, but it had come, and 
 this was indirectly due to Hesper. All these long 
 miserably empty weeks, which he had tried to fill 
 with the husks which once had satisfied him, had 
 been productive of thought if nothing else. He 
 had striven to quell the passion which consumed 
 him like a flame, and found that a certain amount 
 of strength had come with the effort, a strength 
 which he did not dare to put to the test of seeing 
 her again. 
 
 Hildred found him looking thinner and older when 
 they met. She herself radiated health and self-con-
 
 292 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 fidence, and with a sense of apprehension Ivors read 
 purpose in her every movement. 
 
 "It is nice to see you again, little girl," he said, 
 tucking his hand through her arm. "You've im- 
 proved too, or is it a case of absence making the heart 
 grow fonder?" 
 
 Hildred laughed. "Perhaps a little of both," she 
 returned. "Roddy was always telling me that I had 
 grown fat, but I don't think that 's possible with all 
 the exercise I took." 
 
 "Let 's sit down," he said, "and tell me all about 
 everything. This is my special corner." 
 
 He led her across the lounge of the hotel to a nook 
 containing two luxurious chairs, sheltered by a mush- 
 rabiyeh screen, and a tall palm which gave some sense 
 of seclusion. 
 
 " Let 's see," he began. "You are a famous tennis- 
 player, aren't you?" 
 
 "A champion," she laughed. "And I won the 
 camel race at the last gymkhana, and first prize at 
 the Fancy Dress Ball." 
 
 " How could you tear yourself from these delights? " 
 
 " I got suddenly tired of it. " She grew rather red, 
 and pulled at a leaf of the palm. 
 
 "Hum," said her father. "Was there a masculine 
 reason, by any chance?" 
 
 Hildred sat up suddenly. "How did you know? 
 Who told you?" 
 
 "No one. A simple process of deduction. It 
 does n't take acute perceptive power to guess the 
 reasons which would induce flight at the zenith of a 
 successful season. They dwindle rapidly to two 
 a quarrel or a love-affair. I did not think that you
 
 The Toll 293 
 
 would quarrel with our excellent friends, so voild!" 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and Hildred felt unreason- 
 ably annoyed. 
 
 "There was a man, " she admitted, "who could not 
 be taught the meaning of the word no. " 
 
 "Some men are slow learners. Was he im- 
 possible?" 
 
 "For me, yes. I don't want to marry," she said 
 suddenly. "I have no place for that sort of thing in 
 my life." 
 
 "Ah, going to play King Canute, are you? A 
 difficult r61e, and one in which you will probably be 
 quite as successful as he was!" 
 
 The light mockery of the tone stung Hildred, and 
 made her feel young and insignificant. After all, she 
 was nearly twenty-one. The moulding of her own 
 life had been thrust on her; she was not going to let 
 any one interfere now. She turned his words against 
 himself. 
 
 "Why did you flee from the Nitocris?" she asked 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment with an odd impulse 
 towards confidence, hesitant lest she should misunder- 
 stand. Then he followed her train of reasoning to a 
 different conclusion. 
 
 " I was afraid of being drowned, " he answered, with 
 deliberate lightness. "I found that I had assumed 
 the Canute-r61e unawares, and that if I sat much 
 longer I should have got very wet indeed. " 
 
 "You mean ?" she asked, only half under- 
 standing. 
 
 "I mean," he said quietly, "that I found that Miss 
 Marlowe's friendship was becoming too dangerous for
 
 294 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 me, so I sought safety in flight. That 's all. Don't 
 comment. " 
 
 " I had no intention of doing so. " 
 
 It was a strange confession for a father to make to a 
 daughter, and it half drew, half repelled her. She 
 saw in a flash the pitfalls which her mother had 
 avoided while leaving him to skirt them or fall in as 
 best he might. The gulf of temperament loomed be- 
 fore her, made doubly dangerous by the infinite com- 
 plexities of human nature. For a moment she felt 
 that she hated life with its tangling threads, that she 
 hated men, that she hated women, that she hated all 
 the artificial complications which hemmed her in ; that 
 she, too, longed for flight. 
 
 "It is better to fill one's life with work and avoid 
 these possibilities," she said, after a pause. 
 
 "Ah, there 's the crux. If you can. " 
 
 "I mean to try." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes. That was what I wanted to come and talk 
 to you about. " 
 
 Ivors felt jarred, chilled. "Surely we have not 
 come to the parting of the ways yet." 
 
 " In a sense I think we have. " 
 
 "But I 've seen so little of you!" 
 
 "Whose fault was that?" 
 
 "Horribly right, as usual." 
 
 "I won't talk about it now, if you'd rather not." 
 
 "After all, what 's the good of postponement? We 
 may as well have it out now, and forget it afterwards. " 
 
 Yes, that was his attitude towards life, Hildred 
 thought, to forget the unpleasant as soon as possible, 
 where actual avoidance was out of the question.
 
 The Toll 295 
 
 "You remember that the agreement was that at 
 the end of the year I was to have a choice." 
 
 Ivors nodded. 
 
 "There were three alternatives. I might live 
 with mother, with you, or choose my own career," 
 Hildred continued, selecting her words carefully. 
 
 "And you Ve chosen," said Ivors, rising suddenly. 
 "No need to tell me. I know which. The eternal 
 ego!" 
 
 "That 's not fair, father, " cried Hildred. 
 
 "No, it's not," he said, sitting down again. "I, 
 in my thinnest of glass houses, have no right to cast 
 that particular stone. Tell me more. " 
 
 " My mother does not want me. You do not need 
 
 
 
 "Are you so sure of that?" 
 
 Her eyes were blind to the appeal in his. They 
 strained towards some distant desired goal. "Oh, 
 you don't really want me. I am in no way neces- 
 sary to you. We need n't quibble about words. 
 I want " 
 
 "Yes, I see that." 
 
 "Father, why will you interrupt and misjudge?" 
 she cried impatiently. "I have a right to a hearing, 
 at any rate." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, my dear," he returned gently, 
 watching the disappearance of a scarcely acknow- 
 ledged hope. "Go on. I won't interrupt again, I 
 promise you." 
 
 "You have your art, your friends, your life, in which 
 I have no place. I want the same for myself. I 
 mean independence, the chance of doing the things 
 my heart is set on."
 
 296 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " You have your art, your friends, your life, in which 
 I have no place. " 
 
 The words leaped from the past like a flash of light- 
 ning. The tone was young, eager, impulsive, instead 
 of being tinged bitterly with hatred. 
 
 That was the only difference. This was the toll 
 that the years demanded of him. The careless days 
 which had slipped through his fingers like grains of 
 sand now loomed almost mountainous. The past 
 can never die; its debtor always has to pay. Ivors 
 could not now demand that which he had wilfully, 
 deliberately cast aside. The grey eyes of his daughter, 
 alight with enthusiasm as they were, accused him 
 like conscience. He leaned his elbow on the chair, 
 and, shading his eyes with his hand, sat and 
 listened. 
 
 Hildred's words tumbled out unchecked. Her face 
 was glowing, vivid, as with the splendid selfishness of 
 youth she poured forth her plans, desires, and aims. 
 It appeared that she had long desired to be a hospital 
 nurse, and that, thanks to Dr. Lisle, the very post she 
 would have wished for now awaited her. His sister, 
 who was matron of a Children's Hospital in Surrey, 
 would be delighted to have her as probationer. She 
 wanted her to come in March, and that was why 
 and so on, round the circle again. She was so tired of 
 doing nothing; she wanted to be of some use in the 
 world; she wanted a life, a place of her own. 
 
 "Who is this Dr. Lisle?" 
 
 " He is doctor at Burnaby. He is considered very 
 clever. My mother knows him." 
 
 "Doubtless he has all the virtues," said her father 
 drily. " Does he understand the value and meaning
 
 The Toll 297 
 
 of the simple negative, or is that an art which he has 
 yet to learn?" 
 
 Hildred's cheeks burned, and the thought of the art 
 which Dr. Lisle professed to practise rose to her mind, 
 and unreasonably sharpened her tongue. 
 
 "Why do you always laugh at things?" she de- 
 manded hotly. "I suppose you disapprove." 
 
 "Is n't it better to laugh than to cry?" he said with 
 his whimsical smile. "I hate your whiner. And as 
 for disapproving, on the contrary, my dear, I think, 
 that you have chosen wisely. I quite acknowledge 
 that neither your mother nor I have the slightest 
 right to control your actions; we forfeited that long 
 ago. I only realise it now. You have a great deal 
 to forgive, Hildred, and I, for one, am sorry." 
 
 The girl was touched, melted. Her heart wanned 
 to her father as it had never done before. She 
 stretched out her hand impulsively. 
 
 " If you ask me I '11 stay, " she cried. 
 
 He shook his head. How could he ask her now? 
 
 "I'll only ask one thing, little girl," he returned, 
 "and that is that you '11 come to me if ever I am in 
 real need of you. " 
 
 "I will. Indeed I will," she answered. 
 
 "That 's a bargain, then," said Ivors, rising. 
 "We '11 go down to Cairo to-morrow, and enjoy 
 ourselves until it is time for you to depart."
 
 PART III 
 THE LOVERS 
 
 299
 
 CHAPTER I 
 "THERE is NO ARMOUR AGAINST FATE" 
 
 IVORS drifted about the world like a blown leaf, 
 1 seeking peace and finding none. The moment 
 that he rested quiescent in some half-forgotten 
 corner a gust of impatient longing would seize, 
 rend, and drive him forth again on his fruitless 
 quest. He lost all joy in his art; the zest of living 
 was quenched for him; he wandered from one sun- 
 filled nook to another, and saw neither the sunshine 
 nor the flowers. Once or twice he caught a glimpse 
 of himself as he was, and the sight shook him 
 a hollow-cheeked man, wasted by the flame of passion 
 which consumed him. He had never experienced 
 such a devastating influence before, nor one in which 
 the base and the good were so inextricably mixed. 
 At times he felt that he could easily revert to the 
 ancestral beast; at others he felt that he could soar 
 to the potential angel which is in man. He did 
 neither, mentally nor physically. He trod a uniform 
 plane of dulness which had nothing in it to arrest, to 
 grip. He walked a grey world which was only lit by 
 the fire of despair. 
 
 At last Fate, Chance, Destiny what you will led 
 him to the Island of Capri. 
 
 301
 
 302 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 The day was blue and sparkling and the scent of 
 flowers filled the air. 
 
 After luncheon the padrona of the vine-wreathed 
 albergo advised him to go into the garden : " The view 
 of the bay and the distant Napoli was superb, but 
 superb in truth." 
 
 Ivors went through the open door, out under a 
 pergola of roses whose summer incense was one with 
 the day and the hour, down the grey stone steps of 
 little terraces over which tumbled torrents of pink 
 geraniums and warm-scented carnations, until he 
 came to the last of all, beneath which an orange-grove 
 and a peach-orchard dipped suddenly to the dancing 
 sapphire of the sea. The broad leaves and green 
 clusters of a vine drooped over a little arbour at one 
 end, in which moved a glimmer of white. 
 
 Ivors walked towards it unseeing, not realising that 
 it was tenanted until he came face to face with its 
 occupant. 
 
 She looked up at his approach and their eyes met. 
 He whitened as if under a great shock. 
 
 " My God ! " he whispered below his breath. " Hes- 
 per ! Hesper B elhasard ! ' ' 
 
 Hesper sat speechless, incapable of word or motion, 
 but her eyes answered him, drew him. He stumbled 
 forward, like one who is blinded by a sudden light, 
 half -fell, half -knelt at her feet, and putting his arms 
 about her hid his face against her breast. 
 
 Time ceased to exist ; the world was emptied of all 
 humanity save the two only, who clung to each other 
 long and desperately, as if to assure themselves by 
 the mere sense of touch that the beloved one was 
 really within grasp after these empty aeons.
 
 " No Armour Against Fate" 303 
 
 At last Ivors moved, and putting up his hands drew 
 Hesper's face towards his own. They kissed. 
 
 " Now you are mine, " he said in a whisper. " Now 
 you are mine. How I have wanted you!" 
 
 The time for query or comment was not yet. The 
 golden moment was to be rounded to completeness 
 before the intrusion of the actual. 
 
 After murmurs and broken phrases came the un- 
 surpassed eloquence of the three magic words, " I love 
 you," which vary so wondrously with each repetition. 
 With the oft-rung changes the sense of possession 
 came to Ivors. 
 
 "I '11 never let you go again," he murmured, tight- 
 ening his clasp. 
 
 "No," she breathed in soft ecstasy. "No." 
 
 " You have a lot to make up for, Hesper Belhasard. " 
 He touched at last the tendril of hair unrebuked. 
 
 "I know. I know." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 " I know that you have led a lonely and unsatisfied 
 life since " 
 
 "Since?" 
 
 "Since she died," answered Hesper softly. 
 
 Ivors's clasp slackened. "Since who died?" 
 
 "Your wife." 
 
 He drew away. The golden moment was shattered. 
 For a brief space he had absolutely and completely 
 forgotten the existence of Harriet Ivors, of any barrier, 
 tangible or intangible, which could exist to separate 
 him from the woman he loved. 
 
 Hesper felt chilled. It had been foolish of her to 
 mention his wife at such a time ; she should not have 
 done it. In the realisation of her own love she had
 
 304 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 often thought, half -pityingly, half -enviously, of the 
 other woman who had shared his life for a time and 
 then been reft away. A cloud had come over their 
 glorious sunshine, and it was she who had evoked it. 
 She bent shyly towards Ivors and touched his cheek 
 lightly with the back of her hand, a fleeting caress 
 whose satin brevity woke a thirst that mocked at 
 denial. 
 
 "I 'm sorry," she said. "I love you." She elon- 
 gated the "o" in the way Hildred had liked. 
 
 This was Ivors's moment: the great opportunity 
 which comes but once. Destiny held the scales: in 
 one temptation, in the other renunciation. He had 
 to speak now or for ever after hold his peace. He had 
 only to tell Hesper that she had made a mistake, that 
 his wife was not dead, and he would lose her again for 
 ever. The thought that through their mutual pain 
 they might win peace never occurred to him. It was 
 the pang of the moment which pierced him. He had 
 only to be silent to take what Fate thrust at him, this 
 transcendent gift, this exquisite joy 
 
 The struggle was brief. Swayed by impulse, over- 
 mastered by the rushing wind of his selfish passion, he 
 clutched at the Psyche-wings of happiness, unheeding 
 whether he brushed off their bloom or crushed them 
 in his rough grasp. 
 
 No sense of sin or wrong to Hesper crossed his 
 mind. The knowledge of her ignorance brought too 
 fierce, too subtle a temptation to be wrestled with. 
 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. 
 
 "You need n't be too sorry for me," he said, "I 
 she we did n't get on. I don't want to talk about 
 it. It hurts."
 
 4 'No Armour Against Fate" 305 
 
 "My dearest," she breathed, all warm love and 
 desire to heal. She touched his cheek again, and 
 held her own against it in a shy caress. "Why did 
 you run away from the Nitocris?" 
 
 "I did n't run away from the Nitocris. I ran away 
 from you." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "I was afraid." 
 
 "Of me?" 
 
 "Ah, but you need n't have been." 
 
 "I didn't realise," said Ivors with a long breath 
 that was half a sigh. Then he shivered. 
 
 "You have n't caught cold?" 
 
 "No. Oh, no." 
 
 "I am going to take such care of you, such great, 
 great care of you; I am going to be such a despot 
 that you " 
 
 "You a despot?" He kissed her fingers. "That 
 I What?" 
 
 "That you will be sorry you ever married me." 
 Her pulses fluttered. Life was very sweet. 
 
 Ivors shivered again, and strained her closely to him. 
 
 "How could I, how could any man ever be sorry he 
 married you? My God, Hesper, don't talk such mad 
 nonsense." 
 
 His fierceness did not frighten her. She only 
 laughed out of the fulness of her content. " I won't. 
 I '11 thank God instead. " 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "For you," she whispered. 
 
 It was then that the iron began to enter into Ivors's 
 soul ; then that he dimly realised the truth which old 
 Hesiod had discovered some thirty centuries before,
 
 306 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 that when a man commits a sin at that instant he sows 
 the seed of his own punishment. 
 
 With a great cry he flung himself at her feet, and 
 clasped her knees. 
 
 "Don't," he cried in a choked voice. "Don't. 
 I 'm not worthy " 
 
 He would tell her to-morrow, he thought. He 
 could not tell her now. He must have a few hours 
 of happiness before she knew the truth. No one 
 could grudge him that a few crumbs of joy before he 
 starved again. She had been craving too. It could 
 hurt no one. They must, they must be happy together 
 for a little. It was the call of primitive Nature which 
 pierces through the thickest veneer of civilisation, the 
 cry of the man for his woman, his mate. It was the 
 axis upon which the world of creation turned ; it was 
 the Song of the Nile translated into humanity. 
 
 And Hesper was happy. She drank from a full cup 
 for the first time in her life. Even in those first hours 
 he seemed to fulfil every need of her being, the mother- 
 need, the lover-need, the comrade-need. He called 
 and she responded, she cried and he answered. 
 
 They sat there in a dream until the sun disappeared 
 behind the happy Isles to the westward, bathing 
 them in a golden haze, and turning the sea to a faery 
 lake whose molten ripples merged from gold to pale 
 rose and amethyst, while the blue wonder beneath 
 them deepened almost to purple. 
 
 He found that Hesper was staying at the little 
 inn, and said that he would come there too, but she 
 demurred. 
 
 "Better not, perhaps," he said. "Where is your 
 maid?"
 
 "No Armour Against Fate" 307 
 
 "Nanno's mother was ill, and wanted to see her 
 before she died, so she has gone back to Ireland. She 
 will be with me again later on. " 
 
 "AndtheNugents?" 
 
 " They 've gone home to Buckinghamshire. They 
 wanted me to come too, but I could n't somehow. I 
 felt that I had to be alone for a little." 
 
 "Did I make you unhappy?" Ivors asked in low 
 strained tones. 
 
 "Very, very unhappy.' 
 
 "But you are happy now?" 
 
 " Beyond words, " she answered simply, turning and 
 smiling at him. 
 
 In the waning light her face seemed transfigured 
 with the sense of that inward spiritual flame which 
 Hildred had once noted. 
 
 "To have made a woman happy, even for an hour, 
 is something to one's credit," he said slowly, as if 
 arguing with an unseen auditor. 
 
 "What will it be for a whole life, then?" asked 
 Hesper. After a moment she whispered, " Do I make 
 you happy?" 
 
 He crushed her fiercely to him. " Transcendently, 
 gloriously," he cried with defiance. 
 
 Later the padrona came bustling down the 
 steps. 
 
 "Ah! the signorina has found an acquaintance," 
 she said, scenting intrigue with smiling delight. 
 
 " More than an acquaintance, signora. The signore 
 and I are going to be married." 
 
 "Now may all the saints bless and protect you," 
 she cried, "but this is good news. The signore knew 
 you were here?"
 
 308 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "But no," replied Hesper smiling. "It was the 
 merest chance. " 
 
 "AlacchM" cried the plump padrona, lifting her 
 hands. "Then I was the messenger of Love. " 
 
 The solidity of Cupid's emissary tickled Ivors's 
 sense of humour. He pressed a gold coin into her 
 hand. 
 
 "Will you buy yourself a memento of the occasion, 
 signora," he said with his most winning smile, "and 
 honour me by so doing?" 
 
 "Milord has a good heart," said the padrona, 
 promptly ennobling him. " I came to inquire about 
 the signorina's dinner. " 
 
 "Prepare a feast for us," Ivors ordered. "Your 
 best dishes, your best wine. Nectar and ambrosia, 
 which are surely to be found in this enchanted spot. " 
 
 "Si, signer e. It shall be ready in one little half- 
 hour. You shall have a frittura but a frithtral" 
 Uplifted hands and eyes gave but a faint indication 
 of the delectability of the frittura. 
 
 The little meal might have been composed of nectar 
 and ambrosia or of bread and water ; Ivors could not 
 have told ; he ate, and drank, and looked at Hesper, 
 and vowed that it was a feast fit for the gods. He 
 toasted her with lips and eyes, tasting for the moment 
 a purer, better feeling than had been his consciously 
 for years. 
 
 There was a sense of intimacy, of domesticity in the 
 little feast. Ivors waited assiduously on Hesper with 
 all the sweet observances of love. His gaiety returned 
 to him in fitful flashes, but for the most part they were 
 wrapped in the content of the knowledge of each 
 other's presence. The padrona hovered sympathetic-
 
 "No Armour Against Fate" 309 
 
 ally in the background. The maid, Rosina, twinkled 
 eyes and earrings at them with an understanding of 
 which they were only half -conscious. They were ab- 
 sorbed in each other with that happy, isolated absorp- 
 tion in which lovers can envelop themselves as in a 
 cloud. 
 
 After dinner the great bay was flooded with moon- 
 light. The warm air was scented with the essence of 
 carnation and rose ; beyond the plain of silver sparkles 
 loomed mysterious purple outlines of dim isle or misty 
 headland. 
 
 From a peach-tree in the hidden orchard a night- 
 ingale "her amorous descant sung. Silence was 
 pleased." 
 
 The two who listened heard the music of the spheres, 
 or the beating of their own hearts, or perhaps nothing 
 at all. They talked in murmurs or were silent, while 
 moonlight, melody, and perfume melted into one magic 
 spell. 
 
 When at last Ivors tore himself away he thought as 
 he lingered on the narrow dusty road, " To-morrow, 
 to-morrow I must tell her. " 
 
 But he felt for the moment like a man who had 
 been through the fires of hell, and who was now 
 restored to the middle world, the clean sweet earth, 
 and given a chance to live and breathe again. He 
 drew in the perfumed air and squared his shoulders. 
 
 "To-morrow I will try to tell her, " he amended.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 "WHERE is YOUR TO-MORROW?" 
 
 BUT to-morrow, when it merged into to-day, 
 blue, dancing, sun-filled, did not bring the 
 revelation of the truth to Ivors's lips. 
 
 Hesper was so radiant when they met, so beautiful, 
 so happy, with gay carnations stuck in her belt, and a 
 holiday air which no man, especially one who loved her 
 as he did, could do anything to spoil, that he was 
 tongue-tied upon the one essential subject. 
 
 Without strenuous effort he cast the thought from 
 him, and made holiday with her. She knew an 
 enchanting nook among the rocks beyond the Piccola 
 Marina a little cove spread with silver sand and 
 lipped by blue, crested waves. The padrona had put 
 up luncheon for them chicken, and rolls, and fruit 
 and wine they would have a dream-day, she asserted, 
 a day quite good enough to be true. 
 
 Who could have the heart to quench such delicious 
 happiness? Not a man of Ivors's temperament. 
 
 He laughed, he responded to her lightest change of 
 mood, as her steps had responded to his in that unfor- 
 gotten dance; he even teased her a little. To think 
 that she was here to-day within touch, that he could 
 have the incredible audacity to tease her, while this 
 
 310
 
 " Where is Your To-Morrow ? " 311 
 
 time yesterday he had been eating heart and soul out 
 for lack of her! The Fates had provided a feast for 
 him; they should find him no churlish guest. 
 
 Once Hesper spoke of Hildred. 
 
 "Do you think she will be pleased?" she asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 Ivors lay on the sand beside her, with his hat tilted 
 over his eyes. 
 
 "Pleased at what?" he inquired unnecessarily. 
 
 "Pleased to hear about us," she answered. "I 
 think I hope she will. I am very fond of Hildred. 
 We drew rather close to each other that last month 
 at Assuan. " 
 
 Ivors cleared his throat. "I am sure she would be 
 very pleased," he lied sturdily, "if she knew." 
 
 Hesper looked at him in some surprise. "Why 
 if? Are you not going to tell her?" 
 
 Ivors turned over and rested his face against her 
 knee; he did not want to look in her eyes at that 
 moment. 
 
 "I of course if you wish it, " he began. Then he 
 plunged into halting, awkward speech. 
 
 "Beloved, I we I have had so little real happi- 
 ness that I thought I hoped Lord! why am I so 
 like a stammering schoolboy?" He stopped, torn 
 with the need of her, knowing his weakness, hating 
 himself for lying to her, yet desiring her above all 
 things in heaven or earth. 
 
 "What is it, dearest?" she asked softly, caressing 
 his bent head. 
 
 The touch soothed him, as contact with her always 
 did. 
 
 "You have healing fingers, Hesper Belhasard," he
 
 312 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 said, kissing them. "What I would say is only this. 
 Can we not keep this happiness, this wonderful 
 precious thing to ourselves for the present? We 
 are rather derelict, you and I. There is no one who 
 really needs us but each other. " 
 
 What could she say? His words touched truth and 
 woke a feeling too deep for speech. They had only 
 each other, but it was a possession that meant hap- 
 piness. Her eyes filled and she pressed Ivors's head 
 closer against her knee. 
 
 At last she found words. 
 
 "Yes," she said very softly. "It shall be as you 
 wish. There is no one who need know. The Nugents 
 are going to Japan; my relations never write to me. 
 Hildred is busy and happy, but not so happy as I. 
 Oh, no one in the wide world could possibly be as 
 happy as I am ! My dear ! My dearest ! ' ' 
 
 He caught her hand in his and held it over his eyes. 
 He felt humble yet radiant a king among men, yet 
 a slave who was unworthy to kiss her feet. He made 
 a final tentative effort. 
 
 " Don't think me a conceited ass, Hesper, " he said, 
 with some hesitation, "but would it hurt you very 
 much if if we had to part again?" 
 
 Hesper's eyes darkened with pain as fear clutched at 
 her heart. Her face grew white under the pang of 
 the piercing suggestion. She had no conception of 
 the issues involved; she only thought of the past 
 suffering which had merged into these hours of ecstasy, 
 and all her womanhood shrank from the thought of 
 its repetition. It was the flesh which answered rather 
 than the spirit. 
 
 "I think I should die," she whispered. Then
 
 " Where is Your To-Morrow ? " 313 
 
 turning away, her voice choked, "of course if if 
 you don't want me " 
 
 In a moment Ivors was on his knees beside her, 
 holding her to him with that clasp of fierce defiance. 
 
 "My beloved! My soul! My white star! of 
 course I want you more than anything in heaven or 
 earth. Every fibre of me cries out for you. My own. 
 My own. " 
 
 "You should n't frighten me so," she said at last. 
 ' ' Let us be happy while we know we are happy. Don't 
 let us do anything to spoil it. Outside things may 
 happen, but we 
 
 "Things shan't happen. You are mine and I am 
 yours, and no one shall separate us now." 
 
 The scales went down. Ivors had made his choice. 
 He would carry this through, come what might. He 
 was no murderer to kill the thing he loved; he was 
 never one to deny the joy of life to any. He persuaded 
 himself that he was doing Harriet no moral wrong; 
 that she had never been a true wife to him seemed now 
 an inverted reason in favour of his action. He loved, 
 he adored Hesper; in her he found his fullest com- 
 plement. Why should he slay this late-found perfect 
 happiness? Rapidly his mind ran over the arguments 
 with which men in his case have dulled reason and 
 stifled conscience, ending up with the inevitable justi- 
 fication : " In the eyes of God we shall be man and wife. " 
 
 He threw all qualms behind him, and rose to the 
 crest of this wave of joy. He was his gayest, most 
 charming self, surrounding the woman he loved with 
 little tendernesses, with new felicitous ways of making 
 love, with innumerable delicate means of showing her 
 what she really was to him. He soothed her fears and
 
 314 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 healed the hurts which he himself had made, and 
 through it all asked, asked, asked out of the abund- 
 ance of Hesper's warm generous nature. He could 
 never ask too much. 
 
 Day by day they discovered new sympathies in each 
 other, new shades of character, new mutual meeting- 
 places. She laughed at him for his petulances, he 
 teased her about her swift withdrawals. 
 
 "Into your shell like a snail the moment I come 
 too near!" he said once. 
 
 "Ah, you never come too near really, " she answered 
 caressingly. "That was in the dark past. I could 
 say anything, almost, to you now. Is n't it odd how 
 much more intimately one can talk to a man than to a 
 woman about most things?" 
 
 " Not to a man, to the man, " returned Ivors quickly. 
 
 "Ah, yes, that 's it. You always express what I feel 
 but can't say." 
 
 "My gift of words," he said half -lightly, half- 
 bitterly , ' ' has been a useful cloak to me. I now spread 
 it in homage beneath your feet. " 
 
 "What did it cover? " she asked softly. " Tell me, 
 lest I should tread too heavily upon it. " 
 
 "Pain and pleasure, disappointment and, lately, 
 misery." 
 
 "Ah, but that was in the dark past," she coaxed. 
 "We have agreed to let that mediaeval time remain 
 in oblivion." 
 
 "As much as we can," he agreed, "but the past, 
 dark or otherwise, has an ugly knack of poking its 
 head up when you least expect it. " 
 
 Hesper gave a little shiver. "You make me think 
 of a snake."
 
 " Where is Your To-Morrow ? " 315 
 
 He drew her closer to him. "Was there ever a 
 garden of Eden without its serpent? We must be 
 historically correct, my Eve. We can't expect every- 
 thing, you know." 
 
 "We have everything, I think," she said with a 
 happy little laugh. "There is no flaw in my 'ship of 
 amber.' It is as clear as as clear as " 
 
 "Butter," he suggested. "There is a wealth of 
 suggestion in that image if you are only able to 
 delve deep enough for it." 
 
 "One needn't delve deep into butter," she said, 
 crinkling up her eyes at him. " It 's the same all the 
 way through!" 
 
 "That 's more than you are," he answered, with a 
 swift flight from the general to the particular. ' ' Every 
 day I discover something new in you. Do you know, 
 Hesper Belhasard, that you are the most absolutely 
 delicious, exquisite, tantalising, satisfying, adorable 
 creature that ever trod this unworthy earth?" 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush!" It was to be noted that the 
 mild protest came after the assertion. The words 
 rang bells of melody in Hesper 's heart. She loved to 
 hear them, but discounted their extravagance as 
 tinged with the glamour of love. 
 
 "You '11 find some day that your swan is a goose," 
 she murmured. 
 
 "Oh, no," he returned unexpectedly. "I knew it 
 was a goose all the time. No one but a goose would 
 ever have cared so much about me!" 
 
 They made plans and unmade them, which is an 
 altogether delightful thing to do when only two people 
 in absolute accord are concerned. Ivors was to show
 
 316 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 her all his favourite haunts ; they were to drift at will 
 to all the lovely half-forgotten places he knew of; 
 he was to paint dreams and she was to live them. 
 They were to have an idyll without end. They had 
 left out of their quest the little Green Bird who knows 
 everything and contented themselves with having 
 captured the Blue Bird of Happiness, whose eyes 
 they had dazzled with the Love-Colour. 
 
 No beaten track should ring with their tread ; they 
 spoke of Dalmatia, and some little-known islands 
 beyond Venice, and one day, to crown their imagin- 
 ings came a much-addressed letter to Ivors. 
 
 It was from the Austrian count with whom he 
 had stayed in Egypt. Its purport was brief. His 
 wife was ill, and Egyptian air was, for her, anathema, 
 therefore he offered the use of the island, Geziret-el- 
 Saada, with all the appurtenances thereof, to Ivors for 
 the whole or part of the ensuing winter. 
 
 He handed the letter to Hesper, and watched her 
 face while she read it. 
 
 "Are we living in a fairy-tale?" she cried. "Or 
 do these things really happen?" 
 
 " Shall I kiss you to see if you 're awake? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't think that would wake me. " 
 
 "Beloved goose! I always wanted to show you 
 that island. You haunted it when I was there. I was 
 always picturing you in the different places until I 
 was nearly mad. Then I fled again. " 
 
 "And all the time you had only to ask " 
 
 Ivors winced. "I I " he began. 
 
 She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. 
 
 " I 'm sorry. I forgot that we had agreed not to 
 talk of that dreadful time. At any rate we are to-
 
 " Where is Your To-Morrow ? " 317 
 
 gether now, and incredible doors of delight seem to 
 be opening for us. Oh, my dearest, what a beautiful 
 wedding-present ! " 
 
 Ivors drew her to him in a passion of gratitude for the 
 delicate reticence which neither peeped nor probed. 
 A lesser woman would have queried and commented, 
 and would have evoked lying with which to parry 
 her; but with Hesper, save for the one great denial, 
 a lie was scarcely ever necessary, and Ivors hated 
 lying. From the depths of her own privacy she re- 
 spected his, and she took the gift of love as well as gave 
 it with both hands. She was unquestioningly happy, 
 and this boon of the island, where their idyll might 
 continue in its heaven-sent withdrawal, seemed to set 
 the crown and seal upon their joy. 
 
 "I helped them to design and arrange it," Ivors 
 was saying. "It is an exquisite place, but they were 
 tiring of it even last year. I think the disease from 
 which Madame la Comtesse suffers is boredom one 
 of the worst diseases, beloved, for it takes all the 
 savour out of life and opens the door to old age. " 
 
 "We '11 keep it shut as long as we can. " 
 
 "If you wish to keep young desire the unattainable. 
 When one ceases to want anything one sinks into 
 sluggish age." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I want you." 
 
 "But " 
 
 "I shall never really have you. Your spirit, some 
 essence, let 's call it your soul, will always elude me. 
 That 's as it should be, though. Don't give me your 
 soul, Hesper. If you did I believe the little spark of 
 good that may be in me would die. "
 
 318 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "My dearest- 
 
 "You don't understand me. You think I am talk- 
 ing mad nonsense. Perhaps I am, but I mean it," 
 he said half -seriously, half -whimsically. " Remember, 
 Hesper Belhasard, that you are my fixed star. You 
 must never cease to shine or else " 
 
 "Or else?" 
 
 "I should sit in outer darkness," he answered. 
 Then in a lighter tone: "You see I must at all costs 
 preserve my youth. You have the advantage of me 
 by a decade or so in years, and half a lifetime in light- 
 ness of heart. I am going to school to you presently. 
 Will you teach me some of the heavenly arts you 
 know yourself?" 
 
 "I can only teach you one thing." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "How much I love you."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE FRINGE OF THE DESERT 
 
 IT was with a sense of excited anticipation that 
 Ivors found himself on board the steamer which 
 was to take him to Naples to arrange the prelimin- 
 aries for what he euphemistically called their marriage. 
 
 It was a day of glamour a day of soft sea-mists, 
 which drew away and descended again, giving magical 
 glimpses of blue sea and hill-crested island, of purple 
 headland and rocky coast-line in their sun-shot 
 withdrawals. 
 
 There were several tourists on the steamer, and at 
 first Ivors looked at them with that newly captured 
 interest in his fellow-creatures which was another of 
 the gifts of Hesper's bestowal. 
 
 He watched with amusement a sharp-eyed, rat-like 
 vendor of real tortoise-shell and imitation pink coral 
 who squatted at the feet of a comely American lady, 
 and hypnotised her into buying several articles which 
 she did not in the least want. He noted the antics of 
 a little brown-faced man who sold postcards and tiny 
 books of views for a penny, and smiled at him as he 
 pranced up and down the deck, spraying out the views 
 like serpentins at Carnival time, crying, "Only penny! 
 Piccolo, moneta, signori! Piccolo, moneta!" 
 
 319
 
 320 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 When the band of musicians broke into " Addio, 
 bella Napoli!" and "Sole mio" he felt that the sweet 
 hackneyed strains were in tune with his mood ; and he 
 almost laughed aloud at the disgusted faces of a party 
 of British tourists (of a type which he had not believed 
 to exist outside the pages of the comic press) , at a gay 
 little incident which occurred just after the steamer 
 left the villa-crested, warm-tinted cliffs of Sorrento. 
 
 The musicians struck up a tarantella, and the fat 
 little man who had gaily striven to sell copies of their 
 music to the passengers put down his bundle and began 
 to dance. Opposite to where he pirouetted sat an 
 elderly Italian gentleman with white waxed moustache 
 and dignified mien. His feet began to tap upon the 
 boards, his head to nod in time to the irresistible 
 measure. Finally he could withstand the temptation 
 no longer, and he jumped to his feet, taking off his hat 
 to the dancer with a grandiloquent flourish. Picking 
 up the tails of his frock-coat he pirouetted as merrily 
 and as extravagantly as the other had done, and the 
 white-haired enthusiasts quickened their paces and 
 flung themselves into the abandon of the gradually 
 increasing tempo with the ardour of youth itself, until, 
 with their final bows and flourishes, the music came 
 to its wild climax, and the dancers sank exhausted 
 upon the seats. 
 
 Ivors joined in the applause that followed, thinking 
 how Hesper would have enjoyed the little incident, 
 so typical of the light-hearted and unself-conscious 
 Southerns. He pressed a coin into the fat man's hand 
 as he walked to the side of the steamer to look back 
 at Capri where his heart was Capri, now but an 
 amethyst blur in the pale sea-mist. On the seat near
 
 The Fringe of the Desert 321 
 
 him sat a young German honeymoon couple. The 
 bridegroom was tall, plain, sandy-haired, and obviously 
 sick with love. The little dark bride was plump and 
 bright-eyed. She was not the one who kissed, Ivors 
 thought ; it was she, rather, who gave the cheek, and 
 would permanently hold the sceptre in the firm little 
 red hands which the bridegroom from time to time 
 openly fondled. They had bought oranges at Capri 
 which they now shared in childishly unembarrassed 
 fashion. At another time Ivors would have shrugged 
 his shoulders at the little scene, if he had condescended 
 to notice it at all, but to-day, commonplace and 
 bourgeois as the couple were, something radiated from 
 them which was neither the one nor the other. Wed- 
 ding-rings gleamed upon the hands of each; rings 
 which had a meaning and a symbolism which suddenly 
 sent a sick wave of realisation through Ivors. What 
 these two were to each other Hesper and he could never 
 be in the eyes of the world. 
 
 In a flash of despair some inkling of the baseness of 
 what he contemplated touched him. 
 
 Gone was the gaiety of the life around him; the 
 fast dispersing mists disclosed no magic city; the 
 majesty of Vesuvius, brooding like Fate over the cir- 
 cling bay, was lost to his darkened vision. Into his 
 innermost being he peered, and shrank back aghast 
 from what he saw therein. He had never probed the 
 realities of the situation before, had never fully con- 
 sidered it in its truer, deeper aspects. He had but 
 skirted it. Now he stood on the fringe of the desert, 
 as it were the fringe where the tragedy of lovers 
 begins or ends the halting place between the wells 
 and pomegranates of the oasis and the barren sandy 
 
 21
 
 322 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 wastes. He had to face the fact that he was going to 
 commit a crime in marrying Hesper, a crime for which 
 men were imprisoned for long, bleak, cruel years. It 
 was the personal aspect which at first smote him. 
 Then, as the veil in which he had enwrapped his actions 
 was slowly drawn aside, his imagination, which he 
 had often deemed more foe than friend, painted in 
 vivid colours the wrong he contemplated towards the 
 three women whose lives were entangled with his. 
 
 First, Hesper, Hesper. His heart was wrung at the 
 very thought of her and all that she meant to him. 
 Now that he knew something of her ideals and aspira- 
 tions, of the heights and the depths of her nature 
 and character, he realised what a terrible risk he was 
 running if he carried out this bigamous marriage ; he 
 saw, as he had never seen before, how he was endan- 
 gering her self-respect, her love for him, and her 
 happiness as well as his own. He saw that such a 
 blow would smite the very foundations of her being, 
 and groaned in spirit as he sought for sophistries with 
 which to bandage his eyes from the sight. 
 
 Hesper. No, Hesper did not bear thinking of as 
 yet, for with the vision of her came his own need, 
 crying an exceeding bitter cry, a call from soul to 
 soul. 
 
 He stumbled, unseeing, down the ship's ladder into 
 the boat which took him ashore, giving the boatman a 
 fee which made him open his black eyes in wonder, 
 and strode along the quays, driven by the torments 
 which pursued him. 
 
 He wandered through the steep fishing quarter of 
 the town, up narrow streets where the strings of dry- 
 ing garments fluttered overhead like faded banners,
 
 The Fringe of the Desert 323 
 
 where the shaggy fawn goats came in from the country, 
 and climbed to the top of flights of steps to be milked. 
 
 On he wandered, not knowing or caring where he 
 went, heeding nothing save the fact that some power 
 stronger than himself drove him forth, and prevented 
 him from seeking the Consulate until he had for once 
 pondered truly upon the consequences of his action. 
 
 He thought of Hildred and the wrong he contem- 
 plated doing her. He knew that if he did this thing 
 sooner or later his sin must find him out, and the 
 thought of the scorn in those clear eyes whipped 
 him like a lash. In a flash of self-exculpation he 
 cried to the accusing vision: 
 
 " It is your fault as well as mine. If you had stayed 
 with me this never could have happened. " 
 
 True. Hildred could not cast the first stone. She 
 had left him in his need ; she had deserted him when 
 her woman's intuition should have warned her that he 
 wanted her, that she alone could save him. 
 
 But who was he to reproach her? What had he 
 done for this child of his? Had he ever loved her, 
 studied her, made her necessary to him, made himself 
 necessary to her as a father should? How had he ever 
 strengthened this reed that it should not break when 
 he leaned upon it? If, in breaking, it pierced him as 
 well, the fault was not hers but his. 
 
 Oh, Hesper! Hesper! 
 
 If he could creep to her feet and cry "Peccavi!" 
 If he could be lifted up and forgiven, and rest bis head 
 upon the softness of her breast! At the thought a 
 wave of longing shook him. 
 
 People in the street, sauntering along in the easy 
 Neapolitan fashion, turned to look at the thin, white-
 
 324 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 faced man who strode past as if he did not know where 
 he was going. 
 
 It was true. He neither knew nor cared, driven as 
 he was by whips of despair, tormented by the conflict 
 within him. Of his wife and his sin against her he 
 thought but little. He owed her nothing, he told 
 himself. She had cast him off for no real reason in the 
 heyday of his manhood, had cut him adrift from all 
 anchorage and home and wife and child, uncaring 
 whether he lived or died or came to ruin. He owed 
 her nothing. Any fault of his was condoned by the 
 fact that she had sinned against him so deeply. Al- 
 though their wedded life had drifted quickly into the 
 prosaic stage its ending had been none of his doing. 
 He would have gone on as they had been going with- 
 out a thought of more than the inevitable mental 
 severance. No, it was not for Harriet to cast the first 
 stone either. 
 
 Then, by some subconscious reasoning, he thought 
 of her for whom that kindly plea "Let him that is 
 without sin among you cast the, first stone, " had 
 first been uttered, by Whom it had been said and why, 
 and it came to him that if Hesper should stand one 
 day before such a tribunal it was he who would have 
 dragged her there, without her knowledge. 
 
 Without her knowledge. Ah, there lay the sting. 
 He would smirch her white purity, drag her down in 
 the eyes of men, stab her treacherously in the dark, 
 and all because he loved her. How he loved her and 
 craved for her and needed her! If he could believe 
 that she would have the courage to brave convention 
 and come away with him he would tell her all, he would 
 risk her scorn and trust to the warmth of her love.
 
 The Fringe of the Desert 325 
 
 But he could not be sure. That was the crux. For 
 all her maturity she had the innocent heart of a child, 
 and he could picture her wounded wonder at his decep- 
 tion, her hurt surprise at the baseness of his passion. 
 He dared not risk it. 
 
 At last he found that he had stopped on the top of 
 a hill, driven to pause for breath. He looked around 
 him. Far below lay the great semicircle of the bay, 
 shimmering in the sunshine which, in dispersing the 
 mists, had touched the long ripples of the water with 
 a luminous sheen. 
 
 Capri was scarcely visible on the horizon, and 
 gardens, rioting with geraniums and roses, tumbled 
 precipitously beneath him to the water's edge. Villas, 
 embowered in orchards and olive-trees, were dotted 
 about the hillside, and a great pine in the grounds of 
 the nearest one was etched darkly against the gleam- 
 ing bay. The city curved away to the left in a golden 
 haze. 
 
 Above him a building struck an incongruous note 
 in his surroundings. It was a pseudo-Egyptian temple 
 built of rough grey y stone, carving and symbol here 
 colourless as his life seemed to be at present. 
 
 His lips twisted themselves into a wry smile at 
 the sight. How the Egyptian temples seemed to 
 intrude into the critical moments of his life! He 
 thought of the delicate colonnades at K6m Ombo, the 
 broken cornices against the blue sky, the shimmering 
 loveliness of the scene from the bluff on that other 
 day when the hoopoe had come like a messenger of 
 Fate. At K6m Ombo he had found and lost the Love- 
 Colour and his heart for ever, as he had then thought. 
 Now the Fates had led his steps to Capri and Hesper.
 
 326 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 What portent had the rough grey travesty of colour- 
 filled loveliness for him to-day ? 
 
 No one was near at the moment. He tried the gate 
 leading to the mock temple, but it was locked. Stones 
 jutted from the wall here and there. He climbed it 
 easily, and seeking a corner of the steps where he could 
 not be seen from the road he sat down, conscious now 
 of an overpowering weariness, to fight his battle with 
 himself. Here at least he would be undisturbed for 
 the present; here he could think, could break away 
 from the magic of Hesper's presence. 
 
 He pressed his hands over his eyes, and tried to 
 summon his forces. Thoughts, wild and incoherent, 
 rushed in a tumult through his mind. At K6m Ombo 
 he had determined to seek safety in flight. What if 
 that were the only way of redemption here? Had he 
 the courage to flee from Naples without ever seeing 
 Hesper again? It seemed as if every drop of blood 
 ebbed from his heart at the thought, as if life slowly 
 left him to the chill of such a death. No, a thousand 
 times no! He must see Hesper again, he could not 
 live without her. Then why not die? Of what use 
 was he to any one else? Ah, there was his reason for 
 not taking the coward's way. The blood ran warmly 
 in his veins again. Hesper had said that she would 
 die if he left her. The dear specious argument rang 
 in his ears once more. She would die; his best 
 beloved, his fixed star, and he would have killed her. 
 How could he slay her late-found joy? Why should 
 they not take what they had won so hardly? But 
 what does the body matter if you kill the soul? Kill 
 the soul? He was not sure that he had a soul. Kill 
 Hesper's soul? How could he kill Hesper's soul,
 
 The Fringe of the Desert 327 
 
 if they were man and wife in God's sight? He was 
 not certain that there was a God. He would cleave 
 only to her, forsaking all other. She wanted no other. 
 He was her world as she was his. They were all in all 
 to each other in a sense attained by few. Why should 
 he fling this gift into the sea of oblivion and flee? 
 He would never let Hesper suffer, he would shield her 
 with his life if necessary, but he would not give her up, 
 he could not . The sin would be his alone. How could 
 it mar her whiteness? A few more lies, and Ivors 
 hated lying, and the deed would be done. It would 
 be his burnt-offering to the Fates; its smoke would 
 trouble him no more, and they could be happy. Ah, 
 how happy! 
 
 Hesper ! Hesper ! 
 
 But when she knew some day, as she must inevitably 
 know, what of this rainbow palace of happiness? 
 Would it not burst like a bubble and leave nothing 
 behind? Would she not have a thousand-fold more 
 to forgive then than now? Now the bitterness would 
 be clean save for the mire of his deception, which she 
 could wash away with her tears ; but then then 
 
 Ivors groaned aloud as the day sank to its close, 
 and the maze of wild thoughts, weak excuses, pagan 
 impulses spun bewilderingly through his tortured 
 mind. The scales moved so rapidly, one weighty 
 reason against another sending the balance up and 
 down with so dizzy a motion that all power of 
 judgment seemed suspended. 
 
 When at last he rose he staggered like a man who 
 had been through an illness, and saw to his surprise 
 that the sun had sunk below the far horizon and that 
 dusk was coming, velvet-footed, through the orchards.
 
 328 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 It was too late for action that day, he realised with 
 a sigh of relief, as he walked down the hill towards 
 Naples. 
 
 But in his inmost soul two emotions were paramount, 
 a sick craving for the sight and touch of Hesper and 
 the shamefaced knowledge, that come what might, he 
 would stand on the fringe of the desert no longer. He 
 had had enough of the sandy wastes, the arid desola- 
 tion. The palm-trees, the wells, and the pomegranates 
 were in sight, within touch. A man were worse than 
 mad if he turned from them to go back to the wilder- 
 ness to die of thirst and loneliness. He had been 
 there; he knew. In the face of such knowledge was 
 he to thrust Hesper also into the wastes? Oh, the 
 cooling wells ! 
 
 It was too late to return to Capri that night. She 
 would not be uneasy ; he had told her that he might be 
 detained, but the long dull evening gave him a fore- 
 taste of what life would be again without her, and his 
 broken sleep was haunted by horrible fragments of 
 dreams vague inestimable losses tragedies that 
 awakened him to find his cheeks wet with tears, and 
 kept him tossing and tumbling until dawn broke, and 
 he arose and went out to inhale the fresh sea air and to 
 listen to the homely jingling noises of the waking city. 
 
 He sent his spirit in longing towards the faint blur 
 that was Capri, and at the earliest possible hour sought 
 out the British Consulate, and made therein his burnt- 
 offering of treachery and sin, blinding himself deliber- 
 ately to the fact that in its smoke might be consumed 
 Hesper's happiness and his, and those deeper things 
 which are more precious than either.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MAGIC CIRCLE 
 
 WHEN Ivors returned from Naples he brought 
 letters from the Poste Restante for them 
 both. 
 
 His was from Hildred, ardent and thought-pro- 
 voking. She was fired with enthusiasm for her 
 work, found no detail too small, no task too irksome 
 for pleased fulfilment. Mrs. Marston, the matron, was 
 a strict disciplinarian, but so kind, and the nurses 
 were all ladies, and more or less congenial. Her 
 mother had neither approved nor disapproved, but 
 had stated candidly that in her opinion the aim and 
 object of all hospital nurses was to get married, but 
 that she supposed that it was only one of Nature's 
 tricks to enable the world to continue to go round! 
 However, Hildred did not mind. She had found a 
 niche ; she had something to do ; she felt that she was 
 of some small use in the world; that here she was 
 really wanted. She did not mention Dr. Lisle. She 
 concluded by asking him to write to her sometimes 
 "and remember that if you ever need me I am quite 
 ready and willing to go to you. If you should chance 
 to come across Miss Marlowe please give her my love, 
 but I suppose you are not at all likely to be anywhere 
 that she is." 
 
 329
 
 33 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Ivors looked at Hesper with a sigh at the thought of 
 what he had been through. They were sitting on the 
 terrace above the peach-orchard ; she was in the little 
 arbour and he sat on a stool with his back against the 
 vine-trellis. Not likely to be anywhere that she was? 
 He looked with yearning at the down-bent head, with 
 its classic waves of soft black hair, at the drooped white 
 lids, at the sweet generous mouth, at the firm chin 
 with its hinted dimples, at the slim hands which held 
 his heart, at the beautiful sweeping line of her figure, 
 and hoped passionately that he was never likely to be 
 anywhere but where she was ! Give her up? Not for 
 twenty thousand scruples! Besides, it was for her 
 happiness as well as his. Had she not said that to 
 lose him now would kill her? Yet, as he looked at her, 
 the essence of her personality stole over him again and 
 whispered that here was no weak thing of apathetic 
 resignation to the blows of circumstance. Some lines 
 he had once read pricked uneasily through his deliber- 
 ately narcotised conscience: 
 
 "Yet each man kills the thing he loves, 
 By each let this be heard; 
 Some do it with a bitter look, 
 Some with a flattering word, 
 The coward does it with a kiss, 
 The brave man with a sword ! " 
 
 Was his the coward's way of killing? he wondered. 
 
 He rose suddenly, went to her, and kissed her, and 
 the touch of her lips put to flight all considerations 
 but the thought of her desirability and of his great 
 love and need of her. Hildred had spoken of being 
 needed ; if that were the claim of womanhood Hesper 
 should have hers fulfilled in good measure, pressed
 
 The Magic Circle 331 
 
 down and running over. No human being ever needed 
 another as he needed her, he told himself, and she 
 needed him too, in very deed and truth. He kissed 
 her again. 
 
 "Beloved, how I have wanted you!" he said. 
 
 "Yesterday?" she asked, leaning back against his 
 shoulder, and letting her letters fall into her lap. 
 
 "Since the beginning of Time." 
 
 "The hours crawled without you. The sun seemed 
 to stand still. I wanted you horribly." 
 
 "We were created for each other, Hesper, " he said 
 huskily. "See how we were brought together after 
 all these empty years." 
 
 "These empty years, " she echoed, looking back at a 
 barren vista that ended at her eighteenth birthday. 
 
 "The days of fulness are at hand," he continued. 
 "We are meant to have them, clearly meant to have 
 them. " 
 
 She did not understand his insistence, but anything 
 that breathed of his love was sweet to her. 
 
 ' ' Surely, ' ' she answered. ' ' I often think that things 
 are more equally divided than people imagine. The 
 balance of the scales is always tolerably even, and 
 though the sorrowful side may overbalance some- 
 times, the turn of the joyful is sure to come sooner 
 or later." 
 
 " Oh, sweet heart full of happy and lovely thoughts, " 
 he cried. ' ' What have I done to deserve you ? ' ' 
 
 "Don't be foolish," whispered Hesper, turning and 
 kissing the hand that clasped her shoulder. " Have n't 
 you just said that we were created for each other, 
 so that there can be no question of desert or non- 
 desert?" Then, after a little: "I have had a letter
 
 332 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 from Nanno, who says that her poor old mother is 
 still alive 'although they have had the priest and the 
 doctor to her,' but that when the poor old soul is 
 'waked' and buried she will come to me, no matter 
 what outlandish place I 'm in. Also, she tells me a 
 piece of news that Belhasard my godmother" 
 she put in smiling "is to be sold, and that she wishes 
 to goodness I 'd buy it and marry a nice gentleman and 
 settle down there! What do you think, Ingram?" 
 she laughed softly. " It is a dear old place, with quaint 
 rooms and passages, and the sweetest little morning- 
 room down three steps, which opens on to a closed rose- 
 garden with a fountain in the centre where goldfish 
 used to live. Shall we buy it and make it our per- 
 manent home? I think my darling daddy would be 
 very happy if he could know that you and I were 
 there." 
 
 Ivors stroked her hair. "It shall be just as you 
 like, beloved." 
 
 "How pleased Nanno will be when she hears that 
 we are going to be married ! She thought you were a 
 darlin' gentleman, God bless you, and too fine a man 
 entirely to be fiddlin' about all day with them paints ! 
 Like most people in Ireland, gentle and simple, she 
 considers spinsterhood a stigma. It will delight her 
 good heart when she hears that it is to be removed 
 from me." 
 
 Ivors thought for a moment. Here was a simple 
 way of pleasing her, and one comparatively unfraught 
 with danger. It was not likely that Nanno's know- 
 ledge could make mischief. 
 
 "You may tell her if you like," he said, "but ask 
 her not to gossip about it. "
 
 The Magic Circle 333 
 
 "Oh, thank you, dearest," she exclaimed, pleased 
 as a child. " Nanno won't gossip. She can keep her 
 counsel as well as any one I know. Now if we could 
 only tell Hildred and the Nugents I should be perfectly 
 happy." 
 
 Ivors frowned a little, and moved uneasily. "I 
 did not think that you were the conventional woman 
 who wants all her friends to know of her capture," 
 he said petulantly. 
 
 "But I'm not, you misunderstand me," she an- 
 swered, drawing back slightly. A faint colour flushed 
 her cheeks. "I confess, Ingram, that I did not think 
 you were capable of such a such a yes, I will say it 
 vulgar insinuation. " 
 
 Ivors laughed, and caught her hands, all his irritation 
 banished by the sparkle of her eyes. "Forgive me, 
 dearest of all things. I love teasing you. " 
 
 "Are you sure you were only teasing? Are you 
 sure that you did n't mean that horrid thing?" 
 
 "Of course I did n't, goose. " Then he added with a 
 sigh that melted the last icicle of Hesper's aloofness: 
 " Do you think for an instant that I am so fatuous as 
 to imagine myself a capture of whom any woman could 
 be proud?" 
 
 "That 's fishing," she said, "and all your life long 
 you 've had more compliments than were good for 
 you." 
 
 "They were Dead Sea fruit. Give me a bite of 
 your Apple of Common-Sense." 
 
 "I 'm afraid I can't spare any. Besides, if I did, 
 you'd probably turn round later on, like Adam, and 
 say that I tempted you. " 
 
 "And have n't you?"
 
 334 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "To what have I tempted you, may I ask?" 
 
 "To loving you more than is good for my soul, 
 I'm afraid," he said, walking to the edge of the 
 terrace and looking down at the amazing blueness of 
 the sea. 
 
 She rose too and followed him, slipping her hand 
 through his arm. 
 
 "No, beloved. No, Ingram. You mustn't say 
 that. You must unsay it now this very moment. " 
 
 "How can one unsay what one has already said? 
 Scientists tell us that sound never dies, so, according 
 to them, my careless words will go echoing through 
 aeons of time, if not eternity. " 
 
 "Were they careless?" 
 
 "Execrably so." 
 
 "Did you mean them?" 
 
 "Sweetest heart!" 
 
 " Did you mean them at all, Ingram? " She rubbed 
 her cheek coaxingly against his shoulder, and her tone 
 rang wistfully. 
 
 He answered her with the fierceness to which some- 
 thing in the high mettle of her nature responded. 
 "How could I mean them? How could my love for 
 you be anything but the best part of me, the one spark 
 of light in my whole careless, selfish life?" He kissed 
 her hair and eyes. 
 
 "The coward does it with a kiss, 
 The brave man with a sword. " 
 
 The words rang through his brain, but he only held 
 her the closer. 
 
 " Now tell me your reasons for letting the world into 
 our secret, Hesper Belhasard."
 
 The Magic Circle 335 
 
 " It 's not the world, it 's only the Nugents and 
 Mildred." 
 
 " Let 's take the Nugents first. " 
 
 "They are my very good friends, and I would like 
 them to share my happiness. Besides, I 've just had a 
 letter from Gerda who, in her usual frank way, criti- 
 cised you ! She would not dare to do that if she knew 
 what we were to each other." 
 
 Ivors laughed. "What did she say?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't think she 'd like me to tell." 
 
 "Very well, then, goose. But don't imagine for 
 an instant that I care a centesimo what any one but 
 you thinks or says about me. That disposes of the 
 Nugents." 
 
 "Does it?" 
 
 "NowforHildred." 
 
 She drew his face closer to hers and spoke very low. 
 " It 's only, it 's only that we two are so happy, and she 
 is outside. There are only the three of us, you and 
 she and I. Why should n't we bind our little circle 
 as closely together as possible? I don't think she 'd 
 resent it," Hesper continued diffidently. Ivors's 
 clasp tightened. "I think she really liked me, and I 
 am very fond of her. We got to know each other 
 better that last month at Assuan. I wish you would 
 tell her." 
 
 "By the way, who was the young man who would n't 
 take no for an answer?" 
 
 " It was Roddy. Did n't you know? Foolish boy, 
 his persistence drove her away. " 
 
 "What do these children know of love?" 
 
 "Ah, what?" sighed Hesper, with the inevitable 
 assurance of all lovers since the world began that they,
 
 33 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 the man and woman in the eternal love-cycle, are the 
 only two who know the real meaning of that encyclo- 
 paedic monosyllable. 
 
 "And what about your Baron? " Ivors asked after 
 a pause. 
 
 "Ah, he was a pleasant creature, but very senti- 
 mental." 
 
 "How I wish I had known!" 
 
 "Known what?" 
 
 "Your opinion of him. I should never have been 
 jealous of a pleasant creature." 
 
 "And were you jealous?" 
 
 "Fiendishly." 
 
 "You needn't have been. There was never any 
 one else, " she said simply. 
 
 "Since Time began?" 
 
 " Since Time began. " Then: "Well, what about 
 Hildred?" 
 
 Ivors was brought back to the present with a jar. 
 Her insistence fretted him, but he was ashamed of his 
 former irritability. He could have laughed aloud at 
 the bitter irony of life. Here he had to deny her the 
 one thing he most wished for himself. He would 
 have given a great deal if he could have stood forth 
 and boldly proclaimed Hesper his wife in the face of 
 the world. He gloried in her love for him, in his for 
 her, and yet he had, perforce, to deny her, to hide her 
 away in the forgotten corners of the world. He had 
 deliberately shut his eyes to any other alternative; 
 their feet were set now on a path from which there 
 must be no turning back. They were leaving the 
 fringe of the desert ; the cool wells and the pomegran- 
 ates were before them, the wastes lay behind. He
 
 The Magic Circle 337 
 
 could not close his ears to the clanking of his fetters, 
 but he would do his best to prevent Hesper from 
 hearing it too. He scarcely realised how oblivious 
 she was of the mundane just now, how closely attuned 
 were all her senses to the hearing of the music of the 
 spheres. 
 
 "We 're in a magic circle of our own, beloved," he 
 whispered. "I don't want to let any one else in just 
 yet. Won't you wait? Some day " 
 
 "Some day," she echoed, "is no day. But never 
 mind! I don't want any one but you, I assure you. 
 I am looking forward with all my heart to our wander- 
 ings, and then to our winter in that Arabian-Nights- 
 like island. " 
 
 "It is like the Arabian Nights. You will love it, 
 with its silent-footed servants, and its garden and its 
 big, cool rooms full of beauty and mystery, and the 
 flat roof on which you can sleep if you like, with 
 nothing but the whispering wind between you and 
 the stars." 
 
 "It sounds enchanting," she murmured. 
 
 "You won't be lonely there? We don't want 
 people do we?" 
 
 "People? 'And thou beside me singing in the 
 wilderness'?" she quoted with a fine scorn. 
 
 Ivors was silent. Sometimes the fire of joy burns 
 fiercely and scorches those who come too near. 
 
 "The only thing about it that I don't like," con- 
 tinued Hesper, "is its name. It seems like tempting 
 Fate to call a place the Island of Happiness." 
 
 " It was their naming, not ours, " said Ivors quickly. 
 
 " I know, but I feel as if we have had too much our- 
 selves already, somehow; as if we ought to do some-
 
 33 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 thing to propitiate the gods, like that king of old who 
 threw his ring into the sea. " 
 
 "Don't worry . I' ve made a burnt-offering already . ' ' 
 Ivors said, unthinking. Then in a lighter tone: 
 "You little Pagan, are you superstitious?" 
 
 Hesper laughed. " Not really, though I suppose all 
 Irish people are tinged with superstition, more or less. 
 What 's your burnt-offering?" 
 
 Ivors evaded answering. "Hildred told me that 
 you once enlightened her on the great differences 
 between English and Irish people. I wish you 'd tell 
 me some." 
 
 "Well, the English pronounce grass "she began. 
 
 "I don't mean differences in pronunciation, you 
 find those in every English county, but something 
 more fundamental, more racial. " 
 
 Hesper pondered. "Well, really at the moment the 
 only thing I can think of is that the English never say 
 'God bless you' when you sneeze!" 
 
 Ivors burst out laughing. "Oh, you dearest!" he 
 cried. "Life with you should be one long delight." 
 
 "And why not?" asked Hesper Belhasard, as she 
 winked away a tear of happiness which fell on 
 Ivors's coat.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 GEZfRET-EL-SA&DA 
 
 AFTER their marriage, which no thunderbolt of 
 circumstance prevented, they journeyed to 
 Egypt by circuitous ways. Indeed, no one who noted 
 the involutions of their wanderings would ever have 
 imagined that their faces were set, even in thought, 
 towards that land of dead kings and living peasants. 
 
 Avoiding the beaten track, they met no old ac- 
 quaintances and made few new ones. They were 
 content with one another, and as each day progressed 
 to its close they drew more closely together in sym- 
 pathy and spirit, their need of each other increasing 
 rather than diminishing with time. 
 
 Hesper's beauty grew and deepened. It lost the 
 touch of coldness which had appeared a flaw to some, 
 a charm to others. The inner radiance which before 
 had been but evanescent now shone through her every 
 look. 
 
 Ivors changed too, but with a difference. He grew 
 thinner, and his temples were touched with grey. 
 Hesper thought it added to his look of distinction. 
 She liked men to be of "the lean kine," she said, 
 unwitting of what had worn him. It seemed almost 
 as if the fire of happiness which irradiated her were 
 
 339
 
 34 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 slowly consuming him, as if his overmastering passion 
 were too strong for the frame which leashed it. He 
 alternated fitful outbursts of energy with periods of 
 inactive reaction, and although he determinedly never 
 looked back, the daily revelation of the depths and 
 heights of Hesper's love, her inner purity and the 
 sweetness of her soul, stung him from time to time with 
 a burning sense of the wrong which he had done her. 
 Still, he tasted happiness, holding what he had taken 
 with all the defiance of conscious possession, and 
 striving daily with every art in his power to grapple 
 her to him "with hooks of steel" which should hold 
 fast when the inevitable cataclysm came. For that 
 it was inevitable, sooner or later, Ivors knew in the 
 depths of his being; and he wrought to make himself 
 so necessary to Hesper that no knowledge, however 
 bitter or shameful, could bring about separation. 
 That was what he dreaded most of all that she 
 should leave him. He could not face the loneliness of 
 life without her again. These two solitary creatures 
 whom Destiny had brought together clung all the 
 more closely on account of the long empty years they 
 had spent apart. The Hesper whom Ivors knew was 
 a being no one else had ever seen, and the Ingram of 
 her love was a man whom neither friend nor enemy 
 would have even dimly recognised, for he, like most 
 men, boasted, 
 
 ". . . two soul-sides, one to face the world with, 
 One to show a woman when he loves her!" 
 
 It was with a sense of home-coming that Hesper 
 saw Egypt again, though anything which opposed 
 more contrast to that sun-baked country than her own
 
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 341 
 
 land of mist-haunted hills and purple heather could 
 scarcely be imagined. Its indefinable charm drew her, 
 enveloped her as it had done before, and Ivors was 
 content in her content. 
 
 They did not linger on the way ; they were anxious 
 to get to El-Saada ; and the faithful Moussa, who met 
 them in Cairo, and kissed Hesper's hand with the 
 grace of a courtier, had made all the necessary arrange- 
 ments for their arrival. 
 
 They went by train, and Hesper saw familiar sights 
 from a different aspect, travelling in a few hours 
 through the variations of colour and costume which 
 had meant weeks of experience on the slower water- 
 way. 
 
 When the square-topped colonnade of the Temple 
 of Kom Ombo came in sight, she slipped her hand into 
 Ivors's and smiled at him, touching the enamelled sun- 
 disc which spread its tinted wings across the lace at her 
 throat. 
 
 "Do you remember?" she asked, past pain obliter- 
 ated in the sweetness of the present. 
 
 " I remember, " answered Ivors, thinking of all that 
 had happened in the few brief months that held the 
 greatest moments of his life. In a flash he saw the 
 mock temple at Naples, and felt again for an instant 
 the bitterness of his struggle. 
 
 The curving cornice and the great pillars stood out 
 for a moment against the blue like a cameo of clouded 
 amber upon turquoise, then disappeared from sight. 
 
 "We must go there again some day, " he said, rousing 
 himself with an effort. " Perhaps the hoopoe " 
 
 "Has gone back to Balkis, Queen of Sheba. " 
 
 "Or more probably is nesting in one of the clefts
 
 34 2 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 above the old gods the falcon-headed HaroSris or 
 the ibis-headed Thout. Is n't it odd how those old 
 sculptors managed to invest their animal-headed gods 
 with dignity? And the fellows had no idea of per- 
 spective either, or of any way of presenting the figure 
 except in profile. They ought to look ridiculous, 
 grotesque, but they don't, somehow I wonder why?" 
 
 "It's because they are in their proper environ- 
 ment," Hesper answered dreamily. "Incongruity 
 only means wrong surroundings. Look at those men 
 working that shaddf! With their naked bronze limbs 
 and blue robes girt about their waists they look in 
 perfect harmony with the sand and the palm-trees. 
 Put them down in a London street!" 
 
 "What logic!" mocked Ivors. "You are becoming 
 quite a dialectician, Hesper Belhasard. " 
 
 "What 's that?" she asked. "I am far too happy 
 to-day to understand words of more than two 
 syllables." 
 
 "Hell, Hope, Heaven," he murmured half to him- 
 self. "Harriet, Hildred, Hesper. All the big things 
 in my life have begun with H. Pity I was not born a 
 cockney!" 
 
 "H 'm," said Hesper. "I didn't catch what you 
 said." 
 
 " I said that you and Heaven began with the same 
 letter," he answered. 
 
 "What about that for logic?" she laughed. "Oh, 
 my dearest, why do you love me so much?" 
 
 " I 'm afraid I can't help it now. I 'm a creature of 
 habit, Hesper Belhasard, " he said, kissing the hand he 
 held, and thinking to himself, "And I can laugh, 
 actually laugh at these things, which are the biggest
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 343 
 
 in the world to me! What sort of worm am I, after 
 all? If Hesper could look into the depths of my soul 
 what would she think of the coward and the liar that 
 she 'd see there?" 
 
 He shook the thought from him the thought 
 which, although it returned in Protean disguises 
 always had the power to sting and burn and spoke 
 of the life they would lead at El-Saada. 
 
 "Our home," said Hesper softly. "It gives me a 
 thrill of excitement every time I think of it. You 
 must paint it all for me, Ingram. You must paint 
 me the Song of the Nile. " 
 
 "And you must play it for me, " he declared, "with 
 the diapason of the mountains as they melt away to 
 an amethyst diminuendo or come thundering down in 
 a golden crescendo of towering cliff and crag!" 
 
 " Now, are we talking music, painting, or nonsense? " 
 asked Hesper, with a little excited laugh. 
 
 "What does it matter?" said Ivors, drawing her 
 closer. 
 
 The train swept through palm-grove and brown 
 tilled land, through sun-dried village and tawny wastes 
 of desert, past the ragged mat tents of the Bishartn 
 camp in the crumbling old Arab cemetery, and 
 stopped at last at the railway-station at Assuan. 
 
 Moussa came to the carriage, resplendent in a peach- 
 coloured kuftdn, and opened the door with a flourish. 
 
 "The boatmen, o efendi," he said, indicating some 
 waiting figures who made a brilliant spot of colour 
 on the platform. 
 
 With their black Nubian faces, their gleaming teeth, 
 and their costumes of red tarbtishes, jackets and shoes, 
 full white trousers and deep purple waistbands, it
 
 344 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 seemed to Hesper as if they might have stepped 
 straight out of the pages of the Arabian Nights. 
 
 "It's beginning," she cried with a little gasp of 
 delight. "Why, they 're just like fuchsias!" 
 
 Ivors's vagrant fancy was tickled at the simile, and 
 he ever afterwards referred to the four boatmen as 
 " your fuchsias. " The livery had been devised by the 
 Graf von Strelitz, and its wearers had squatted for 
 hours under the palm-trees in the dust, waiting to do 
 honour to their new if temporary master. 
 
 Ivors remembered some of them and spoke to all. 
 He had a way with the Arabs which resulted in excel- 
 lent service; and flashing smiles now bore testimony 
 to his popularity. 
 
 "Thefeldkeh awaits, o efendi, " said Ali, the chief 
 boatman. "We will return after for the luggage. 
 The sitt will walk? It is very near. " 
 
 Ivors looked at Hesper. " Can you walk a hundred 
 yards or so?" he asked. "Across the road and the 
 sandy bank as far as old Nile?" 
 
 "I think I can," she answered gravely. Then she 
 gave his arm a little squeeze. "Oh, Ingram, I feel 
 as excited as a child." 
 
 The time of tourists was not yet, and the bright 
 little town seemed half-deserted. Only a desultory 
 vendor or two of fly-switches and bead-chains moved 
 in the distance, and these Moussa dispersed in lordly 
 fashion as they approached. 
 
 Thefelfikeh lay by the bank. It was gaily painted, 
 as were all the Assuan boats, but instead of the usual 
 crude green and yellow and scarlet, its rudder and 
 little railing bore the fushcia colours, purple, crimson, 
 and white. Hesper was silent with pleasure as she
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 345 
 
 stepped in and sank luxuriously on the soft red 
 cushions. 
 
 "It 's too delightful for words," she sighed, as the 
 felukeh shot out into midstream and drifted quickly 
 down the river towards the picturesque, tree-shaded 
 Elephantine Island. 
 
 The gay clean town rising in tiers of flat-topped 
 houses pierced here and there by snowy minarets, 
 the clustered palms, the avenues of lebekh trees, the 
 rude ruin of Cleopatra's bath jutting out into the 
 water, the groups of Nile-boats along the bank, all 
 brought the desired and familiar atmosphere to the 
 two who sat and watched it and each other with 
 enchanted eyes. 
 
 Behind them, in odd juxtaposition, the crescent on 
 a dome and the cross of the English church stood out 
 upon the sky-line ; and the clear, delicious air brought 
 with it a sense of exhilaration. 
 
 The feldkeh swung round with a jerk, and faced 
 up the river. AH hoisted a peaked sail and they 
 moved slowly towards their goal; sailing against a 
 current, which had lost no strength since its waters had 
 rushed through the sluice-gates of the great dam in 
 foam-white torrents, thundering iridescent, until it 
 swirled here round the granite islets tumbled heaps 
 of stone, brown, reddish, purple whose savage desola- 
 tion was occasionally softened by a knot of rushes or 
 a clump of low-growing tamarisk, or emphasised by a 
 rude hieroglyph of god or bird cut deep upon some 
 large bare boulder, whose base was polished with a fine 
 black glaze from the ceaseless eddying of the water. 
 
 To the right rose the golden hills of Libya, whose 
 reddish spurs were clothed with sands as vivid as
 
 34 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 those of fabled Pactolus ; sands which glowed as if the 
 molten metal had been poured over the rocky slopes, 
 whose brilliance was accentuated by their powdering 
 of blackened stones and the intense blueness of the 
 sky which rose above them. 
 
 One of the boatmen struck up a song which the 
 others accompanied with a soft clapping of hands. 
 
 "A lover said to a dove: 
 'Lend me your wings for a day, 
 That I may soar thro* the sky 
 And see my beloved's face. 
 I shall obtain enough love, 
 
 dove, for a year and a day. 
 
 1 will return, O dove! 
 
 Lend me your wings for a day!'" 
 
 Ivors roughly translated the words for Hesper. 
 The crude melody, the soft insistence of the hand- 
 beats added the final touch to the scene. 
 
 "Sight and sound blend here as they do nowhere 
 else," said Hesper with a sigh. "It is perfect, isn't 
 it, dearest?" 
 
 "I think there is something about this glowing 
 barbarity which almost frightens me, " returned Ivors 
 slowly. "The suave beauties of K6m Ombo and 
 Luxor appeal to me more." 
 
 "Then why ?" 
 
 "Ah, wait until you come to El-Sa&da, " he an- 
 swered with a smile. 
 
 They had left hotels and inhabited islands behind 
 them, and now came within sight of their new home, 
 a green mass embowering a glimpse of cream. Ali 
 leaped to lower the sail as the bow of the feldkeh 
 grounded softly on a little bay of yellow sand, from
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 347 
 
 which a tiny pier of polished granite blocks ran 
 outwards into the water. 
 
 Ivors and Hesper walked up the path into a garden. 
 Tall silvery eucalyptus and feathery pepper-trees 
 raised their foliage against the blue. Great bushes of 
 oleander in all gradations of colour, from white to 
 sunset-pink, flushed the garden in masses, while 
 poinsettias showed tongues of flame amid the green. 
 Orange and lemon-trees glowed with their burden of 
 fruit, and there were roses everywhere. By the side 
 of the path they trod was a little channel paved with 
 turquoise tiles, over which a stream of water trickled 
 with a tiny cool murmur. Young palms clustered in 
 corners through whose branches flitted shy, velvet- 
 throated bulbuls with little melodious twitters. A 
 bee-eater, like a green flash, alighted at the edge of the 
 stream and sipped daintily. 
 
 Down an alley of oleanders came a pair of gazelles, 
 fawn-dappled and slender, with graceful timid move- 
 ments as if inviting a greeting. 
 
 "It 's too much, dearest, " said Hesper with a little 
 catch in her voice. "This is an enchanted garden, 
 and here are the prince and princess who have been 
 turned into gazelles. And the turquoise tiles! And 
 surely I hear the sleepy purring creak of a sakiyeh. 
 It is really too much. " 
 
 "It 's not half enough," said Ivors, touched at her 
 pleasure. "The tiles were a fad of Madame's, who 
 had also seen them in Persia, and I am glad to see that 
 the gazelles are still alive. They are called Anas 
 el-Wogud and Zahr el- Ward, after a pair of lovers who 
 lived on the Island of Philae Anas and Zahr for short. 
 Ta'dla hena, Anas. Ta'dli, Zahr."
 
 348 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 He held out his hand, and the dainty creatures 
 came a little nearer, looking at him with great dark 
 eyes; then some movement startled them, and they 
 turned and trotted away among the oleanders. 
 
 "I must make friends with them," said Hesper. 
 
 "That 's easily done. They 're really quite tame, 
 but a little shy just now. Come! I want to show 
 you the house." 
 
 It was a low cream-coloured structure, built in the 
 Arab style of arched verandahs and flat-topped roof. 
 Inside, the dim richness of Persian rugs and carpets 
 was spread pleasantly beneath one's feet. The win- 
 dows were latticed in delicate mushrabiyieh, and each 
 had its softly cushioned divan. On the inlaid tables 
 stood turquoise bowls of stiffly arranged flowers, and 
 against the wall at one end was a fragment of some 
 temple nook, the golden-yellow cartouche of a king 
 encircled by the love-colour. One end of the verandah 
 was curtained off into a sort of loggia, and hung with 
 gay tenting covered with crude brilliant figures of 
 the old Egyptian deities. Here were spread divans, 
 cushions, and all contrivances for lazy ease. One 
 looked over its flat cream parapet at the golden hills 
 and the river which now ran molten with the sun-rays, 
 and caught a glimpse of a distant Nubian village with 
 its cylindrical mud-huts and the far black silhouettes 
 of women coming down to the water's edge. 
 
 On a divan lay a lute inlaid with silver and ebony, 
 just as if some rose- veiled Fatmeh had but that moment 
 put it down. 
 
 Ivors touched its strings softly. 
 
 "To-night when the sky is jewelled with stars as 
 large as moons I will serenade you with this, beloved. "
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 349 
 
 He moved towards her and took her in his arms. 
 "Welcome home, my sweetest heart. May your days 
 be as white as milk. " 
 
 "Ah, my man, my man, " she said, resting her cheek 
 against his. 
 
 "What a delicious voice you have, Hesper Belhas- 
 ard," he said, after a little. "It is one of your chief 
 charms. I hate loud voices, and angry voices hurt 
 me like a blow. I think I 'd do anything to avoid a 
 scene. " 
 
 "And yet one must n't shirk, " said Hesper. " Some- 
 times it is sheer cowardice to avoid the unpleasant. " 
 
 "Are you trying to strengthen my weakness?" 
 
 "Ah, you don't want any strengthening." 
 
 "God knows I do," said Ivors with a bitter pang. 
 
 " I suppose we all do. " 
 
 "I have not the strength to hurt you, beloved, " he 
 said, lulling his qualms with sophistries. 
 
 "Which means that you haven't the strength to 
 hurt yourself, " she responded, looking at him with her 
 heart in her eyes. "For are n't you and I one?" 
 
 Her words rang uncomfortably in his ears. Was 
 that the truth, spoken so innocently, so unwittingly? 
 Had he been afraid of hurting himself, not her? Had 
 he cared all the time only for the Ego which had always 
 ruled his life? 
 
 Hesper moved to the parapet. The evening glow 
 encircled her, enhaloed her, Ivors thought with a 
 surge of passionate adoration. 
 
 "In the things that matter I hope you would have 
 the strength to hurt me if necessary," she said, turn- 
 ing her head. "Nothing could hurt me so much as 
 any failure in you. "
 
 35 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Hesper, I am full of flaws. For God's sake don't 
 put me on a pedestal. Any height makes me giddy. 
 I 'd tumble at once, and you 'd find your poor clay idol 
 in pieces at your feet. I 'm a bundle of faults and 
 failings tied together with the golden thread of my 
 love for you. It 's the one good thing about me, if 
 indeed, there is any virtue in loving ' the highest when 
 we see it. ' ' 
 
 He knelt beside her and put his arms round her. 
 
 "How you exaggerate!" she said fondly. 
 
 "Lord knows I don't," he answered with a rueful 
 sigh. Then his mood changed suddenly. He sprang 
 up and went to the divan. 
 
 "After all, why should I wait until to-night to 
 serenade you, my star?" he cried, snatching up the 
 lute and tuning it. 
 
 After a soft thrumming at the strings he broke into 
 a curious melody, and then into song. So few were 
 the notes of the song that it almost seemed as if the 
 words accompanied the music, but the effect was 
 oddly passionate and pleading. 
 
 "My heart, 
 I would have sold it 
 Had it not been full of thee! 
 
 "Mine eyes, 
 
 I would have blinded them, 
 Had they not been illumined by the radiance of thy face! 
 
 "My soul, 
 
 I would have burned it 
 As a perfume at thy feet 
 Had it not been the breath that exhaled from thy lips!" 
 
 All the romance, all the glamour of Hesper's life 
 were concentrated in that thin, alert figure poised on
 
 Geziret-El-Saada 351 
 
 the edge of the divan, plucking the heart out of the 
 lute, and looking at her the while with eyes that 
 seemed to burn, so intense was the fire of their gaze. 
 When the song ended she ran to him, and knelt by his 
 side. 
 
 "You love me like this?" she cried, in a choked 
 voice, answering his eyes rather than his words. 
 "Ingram! My husband! What have I done to 
 deserve it?" 
 
 The lute fell with a little clatter to the floor where 
 it lay harmoniously on the dull rose and mauve and 
 yellow of the rug. Ivors's lips twisted into a mirthless 
 smile over her bent head, for he knew that one of the 
 seeds of his punishment was coming into flower, and 
 that the fruit thereof would be exceeding bitter.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE GOLDEN BALL 
 
 AS the weather grew cooler and the desert air 
 wafted draughts of exhilaration through As- 
 suan, the two on the island made many excursions. 
 
 They plunged in search of colour into the narrow 
 covered bazaars, and found it in the gay barbarity of 
 the Sudanese bead and leather chains, the silver and 
 ivory amulets, the straw fans and baskets in rich tones 
 of orange, green, and magenta; in the gourds covered 
 with nets of blue beads; and in the vegetable bazaar 
 with its medley of oranges, lemons, tiny green limes, 
 strings of dried pods, and rough earthenware bowls 
 full of yellow millet, orange lentils, or dull green peas. 
 
 Here was a stall of weapons presided over by a 
 dark-eyed, white-bearded Arab, who proudly wore the 
 green turban, sign that he had made the pilgrimage 
 to Mecca. A sense of fitness linked him with his 
 wares swords whose scabbards of leather, ivory, or 
 dull gold were inlaid and encrusted with garnets and 
 turquoises, and knives with handles of carved wood or 
 curving horn, whose sheaths of black crocodile, grey 
 lizard-skin, or flame-coloured leather were ornamented 
 with bits of silver, ivory, or copper. 
 
 By his side a man in a dull blue robe, with a tray of 
 brass and copper seals, poured pale amber tea into 
 
 352 

 
 The Golden Ball 353 
 
 tiny handleless cups, one of which he presented to the 
 Mecca pilgrim. 
 
 Wild-eyed Bisharin stalked through the dim covered 
 ways, bringing, with their shaggy hair pierced with 
 silver or ivory pins, their rough white robes, and 
 the dagger or amulet fastened to their bare brown 
 arms, a sense of desert wildness into this brilliant 
 semi-civilisation. 
 
 Ivors and Hesper bargained and bought with the 
 zest of children. He presented her with a string of 
 turquoises, and a gay blue, green, and white " Madama 
 Nubia" as the Arabs call the bead, shell, and leather 
 apron which comprises the simple costume of the 
 Sudanese women; and they gave each other amulets, 
 little rolls of the Koran, hers encased in rose-red and 
 turquoise leather, his more sombrely enclosed in brown 
 and red. They were hung on long fawn leather chains, 
 and when Ivors went to put Hesper's round her neck 
 he found that it had become so entangled with his 
 that he could not disengage it. 
 
 The Arab who sold them came forward with a smile. 
 
 "Let me try, o ef&ndi," he said. His slim brown 
 fingers pushed and patted and finally disentangled 
 the two chains. "A little patience, that is all. Every 
 knot has an unraveller in Allah." 
 
 Ivors thanked the man and drew away, but the 
 words lingered. Would Allah unravel his knot, he 
 wondered, the tangled knot of his own deliberate 
 tying? The question pursued him through the richly 
 coloured twilight of the bazaars, and pierced through 
 the eager chaffering of the merchants, until, with a 
 fatalism born of the East, he set it aside to await its 
 answer at the appointed time. 
 33
 
 354 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 They spent long delightful hours in the felukeh, 
 sailing beneath the green slopes of Elephantine Island, 
 and skirting the golden hills crowned with the ruined 
 tomb of a sheikh, or breasting the current among the 
 granite islands, watching the brown-robed Nubian 
 women come down to the water's edge with kerosene 
 tins poised on their heads with all the grace with which 
 their blue-robed sisters of the Thebaid bore their grey- 
 green water-jars. Here little children, wild as hares, 
 would peer and chatter among the rocks, half-naked, 
 but always with an amulet of silver or copper to glint 
 away misfortune. 
 
 Once they went to Philae Philae the beautiful, the 
 moribund with the crested loveliness of a colonnade 
 lifting its head above the water which had drowned 
 her palms and acacias, and the little kiosk richly 
 pillared and square to the blue. The depth of the sky 
 was reflected in the water on which the sun shone with 
 dazzling brilliance, and the calm beauty of the ruined 
 temple was emphasised by the wild savagery of its 
 surroundings, the reddish-purple islands, and the fiery 
 golden-yellow of the hills. 
 
 The sight depressed them, despite its barbaric 
 contrast. Titans at play might have tumbled 
 together those volcanic-looking cairns, which loomed 
 terrifying, almost overwhelming, not because of their 
 grandeur, but because of some sense of the abnormal, 
 of the primeval which they produced. 
 
 As the winter progressed their solitude cL deux 
 became invaded. Visits from their acquaintances 
 among the residents were not to be avoided, but they 
 were discouraged, and the outer world was carefully 
 excluded, to the hum of much gossip.
 
 The Golden Ball 355 
 
 Ivors was insane, diseased, profligate; he was 
 living with a famous Russian dancer, a divorcee, had a 
 harim full of houris, whose slim, naked forms might be 
 seen flitting through the oleanders. No theory was 
 too wild, too lurid, to be believed, but gradually, as 
 nothing startling occurred to fan the blaze, and as 
 Hesper and Ivors appeared occasionally on the main- 
 land, interest in El-Sadda died out, and the usual 
 round of winter excitements took its place. 
 
 It was a favourite amusement with visitors to sail 
 round the island, and day by day gaily-painted 
 felukehs belonging to the hotels hovered about it like 
 butterflies, but their occupants saw little besides the 
 palms and eucalyptus-trees and a hedge of flaming 
 hibiscus which guarded one end of the island; while 
 the only living creatures who presented themselves to 
 their gaze were Mahmud, the blue-clad urchin who 
 lay along the rough shaft of the sakiyeh, and the fawn 
 cow which turned its creaking, purring wheel while 
 the long chain of dripping red pots dipped into the 
 well beneath. 
 
 The gazelles followed Hesper everywhere, pattering 
 through the big cool rooms and the pillared verandah 
 on tiny polished hoofs ; and the days drifted by. Ivors 
 painted, and Hesper read, worked, and made music. 
 
 The service of the house was silent-footed and unob- 
 trusive, and there was nothing external to mar the 
 harmony. 
 
 Ivors was trying portraits the Hesper he knew and 
 the Ingram she knew. Inspiration sped his brush, 
 with the result that the love-illumined woman looked 
 from one canvas, while the whole appeal of the man's 
 soul spoke through the brown eyes in the other.
 
 356 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 He was thinner than ever, and his cough troubled 
 him. To Hesper's anxiety he made impatient answer 
 that he always coughed a little in the winter, and that 
 there was no need to fuss. His secret wore upon him 
 daily and fretted his patience to a thread. His clear 
 vision of Hesper's character made it imperative that 
 he should tell her if he wished to snatch at his lost 
 self-respect or to retain a shadow of hers, but the words 
 choked him. He could not force them to his lips. 
 His fastidiousness revolted from the blackness of his 
 own deceit, but his whole soul shrank from the thought 
 of meeting the look in her eyes when she knew. 
 
 Sometimes the calm serenity of her happiness 
 almost irritated him. How could she be so happy 
 when he was suffering the tortures of the damned? 
 Then in an agony of reaction he would kiss her feet 
 in spirit. 
 
 At other times he fancied coldness, a slight with- 
 drawal on her part, and tormented himself with 
 wondering if she suspected anything, if she were 
 changing towards him, if he were losing her love? 
 Then would follow fierce outbursts of affection, pas- 
 sionate demands, incessant claims which puzzled 
 Hesper and made her feel a faint sense of apprehension. 
 
 Ivors's gusts of petulance, his fitfulness, his alterna- 
 tions of mood pricked her to wonder, but she attri- 
 buted them chiefly to his variations of health. Often 
 the passage which had offended her in Gerda's letter 
 recurred to her mind. 
 
 "Mammy was fearfully afraid that I should fall in 
 love with Mr. Ivors, but indeed there was never any 
 fear of that. I like a man to be all a man, and not 
 partly a woman, and there is a good deal of femininity
 
 The Golden Ball 357 
 
 about Mr. Ivors. I don't mean anything nasty. I 
 mean the nice kind, which some women love in a man, 
 but I don't." 
 
 This crude expression of a truth had hitherto jarred 
 on Hesper; but in these days she was aware of its 
 reality. 
 
 "There is more of the child than the woman in 
 him," she told herself, "and it is the child who needs 
 me most. " 
 
 She was infinitely patient with him, and infinitely 
 responsive. She called upon all her stores of loving 
 and giving to supply his want, and she felt amply 
 rewarded when one day he told her that he had written 
 to Hildred. She lifted brows of delicate inquiry, 
 and thought she read the answer she desired in his 
 smile. The warm kiss she gave him told him so, and 
 added another flame to his torment, which increased 
 as he heard her go singing softly about the house for 
 the rest of the day. 
 
 He let opportunity after opportunity slip by, and 
 the days were prodigal of them. Hesper did not like 
 to worry him with questions, of which he was always 
 impatient, but at times she felt as if some barrier had 
 arisen between them a barrier of glass, as it were, 
 which was tangible, yet through which she could see. 
 
 Once she asked him if he were tired of El-Saada, if 
 he would like to go anywhere else. 
 
 "Tired of this Paradise?" he answered. "No, 
 beloved. Besides, wherever we went I should take 
 myself with me. Some wise man said once that 
 'always in the sunshine is a black spot : the shadow of 
 ourselves.' That is what ails me."
 
 35 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Are you sure?" she was insistent for once. "You 
 would tell me, would n't you, if anything were really 
 amiss?" 
 
 She put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were 
 very blue, very sweet, very pleading. " You would n't 
 keep anything from your own wife, would you, 
 Ingram?" 
 
 "My own wife! Good God!" he cried, taking her 
 hands in his. How could he kill that look, that 
 sublime faith and trust in him? How could he tell 
 her that she, his soul's comrade, his ideal woman, was 
 no wife at all? How could he let her know what he 
 had dared to make her in the eyes of the world? 
 
 He swallowed a lump in his throat that seemed to 
 choke him. 
 
 " You 've made a sorry bargain, Hesper Belhasard, " 
 he said huskily. 
 
 "Don't be nonsensical!" 
 
 " They 're the truest words I ever spoke. You went 
 through the wood and picked up the crooked stick 
 when you took me, " he said, gazing hungrily at her. 
 
 "There 's nothing crooked about you, dearest," she 
 breathed happily. 
 
 How could he shatter this image, this phantasm of 
 what he might have been? Oh, if he had but met 
 her before Fate had bound him in fetters ! He could 
 have become the man of her dreams. She could have 
 taken him by the hand and led him with her to the 
 Kingdom of Heaven. But now . . . now. . . . 
 He groaned aloud. 
 
 "Ingram! What is it? Are you ill?" 
 
 " No, nothing. Only a twinge, " he answered, turn- 
 ing his head away.
 
 The Golden Ball 359 
 
 "Where? Is it your heart? Oh, darling, I wish 
 you would see Dr. Ayrton. " 
 
 "You should know best about my heart. You 
 have it." He joked with set lips. "No, dear fuss, 
 my heart is as sound as a bell. " 
 
 "What is it, then? You don't know how you 
 frighten me." 
 
 "Don't be a goose. Indigestion, old age, con- 
 science what you will." He took up the lute, and 
 plucked at it with fingers that trembled. He seemed 
 to himself to have shrunk to the meanest dimensions, 
 a shivering creature whose shrivelled soul still had 
 power to feel and to mock at its miserable owner. 
 
 After another period of feverish doubt which was 
 followed by the usual reaction of passionate need, of 
 frantic demands on Hesper's love, Opportunity, the 
 juggler, offered him the golden ball again instead of 
 the bubble, but once more he thrust it aside. 
 
 "I fancied that you had changed to me," he said. 
 He was lying on the divan in the verandah, and Hesper 
 knelt beside him. 
 
 Isis, Horus, Thout, and Hathor looked down from 
 the tenting in gay splashes of colour. Outside the 
 verandah a pepper-tree raised feathery foliage against 
 the blue, and in its branches the bulbuls chirped and 
 twittered. From the distance came the sleepy purr 
 of the sakiyeh, and through the faint insistence of 
 sounds rose the rush and swirl of the Nile. The air 
 was warm and heavy with the perfume of the white- 
 starred Egyptian jasmine, which clambered over the 
 end of the verandah, flinging great scented trails 
 across the low cream parapet. 
 
 "How could you fancy such folly?" she asked,
 
 360 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 noting with a pang how thin were the temples from 
 which she stroked back his hair. "Never, never 
 dream of such a thing again. How could I change to 
 you, my very dearest, to you who have filled my life 
 with happiness, unless to love you more, if that were 
 possible? Why do you worry yourself with these 
 nightmares? It 's so bad for you, and I believe it 
 makes your cough worse." 
 
 "Oh, don't fuss," he said irritably. Then in swift 
 remorse: "Hesper, you're an angel and I'm very 
 much the other thing. I 'd try the patience of any 
 saint but you. I put a daily strain on you " 
 
 "You put it on yourself, too, Ingram, by these 
 foolish doubts. " 
 
 "I don't know how you bear with me. Some day 
 you '11 get tired of the job, and leave me to my own 
 devices." 
 
 "Ingram, don't!" she cried, wounded. 
 
 "What? You wouldn't? Let me see your face. 
 You would n't desert me whatever I did. You 'd 
 stick to me through thick and thin? You 'd never 
 leave me?" 
 
 Hesper answered with trembling lips. 
 
 "You hurt me more by these doubts than " she 
 stopped; she could not control her voice. 
 
 He caught her to him and kissed her passionately, 
 her eyes, her hair, her lips; but what seemed to her 
 the ardour of his first love was fervour tinged with the 
 bitterness of despair. In spite of her answer he could 
 not cling to it as he would, for he knew that she had 
 not the faintest knowledge of the real meaning that 
 underlay his questions. Dare he put this great love 
 to such a test? He knew that the best of women
 
 The Golden Ball 361 
 
 often judge harshly, narrowly, that out of the white- 
 ness of their own purity they have no pity for the 
 soiled raiment of others less fortunate. Should he tell 
 her now and end for ever this doubt which consumed 
 him? 
 
 Her soft voice was murmuring something in his ear. 
 . . . What divine folly was it uttering? 
 
 "If there is anything in me which jars upon you 
 in any way, any little trick of speech, or manner, or 
 gesture, I would far rather that you told me of it than 
 that you remained silent for fear of hurting me, and 
 continued to let it irritate you." 
 
 " You irritate me?" he cried, with a depth of 
 humility in his tone. "Lord, will men and women 
 ever really understand each other?" Then, with a 
 change of key: "Don't let your goose's feathers grow 
 into angel's wings, Hesper Belhasard, unless they 
 would be large enough to cover me too!"
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A VOICE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 AFTER this outburst followed a period of calm. 
 Ivors was in the position of a man who is con- 
 demned to death, but who has to fix the day for his 
 own execution. Daily it was borne in upon him that 
 if he were ever to know peace again he must tell 
 Hesper what he had done, that even the worst would 
 be easier to bear than this constant gnawing terror; 
 and the decision brought with it a certain sense of 
 relief. That she should hear the truth from other 
 lips than his would doubly deepen his guilt; the cold, 
 bleak, naked truth as others would tell it, shivering 
 without even a rag of his love to cover it. No, he 
 must tell her himself in the dust on his knees at her 
 feet. Perhaps she would forgive him, or at least not 
 condemn him too harshly because he had loved her 
 so much. 
 
 Lightened of so much of his burden he became 
 almost his old insouciant self again. He painted 
 wonderful splashes of colour, rainbow-tinted mist, and 
 opaline hazes. Too impatient to tame the birds, as 
 Hesper did, he teased and played with the gazelles, 
 tying silver bells round their necks and driving them, 
 a fairy team, through the garden. He made love to 
 
 362
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 363 
 
 Hesper, wooing her with roses, pomegranates, and 
 sprays of jasmine, crowning her with the large starry 
 blossoms and calling her his "branch of Evin's apple- 
 tree, with twigs of white silver and buds of crystal 
 with blossoms." 
 
 "If I had a harp of apple wood I could enchant 
 you," she said, falling in with his mood. "There is 
 great magic in a harp made of apple wood. " 
 
 "You don't need any harp. It is I who fain would 
 woo you with my lute." 
 
 He sang many love-songs to her in those days, 
 Arabic, Persian, Spanish, but always to the lute, 
 for he said that his voice was too husky for the piano. 
 
 The reaction from those weeks of torment was 
 delicious. Feeling almost happy he felt almost good ; 
 the impulse of confession seemed to bring its own 
 absolution. "Every knot has an unraveller in Allah.'" 
 
 Still, bitter qualms shook him as to what she would 
 say, how she would look, when he told her. The 
 thought of her eyes shrinking from his hurt him like 
 a blow. It seemed like a murder to kill her faith in 
 him, but he would abase himself before her, he would 
 kneel so low in humiliation that for very pity she 
 could not leave him in the dust. 
 
 He put off the evil day from week to week, but like 
 the condemned man he knew that he could not put it 
 off for ever. A period was set to his indecision. The 
 day should be appointed ; let Fate decide the hour. 
 
 He would have one more perfect day, and then 
 
 "Hesper Belhasard, what is your favourite day in 
 the week?" he asked her suddenly. 
 
 "Thursday," she replied, looking up with a smile, 
 "because that is the day I first met you."
 
 364 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Then on Thursday I am going to take you for an 
 excursion, probably the last for the season, as the 
 weather is growing warm again." He savoured the 
 irony of his simple statement. Perhaps after that 
 day Hesper would be his comrade no more. Perhaps 
 she would cast him adrift to be blown again like a leaf 
 on the winds of chance. Well ... if she did . . . 
 there were ways of ending it all. He could not face 
 the desert of life if what meant the greatest and best 
 of it were torn from him any more than he could 
 continue to breathe if his living heart were cut from 
 his living body. It would be the same in a spiritual 
 sense, with the bitterness of bodily separation added. 
 
 "Where are we going to, Ingram?" 
 
 "Wait and see, Madama." 
 
 "Are we to go by boat, camel, donkey, or sand- 
 cart?" 
 
 "Why this anxiety?" 
 
 " So that I shall know what to wear. " 
 
 "Wear your Madama Nubia." 
 
 "The sun is too hot!" 
 
 "Put on one of your white frocks, then, and my 
 chain of turquoises to make your eyes look blue. 
 When you wear those your eyes always reflect the 
 love-colour." 
 
 "Don't they do that in any case?" she asked, 
 coaxingly. 
 
 In spite of his jesting fear tinged every thought, 
 every movement, the unadmitted fear of losing her. 
 He determined to taste the sweetness of this last day 
 to the full, but fear dropped doubt into the cup. 
 
 Thursday dawned, and Ivors's waking thought 
 drove sleep away.
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 365 
 
 "To-morrow I must tell her. To-morrow, to-mor- 
 row, to-morrow." 
 
 The words rang in his ears like a knell. Through 
 the early morning he watched her, hanging on her 
 words, forestalling her desires, realising with each fleet- 
 ing moment more and more of what she was to him. 
 
 Hesper's anxieties were lulled to rest. She was 
 frankly happy at the thought of the long golden day 
 they were to spend together. She did not care where 
 they went, what they did, so long as Ingram was with 
 her, his old whimsical self. His new watchful wist- 
 fulness escaped her, or rather melted into his general 
 charm. 
 
 They started early, as the first part of their journey 
 was by train. When they alighted at a little wayside 
 station Moussa awaited them with donkeys and a flat 
 reed basket. 
 
 Hesper's steed was large and grey ; his tail and mane 
 were dyed orange with henna, and round his neck he 
 bore chains of gilt coins and blue and white beads 
 which jingled pleasantly as he went. 
 
 Ivors's black donkey was gay with scarlet and yellow 
 saddlecloth and red-humped native saddle, and both 
 animals had neat geometrical patterns clipped on their 
 hind legs. Moussa's beast fell behind while its rider 
 conversed amiably with the blue-girt donkey-boys, 
 who sometimes sprang forward with a great show of 
 energy to urge their steeds onward with clucks and 
 grunts and harsh cries. 
 
 The air was balmy and delicious; a faint pearly 
 haze softened the intense blueness of the sky, and 
 shimmered dreamily on the Nile, by whose bank the 
 path led for a time. Passing through the hard-beaten
 
 366 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 mud streets of a village (a-jostle with flap-eared goats, 
 long-legged hens, peeping children, and freely-moving 
 women) , whose pungent atmosphere surrounded them 
 almost tangibly, it was a relief to come upon the half- 
 empty track by the broad spaces of the river; to see 
 the darting black and white kingfishers, or the metallic 
 flash of a blue one up a side canal ; to hear the whisper 
 of the tall purple-stemmed sugar-cane, or savour the 
 scent of mimosa blown upon a warm morning wind. 
 
 On sandy islets storks and herons brooded, or brown 
 and white mottled vultures picked at a heap of tum- 
 bled bones where the river had taken toll of sheep or 
 goat. 
 
 Fishermen waded along the foreshore, their nets, 
 silken-fine, coiled in loops about their wrists. A deft 
 touch of sinewy fingers, a rhythmic movement of 
 bronze arms, and out upon the air they flew like wisps 
 of pale brown mist, settling for an instant in wide rings 
 upon the surface before they sank out of sight beneath 
 the water. 
 
 Then the track turned through another palm- 
 girdled village, and on to the edge of cultivation where 
 the tawny desert stretched in wrinkled folds to the 
 foot of the Arabian Hills. 
 
 The hollows in the sand were grey and lavender, 
 and an occasional rock or elevation cast a shadow that 
 had a hyacinth bloom. 
 
 The great silence brought a sense of peace to Ivors's 
 turbulent heart. He turned to Hesper as they rode 
 across the noiseless sand. 
 
 '"Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday; 
 Why fret about them if To-day be sweet, 1 " 
 
 he said, flinging a challenge to Fate.
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 367 
 
 "To-day is sweet," answered Hesper, as she had 
 done once so long ago. 
 
 " Too sweet to last. " 
 
 "Then there 's to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow! We won't think about to-morrow." 
 
 "Let 's enjoy to-day." 
 
 "Are you enjoying it, Hesper Belhasard?" 
 
 "Oh, so much. Inexpressibly, my dearest. I must 
 invent a new vocabulary." 
 
 Why did the trivial words dart javelin stings from 
 the past? The shadow of himself, no longer merely a 
 black spot, threatened to blot out the sunshine of 
 to-day. He strove with it. To-day was his, his last 
 day. What to-morrow might mean for Hesper he did 
 not try to surmise. There were abysses into which he 
 dared not peer. To him its issues were grave beyond 
 conjecture. After to-day those eyes of hers, which 
 for him held all the sweetness of the world, and all 
 love's sorrow as well as love's laughter, might look at 
 him with hatred as his wife's had done on that long- 
 banished day, which being dead yet lived, and being 
 past was ever present. 
 
 No, he could not picture hatred in Hesper's eyes. 
 Reproach perhaps, the wounded gaze of one mortally 
 hurt by the best-beloved bah! Why should these 
 thoughts buzz round him like a cloud of flies and spoil 
 his last good moments? Once more he strove to 
 banish them. 
 
 Far behind them stretched the Nile- valley, a blur of 
 green in every imaginable shade from vivid emerald 
 to olive-grey, threaded through by the silver ribbon of 
 the river ; before them rose amber slopes of sand to the 
 hills that loomed sheer above them in fawn and yellow
 
 368 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 crags with deep rusty crevices. A cleft in the heights 
 opened before them showing a narrow desolate valley 
 of rocks and sand, with a track which bent towards the 
 right. Near the top of a bluff which was shaped like a 
 crouching lion the tawny hillside seemed to be pierced 
 with dark blue hollows. 
 
 Ivors pointed with his stick. 
 
 " It is there we are going, beloved. It is a deserted 
 Christian hermitage." 
 
 "Up there? Then we shall have to fly," answered 
 Hesper, smiling happily. 
 
 "No need to use your wings yet. There is a path, 
 but it zigzags steeply up the hill. " 
 
 " I am entirely in your hands. Whither thou goest 
 I will go." 
 
 His heart leaped absurdly. "Hesper!" 
 
 "Why should it be such a constant surprise to you 
 to find that I love you?" she asked rather wistfully. 
 
 " Because I deserve it so little," he replied, with bent 
 head. 
 
 The slope grew steeper, and the sun beat more 
 fiercely. The winding of the valley cut them off from 
 cultivation and civilisation. Burnt-looking stones 
 lay scattered on the sand, and a high spur of rock 
 cast a sharp black shadow across the path at a bend. 
 
 Suddenly from behind it stepped an odd figure, 
 hunchbacked, bearded, gnome-like, whose brown, 
 seamed face and white rolled turban made it appear as 
 if the spirit of one of the burnt distorted stones had 
 unexpectedly taken shape and stood before them. A 
 bunch of heavy keys dangled from his girdle and an 
 old-fashioned, long-barrelled musket over his shoulder 
 added a suggestion of lawlessness that was as much one
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 369 
 
 with the barren valley and the desert hills as the kite 
 which wheeled, solitary, in the blue overhead. 
 
 "I am the Keeper of the Caves," he announced 
 in guttural Arabic. "Does his excellency wish to see 
 them?" 
 
 Ivors answered him in the same tongue and the 
 man responded courteously, looking the while with 
 bold admiration at Hesper. Then he turned and bade 
 them follow him. Despite his deformity he seemed to 
 be possessed of great strength and agility as he swung 
 before them with free gait up the narrow pathway to 
 the plateau in front of the hermitage. 
 
 It was a strange primitive place, this deserted sanc- 
 tuary, where tempest-torn men had fled from the 
 temptations and distractions of the outer world to 
 seek peace and to find their own souls. 
 
 The hot sun seemed to invoke the spirit of oblivion 
 which brooded over the place. There was no sign of 
 life beyond their own incongruous presence; no least 
 green thing peeped from the burning rock, no lizard 
 darted across the glistening sand, no bird hopped or 
 twittered. Even the kite had vanished from the 
 empty sky. Forgotten by time, deserted by humanity 
 a heavy silence encircled the place. Their very foot- 
 falls were lost in the thick sand. 
 
 From a long vaulted corridor hollowed out of the 
 living hillside opened a series of small rock-hewn cells 
 whose tawny walls bore the Coptic symbol of the 
 Cross. One or two of them had wooden doors which 
 the Keeper of the Caves flung wide, disclosing crude 
 frescoes of saints and martyrs, flame-racked or arrow- 
 stung. 
 
 In the centre of the corridor was a door that was 
 24
 
 370 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 higher and more ornate than the others. It was 
 roughly carved and was clamped and ornamented 
 with pierced bands of copper, green with age. 
 
 " Now I will show you the mosque of the Christians, 
 o efdndi," he said, inserting a wrought-copper key 
 into the ancient lock. 
 
 Then, to the sound of a creak that was like the 
 heavy sigh of eld, he opened to them a dim vaulted 
 rock-chapel, its walls and ceilings covered with faded 
 paintings. In the half-light the effect was surprisingly 
 beautiful. Ivors thought of the sumptuously dight 
 chapels of kings, of the brilliant Sainte Chapelle, of the 
 lovely Spanish Chapel at Florence, and felt the same 
 sense of rich yet subdued beauty and colour in the 
 very atmosphere of this little vaulted hollow. 
 
 Over the old altar shone Christ surrounded by 
 adoring angels. The figures were stiff, the attitudes 
 primitive and awkward, yet through it all breathed 
 an essence of adoration which made one lose sense of 
 its mere artistic value. The spirit of art was there 
 mingled with the spirit of prayer, shining like a jewel 
 in the wilderness. 
 
 Ivors's beauty-loving nature was captivated. He 
 felt grateful to the "eremites and friars" who had in 
 their primitive way sown the seed of art in the desert, 
 making it to blossom like a rose. He wondered what 
 manner of men they had been, from what they had 
 fled taking themselves with them to what they had 
 attained? 
 
 Hesper sighed, touched by the surprise and enchant- 
 ment of it all. Moved by an impulse she left Ivors's 
 side and knelt before the ancient altar with its adoring 
 angels.
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 371 
 
 Ivors's heart contracted as he looked. That her 
 religion meant much to her he knew, but it was 
 beautiful, remote, and as deeply hidden as this old 
 chapel. She did not speak about it, but its in- 
 expressible fragrance breathed through her spirit 
 and distilled itself in sweet womanliness and gentle 
 charity. 
 
 He had often watched her at her prayers, and now, 
 as always, felt a sense of her withdrawal, of the pres- 
 ence of an essence which he could not capture. Some- 
 times it was as a benediction to him to know that she 
 was so innately good ; at others the sense of contrast 
 opened a sudden gulf between them. Would he lose 
 her or gain her through eternity for her goodness? 
 To-morrow he would know. 
 
 A carving round the base of the wall caught his eye 
 and he stooped to examine it. Some words in Arabic 
 were engraved on the stone. 
 
 "What is written here?" he asked the Keeper. 
 
 The bright eyes peered upwards, then down at the 
 stone again. 
 
 "I used to know, ef&ndi, but I have forgotten. If 
 Allah wills my fingers will tell me. " 
 
 He closed his eyes and felt each deeply-cut letter 
 with his strong brown fingers, mumbling to himself 
 in Arabic. To Ivors's highly strung fancy he seemed 
 to be weaving an evil spell in that sacred place, while 
 Hesper, white and remote, rapt in prayer, was de- 
 tached from him in spirit as well as in body. 
 
 The mumbling stopped; the bent figure straight- 
 ened itself as well as it could, and the man looked up 
 at Ivors. 
 
 "These are the words, o ef&ndi some Christian
 
 37 2 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 spell without a doubt. 'To-day if ye will hear His 
 voice, harden not your hearts. ' ' 
 
 " To-day if ye will hear His voice " the words fell 
 on Ivors's ears with a shock. They chimed so aptly 
 with his thought, with his design. He took the man 
 by the shoulder. 
 
 "You are sure those are the words? Quite sure?" 
 
 " Yd saldm, ef&ndi! It is long since I read, but as 
 Allah is my witness those be the words my fingers told 
 me. They are not evil words, efendi?" 
 
 " No, no, " said Ivors. " To-day if ye will hear His 
 voice, harden not your hearts." 
 
 Well, he had heard the voice to-day, the voice cry- 
 ing in the wilderness, and he was not going to harden 
 his heart, he was going to confess his sin to Hesper 
 to-morrow. 
 
 At the thought wild ideas rushed through his brain. 
 It seemed as if Hesper were wrapt away from him 
 already; as if for countless ages she had knelt there 
 before that remote unserved altar ; as if he must rouse 
 her, snatch her up, carry her away from these influ- 
 ences into the secret heart of the hills. 
 
 As if his thoughts had touched her, she rose and 
 came towards him. In the twilight of the rock- 
 chapel his face looked white and strange. 
 
 "Come out," he said, almost roughly, "I must 
 breathe the outer air again." 
 
 She slipped her arm through his and rubbed her 
 cheek against his shoulder. Her heart was full of 
 him; her prayers had all been his. 
 
 The light seemed dazzling after the dimness of 
 the church, and the cliffs were irradiated with a golden 
 glow.
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 373 
 
 "Out of the darkness into light," said Hesper, 
 lifting her face to the sunshine. 
 
 "Don't go into the light without me," he cried 
 hoarsely, detaining her. 
 
 "I don't want to go anywhere without you." 
 
 "Not even to Heaven?" 
 
 "Not even to Heaven," she answered with a little 
 sigh that melted into a smile. 
 
 Up past the forgotten hermitage they went, wander- 
 ing along the rocky plateau to find that Moussa had 
 set a feast for them at the mouth of a blue-shadowed 
 cave. 
 
 On the fine yellow sand he had spread a rose and 
 purple shawl for Hesper to sit upon, and had laid a 
 table of Nature's providing with young pigeons, 
 crisp bread, golden loose-skinned oranges, and rip- 
 est pomegranates. He had made a pattern in the 
 sand with jasmine stars and curling orange-leaves, 
 and into silver cups he had poured libations of white 
 wine. 
 
 "This is like our first feast, dearest," said Hesper. 
 "Ah, do you remember? How lonely I felt before 
 you came, and how dull my ears were that I never 
 heard the sound of your feet!" 
 
 "It would have been better for you if they had 
 carried me out of your life." 
 
 "High treason and heresy!" she smiled. "You 
 must be extra nice to me now to make up for the 
 disloyalty of that speech. I pledge you, my dearest. 
 I drink to you and to our love. " 
 
 She lifted one of the silver cups, touched it with her 
 lips, and handed it to him. He took it with fingers 
 that shook.
 
 374 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "You have filled my cup with sweetness, " she went 
 on. "Ah, how lonely I was without you!" 
 
 He handed back the cup. "To-morrow I may fill 
 it with bitterness," he said. The hand that touched 
 hers in the transfer was burning. 
 
 "Ah, no," she answered. "You couldn't so long 
 as you love me." 
 
 His face lightened. "Be sure of that whatever 
 happens. No man ever loved woman as I love you. " 
 
 " I have n't crystallised into a commonplace, then? " 
 she looked at him from under her black lashes. 
 
 " No, you have n't. You were more correct in your 
 diagnosis of human nature than I. One cannot fore- 
 tell what even one's nearest and dearest will do in the 
 stress of circumstance. " 
 
 "Who is your nearest and dearest?" she coaxed, 
 trying to woo him back to his earlier mood of gaiety. 
 
 "Conceited creature! As if you didn't know!" 
 
 "Of course I know, but I lo-ove to hear you say 
 so!" 
 
 The strangeness of the bread and wine among the 
 desert hills, the remoteness from their kind, the silence 
 and solitude of their surroundings, curtaining them 
 as in a sanctuary, made the little meal seem almost 
 sacramental to Ivors. 
 
 " To-day if ye will hear His voice " 
 
 He had vacillated before. He would postpone no 
 longer. To-morrow he would confess his sin and 
 take his punishment like a man. 
 
 To-day ? 
 
 When the feast was over and its traces silently 
 removed by Moussa, Ivors lay on the sand with his 
 head on Hesper's lap. He felt a sense of peace steal
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 375 
 
 over him, and the sweetness of her presence soothed 
 him with its wonted magic. At times he seized and 
 kissed the gentle fingers which stroked his hair and 
 forehead. 
 
 "How good you are! How far above me you 
 shine, you fixed star!" he cried once. 
 
 The stroking ceased. Hesper was troubled. 
 
 "My dearest, I wish you would not idealise me so. 
 I am not good I am not a star, but a very ordinary, 
 faulty human being." 
 
 "I don't idealise you. I call you conceited and a 
 goose. Is that the language of rapture?" 
 
 She gave a little crooning laugh. 
 
 " I know you 're a woman, which spells weak 
 humanity for both sexes, but Lord! I often wonder 
 whether the worst woman is n't better than the best 
 of men?" 
 
 Hesper flushed and sparkled. "Ingram! The 
 worst of women better than you? I never heard 
 such absurd nonsense!" 
 
 "Ah, who's idealising now? You don't know men 
 and their capacities, Hesper Belhasard. You don't 
 know their temptations and passions, nor how close 
 the beast in them is always lurking. What did these 
 hermits flee from?" 
 
 "I know that they were made in the image of 
 God," answered Hesper very low. 
 
 "And how cruelly, how brutally men often deface 
 that image!" cried Ivors. "You believe in God, 
 Hesper, in a personal, actual God?" 
 
 Hesper was startled. She spoke softly, shyly, out 
 of the depths of her reticence. 
 
 "I believe in an ineffable Presence, an ineffable
 
 37 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Goodness and Understanding. Yes, Some One Who 
 knows our sins and weaknesses, and makes allowances 
 for the unseen temptations of circumstance and 
 surroundings 
 
 " Some One Who really cares? " he interrupted. 
 
 "Some One Who really cares," she answered low. 
 "I am stupid at saying what I feel. I only know. 
 After all, we have only finite, limited words to express 
 the ineffable, and only earthly symbols to express 
 heavenly things." 
 
 "But you believe that somewhere there is Some One 
 Who cares what becomes of us, as I care for you or you 
 care for me?" he persisted. 
 
 "Oh, more, far more. That 's an earthly symbol 
 which expresses the heavenly. If we two faulty 
 human beings can care so much " she broke off, 
 but her silence spoke. 
 
 Ivors looked through the mouth of the cave across 
 the peach-yellow valley to the hot hills opposite, which 
 seemed to burn against the intense blueness of the 
 sky. 
 
 "Have you ever come across this verse, Hesper?" 
 he asked after a pause. 
 
 " 'Within my earthly temple there 's a crowd; 
 There 's one of us that 's humble, one that 's proud, 
 There 's one that 's broken-hearted for his sins, 
 And one who, unrepentant, sits and grins; 
 There 's one who loves his neighbour as himself 
 And one who cares for naught but fame and pelf. 
 From much corroding care I should be free 
 If once I could determine which is me. ' 
 
 "With a few little differences there 's Ingram Ivors 
 Ego for you. "
 
 A Voice Crying in the Wilderness 377 
 
 "There's each of us," answered Hesper. "I'm 
 sure most human beings have felt that sense of warring 
 entities." 
 
 "Only those with imaginations. The fellow who 
 wrote that packed a profound truth into his nutshell 
 of verse." He gazed silently into the distance. 
 
 "Wise men crack nuts for fools to eat," said 
 Hesper. "Do you know that your hair would curl 
 beautifully if you would only let it grow a little longer." 
 
 " Don't tell me that you want a curly horror for a 
 husband?" he began lightly, but the word husband 
 checked him. 
 
 He rose. "It 's time for us to go, " he said. 
 
 Hesper held out her hands, and as he bent to take 
 them the picture became impressed on his mind the 
 silent sanctuary and the dark recession of the cave, 
 the white-clad woman with the chain of turquoises 
 which called the love-colour to her eyes, the glowing 
 rug on the fine sand, and the slim hands stretched up 
 in appeal. 
 
 "Is our lovely day over?" she asked regretfully. 
 She slipped her hand within his arm and rested against 
 him when he had helped her to rise. 
 
 " Not yet, the Lord be praised, " he answered. " We 
 have the ride home and the night with its myriad 
 stars."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 WHEN they had left behind them the lonely 
 valley, wishing a "Night as white as milk" 
 to the Keeper of the Caves, an odd spirit of reaction 
 seized Ivors. 
 
 He laughed, jested, urged his donkey to a gallop, 
 and challenged Hesper to a race across the desert. 
 She laughed too, and fell in with his mood, and with 
 quickened pulses they raced across the heavy sand 
 to the sound of beating hoofs and the pattering feet of 
 the donkey-boys. They had perforce to slacken 
 speed when they came to the highway along the Nile- 
 bank and mingled once more with humanity, the 
 crowd which came and went to the watering-places in 
 the red sunset; the dark-robed women with jars, the 
 water-carriers with their shaggy goat-skins, the child- 
 ren driving cows and buffaloes, the shepherds leading 
 their flocks and herds, the strings of camels tied nose 
 to tail, grunting and bubbling as they passed, the 
 little pink-clad girls with baskets of fuel-cakes on their 
 heads, the brown-robed men with their wool and 
 spindles. 
 
 So through the crowded village with its gleam of 
 fires seen through square and courtyard, its palm- 
 
 378
 
 To-Morrow 379 
 
 thatched houses and its sharp-nosed, barking pariah 
 dogs, to the zinc and wood railway-station set incon- 
 gruously beyond it. 
 
 Their train was not yet due, and the wind which 
 sometimes springs up on the Nile at sunset blew with 
 an unwonted sharpness. Ivors, who was heated from 
 his ride, shivered a little at its touch. 
 
 Hesper, quick to note, was all solicitude. 
 
 "Ingram, haven't you got a coat? Moussa, why 
 did you not bring your master's coat?" 
 
 "Also an eider-down and a hot- water bottle?" 
 scoffed Ivors. " Dear fuss, why don't you offer me 
 your turquoise chain for a wrap?" 
 
 Hesper smiled. " Let 's walk about at any rate, so 
 that you shan't get a chill. " 
 
 "Bachelors' wives and old maids' children no, 
 that 's not appropriate," he began. 
 
 "Appropriate enough," she answered. "/ was an 
 old maid for so long, with no one to take care of, that 
 it 's more applicable than you think. I suppose the 
 reason that the saying is never inverted to old maids' 
 husbands and bachelors' children is that every woman 
 is at heart a mother. We all have the protective in- 
 stinct. I suppose that is why we look upon our men- 
 folk as nothing more or less than big children." 
 
 As she spoke a sense of that divine instinct compact 
 of the desire to give, to understand, to strengthen, to 
 protect, and above all to love, flowed from her to him, 
 and seemed to be but another link in the chain that 
 bound them together. Needing her as he did it would 
 break her heart to break that chain, he reasoned. 
 
 " That, in a way, is how I looked on my dear father," 
 the soft voice went on, impelled to confidence by the
 
 380 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 subtle influences of his nearness and the waning light. 
 "It was that alone which kept me from being too 
 cruelly hurt when he failed me, as people have failed 
 me all my life. Now I Ve learned to be content to 
 give and not to expect too much in return, to do my 
 utmost not to fail any one who depends on me, and 
 no to over-demand. In one way or another every 
 one on whom I ever depended failed me, every one 
 but you!" she ended with unwonted fire. 
 
 Ivors turned abruptly on the platform, so that his 
 back was to the flaming after-glow and his face in 
 shadow. Her words, as well as her sudden clinging 
 touch, smote deep. He pressed her arm in silence. 
 He could find no words for the thoughts which surged 
 within him. 
 
 When at last he spoke, his words were apparently 
 irrelevant to Hesper's confidence, but she was used to 
 his mental flights and followed them, or anticipated 
 them as best she might. 
 
 "What clogged minds the old animals must have 
 had who pictured Hell as a fiery furnace!" he cried. 
 " The doctrine of the immortality of the soul is a more 
 exquisitely cruel one than that of the fiercest of 
 material flames. Omar, the old Pagan, knew better. " 
 
 He quickened his pace as he murmured : 
 
 "I sent my Soul through the Invisible 
 Some letter of the After-Life to spell; 
 And by-and-by my Soul returned to me, 
 And answered, 'I myself am Heaven and Hell.'" 
 
 "That 's the crux I myself am Heaven and Hell. 
 To take yourself with you throughout eternity . . . 
 Lord, what a refinement of torture!"
 
 To-Morrow 381 
 
 Hesper was puzzled at his vehemence. She could 
 not understand the bitterness of self-condemnation 
 which tinctured his speech. 
 
 "But it is n't your worst self you take with you," 
 she began tentatively. 
 
 "Of course not," he returned impatiently. "It 's 
 only your better self which is fine enough to appreciate 
 the subtler shades of punishment. Here 's the train, 
 puffing derision at the idea of my discussing soul- 
 psychology. " He laughed. 
 
 "Why do you laugh, Ingram?" 
 
 "Because crying is such a hideous sound," he 
 answered unexpectedly. 
 
 When the train moved out of the station he came 
 close to her. 
 
 "Let me lay my head on your nice soft shoulder," 
 he said. "That at any rate has never failed me." 
 
 "And never will," she asserted, touching his cheek 
 tenderly. 
 
 "What a cocksure person you are!" he returned, 
 with his old whimsical smile. Then after a long 
 silence: "It is from this bourne that I should like to 
 set out for the last Great Adventure," he said softly, 
 and he did not move until the quickened beat of her 
 heart was followed by a patter of warm tears upon his 
 cheek. 
 
 Hesper thought of his words in the dawn of the 
 morrow when, after a night of alternate shivering and 
 fever, Ivors woke from a fitful doze to a rending attack 
 of coughing which, to her horror and despair, ended in 
 a violent hemorrhage of the lungs. 
 
 Illness, with its innumerable needs and details, was
 
 382 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 almost unknown to her, and she waited for the arrival 
 of Dr. Ayrton in a mute agony that shut out hope 
 from her horizon. The still speechless figure with its 
 haunting eyes was not her Ingram; the unresponsive 
 hand which lay in hers was not the hand whose touch 
 she would have known among ten thousand. 
 
 The hours of watching seemed endless. A century 
 separated her from the ordinary life of yesterday. It 
 seemed as if the blow had fallen years ago, as if this 
 deadly certainty of peril had always enwrapped her. 
 
 It was a white, despairing woman who faced Dr. 
 Ayrton when he came, who spoke briefly, and huskily, 
 but whose beseeching soul looked at him out of her 
 darkly shadowed eyes. 
 
 He was a kindly man of middle-age, who had looked 
 on life and death all his days as the great unsolvable 
 mysteries. He had attended Ivors before, and was all 
 too familiar with the state of his lungs. He made a 
 brief examination, a briefer diagnosis. 
 
 Ivors's brown eyes questioned him, dog-like. 
 
 "Ami ?" 
 
 " No speaking, please, " said Dr. Ayrton. " You 're 
 a nice fellow to give your poor wife a fright like this. 
 Donkey-riding yesterday across the desert, heat, a 
 chill. I wonder at you at your age, Ivors! Now 
 listen, my good man, I deliver absolute authority 
 into Mrs. Ivors's hands. You 're not to budge prop 
 him steady with pillows, Mrs. Ivors. You are not to 
 speak. No worry, no agitation. If you want to get 
 better your only chance is to lie as still as a mummy 
 and do what you 're told. " 
 
 The simile was not a happy one, there was too death- 
 like a stillness already about the tense form in the bed.
 
 To-Morrow 383 
 
 Only the eyes seemed to be alive, and they were mutely 
 asking, asking, asking. 
 
 Hesper saw the appeal, and bent towards him. 
 
 "You want something, dearest. He wants some- 
 thing. May he whisper, doctor?" 
 
 "One word, then. He must not be agitated." 
 
 His lips formed the word, "Hildred." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I know. Hildred. He wants his 
 daughter to know, doctor. You want me to telegraph. 
 Very well. I '11 send Moussa at once. Her address is 
 in your pocket-book. No, I won't leave you except 
 to write the wire. The littlest moment, dearest." 
 
 She followed Dr. Ayrton into the big, cool hall with 
 its rich Persian rugs. 
 
 "Well?" she asked, as countless women have asked 
 before her of countless human arbiters. 
 
 Dr. Ayrton was vague, guarded. 
 
 "He should have come to me sooner. The great 
 thing now is to guard against a recurrence of the 
 hemorrhage. If you have to hold him he must be kept 
 absolutely still. You have an ice-machine? Good. 
 Would you like me to wire to Cairo for a nurse? We 
 must n't have you knocking yourself up, Mrs. Ivors." 
 
 "It does n't matter about me " she began. 
 
 "Now that 's the great mistake that all you good, 
 unselfish women make, " he interrupted. "You must 
 take care of yourself ; you must husband your strength. 
 It 's selfishness not to do so; and recoils on those 
 whom you desire to serve. " 
 
 "I don't want a nurse unless it is absolutely neces- 
 sary. Miss Ivors will probably come as soon as she 
 can, and I expect my own maid, who is a splendid 
 nurse, in about a week. If you think that Moussa and
 
 384 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 I can manage until then? I '11 take great care of 
 myself." She tried to smile at Dr. Ayrton, who 
 coughed as he turned away. 
 
 " Very well. If you write out that wire I 11 send it 
 for you. " He gave some further directions and said 
 he would come again later, thinking, as he strode 
 through the oleanders which bent their rosy buds 
 above the tinkling stream, that it was extremely pro- 
 blematical whether Ivors would live to see daughter or 
 nurse or even the dawn of another day. 
 
 " If he has another hemorrhage he '11 go out like the 
 snuff of a candle," he said to himself, and he went 
 back to his rooms to dispose of his few fashionable 
 patients for the day and make preparations to take 
 up his abode for the time being at El-Saada. 
 
 So the stars fought in their courses, and to-morrow 
 was farther off for Ivors than ever. He had had his 
 chance and lost it, but in his weakness nothing 
 mattered. He was not capable of coherent thought ; 
 he drifted on a sea of nothingness where the only real 
 thing was sight and touch of Hesper. He forgot even 
 the vague impulse which had spurred him to ask for 
 Hildred; he did not care for anything so long as 
 Hesper were present. He had thought that she was 
 going away, but she had not gone. She was always 
 there when he opened his eyes on this new vague 
 world; that was all that mattered. Once when by 
 chance she was absent his haunting, terrified eyes sent 
 Moussa in swift pursuit. 
 
 The days dragged in an endless dreamlike routine. 
 Everything was changed by the coming of the grim 
 presence. The infinitesimal loomed into the mag- 
 nitude of the abnormal ; the silent house seemed full of
 
 To-Morrow 385 
 
 shadows and footsteps ; the ticking of a clock seemed 
 a waiting menace. 
 
 The suddenness of the change at first stunned Hes- 
 per, but when the hours passed into days and the days 
 into nights, and days and nights were woven into the 
 chain of a week without the dreaded recurrence, her 
 spirit lifted itself again, and on the far horizon she 
 seemed to catch a faint vision of hope. 
 
 Dr. Ayrton ceased to spend his nights on the 
 island ; the tension, but not the vigilance, was slightly 
 relaxed. The gazelles came pattering into Ivors's 
 room in search of Hesper, and were relentlessly hunted 
 forth by Moussa lest they should disturb his beloved 
 efdndi. 
 
 Memory had not as yet pierced Ivors's apathy. The 
 anodyne of illness had dulled all requirements to his 
 need of Hesper, and the faculty of dreamlike existence 
 from day to day. He had forgotten the stress of the 
 past, or at most had but a dim subconsciousness of it, 
 a sensation rather than a coming menace. 
 
 At first Hesper could scarcely believe the tale of the 
 creeping hours, then as he grew gradually better she 
 told herself that his words on that Thursday had not 
 been prophetic, premonitory of cruel separation. She 
 was content with so little, just this first slight relaxa- 
 tion of the cold clutch of terror which gripped her 
 heart. If from day to day she kept him with her she 
 would not look ahead. With tears and prayers she 
 wrestled on her knees for Ivors's life, and saw with 
 thankful heart the hourly answer. 
 
 Sometimes they talked a little in whispers; some- 
 times she read him to sleep. 
 
 "I think old Ayrton thought I was done for," he 
 25
 
 386 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 said once. "I was in the valley of the shadow, I 
 know, but you pulled me back." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you, Hesper Belhasard. I was conscious of 
 you somehow. You would n't let me go." 
 
 "No, I held you close, beloved," she whispered 
 triumphantly. "Oh, my very dearest!" 
 
 He knit puzzled brows. "There was something I 
 can't remember. I thought you were going to cast 
 me adrift." 
 
 "That must have been the fever, dearest. / cast 
 you adrift? Such nonsense! " She gave a low happy 
 laugh. A few days ago she had thought that she 
 would never laugh again. 
 
 "There was something," he persisted, "but I can't 
 remember. " 
 
 "Don't try. Shall I read you the Lotus-Eaters? 
 This is just the warm dreamy atmosphere for it, with 
 the jasmine-scent coming in through the windows." 
 She took the book from the table and began to read 
 in her cooing voice, which harmonised with the words 
 she uttered: 
 
 "There is sweet music here that softer falls 
 Than petals from blown roses on the grass, 
 Or night-dew on still water between walls 
 Of shadowy granite in a gleaming pass; 
 
 Music that gentlier on the spirit lies 
 
 Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; 
 Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies." 
 
 Before the soft voice had finished the Choric Song 
 Ivors's tired eyelids closed upon his tired eyes, and he 
 slept.
 
 To-Morrow 387 
 
 Hesper's heart contracted as she looked at him. 
 Was this thin, white, weary being the Ingram who had 
 laughed and joked and run races with her one short 
 week ago? Was it not only the shadow of the man she 
 loved? Ah, but her heart went out in doubled fulness 
 to that shadow which had so nearly eluded her, so 
 nearly slipped away into the Place of Shadows. 
 
 She would not let him go, he had murmured. Was 
 that what it really meant? she wondered. Had her 
 prayers kept him with her, her great insistent need of 
 him? How they depended on each other, these two 
 lonely creatures ! Great tears welled up into her eyes 
 and rolled slowly down her cheeks as she looked at the 
 gaunt form, so nearly reft from her already, and 
 thought of the frail hold which those hands, grown so 
 suddenly white and thin, had upon life. Any remem- 
 brance of his petulance, his impatience, was swept 
 away by the great flood of love which surged anew in 
 her heart for him. She set self aside utterly. Even 
 when Nanno, her one link with the past, arrived with 
 great composure one evening, she did not let herself 
 break down beyond a sob or two, and a cry of "Oh, 
 Nanno! Nanno!" 
 
 " 'T is the fine uprise entirely for ye, me darlin' 
 lamb Miss Hesper, ma'am, I should say," said the 
 elder woman, patting her nursling's shoulder. " To 
 be livin' in a grand house like this, and married to 
 that handsome gentleman, God bless him! 'T is 
 we '11 nurse him, the two of us, until he gets as fat 
 as butter." 
 
 Hesper dried her eyes and smiled. "That '11 take 
 some time, I 'm afraid, Nanno. Oh, how heavenly 
 it is to have a woman to talk to again ! " She suddenly
 
 388 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 realised what the gap had been now that it was filled. 
 " We must n't disturb Mr. Ivors at present. We have 
 to be very, very careful of him. I won't even tell him 
 that you are here for a day or two lest it should up- 
 set him. The least thing may bring on that dreadful 
 hemorrhage again." She gave an involuntary shud- 
 der at the thought, then set her lips and braced 
 herself to meet the future, strengthened already by 
 Nanno's presence. " Miss Ivors may be here in a day 
 or two. You remember her, Nanno? He asked for 
 her the first day, but he has n't mentioned her since. 
 I have n't either, for fear of worrying him. She will 
 probably wire if she is coming, or rather when she is 
 coming, for I 'm sure she '11 come. " 
 
 If she felt the faintest pang at having to share her 
 beloved task with Hildred she did not admit it even 
 to herself. She acknowledged the girl's right to be 
 with her father. She could afford to let Hildred have 
 the crumbs; nay, more, she would share what she 
 could with her generously out of abundance. Her 
 heart felt very tender towards the girl during these 
 days of anxiety, when she had time to think of other 
 than Ivors. Had she known where to telegraph re- 
 assurance she would have done so, but no word came 
 from Hildred.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MANY WATERS 
 
 WHEN Ivors realised Nanno's presence he 
 accepted the fact with the dreamy acquies- 
 cence into which all his former characteristics seemed 
 to have merged. He did not suffer, except from 
 extreme weakness; he had no pain, mental or physical, 
 save the sense of uneasiness whenever Hesper left his 
 sight. It seemed to her that if she were at the 
 remotest end of the garden she would still hear the 
 husky whisper of " Hesper Belhasard, " which checked 
 her infrequent absences. 
 
 He grew daily a little better up to a certain point, 
 but there progress ceased. Dr. Ayrton thought that 
 the rapidly increasing heat of the weather retarded 
 him, spoke of cooler air, but gave no hint of being able 
 to move him as yet. 
 
 The roses were gone; the hot wind blew clouds 
 of their petals across the verandah, and withered 
 the waxen stars of the jasmine. The creaking of the 
 sakiyeh sounded louder in the warm stillness, and the 
 river ran daily lower. Hesper went into the garden 
 late one afternoon to breathe the outer air. She had 
 just read Ivors to sleep, and she crept softly away for a 
 moment, leaving Nanno, a straight-backed vigilant 
 
 389
 
 39 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 watcher, incongruously knitting beneath one of the 
 Moorish arches in the big darkened room. 
 
 The gazelles pattered to meet her, and licked the 
 ringers that had forgotten to bring them sugar. With 
 a hand on the neck of each she moved slowly down the 
 path between the oleanders. One of them Anas 
 left her, to sip daintily at the turquoise brink of the 
 stream, and she stood waiting, gently caressing the 
 dappled neck of the dainty Zahr. 
 
 It was a picture in keeping with the waning lux- 
 uriance of the garden; blown roses, fading fires of 
 oleander and poinsettia, and the tall white weary 
 woman with the purple shadows of watching and 
 sorrow under her eyes. 
 
 The song of Mahmud, the sakiyeh boy, came to her 
 through the warm heavy air, increasing and dimin- 
 ishing in sound as the fawn cow went her slow round. 
 
 "A lover said to a dove, 
 'Lend me your wings for a day!'" 
 
 What were the exact words? How well she remem- 
 bered the first day she had heard them, the day that 
 the feldkeh brought her here to El-Saada, the Island 
 of Happiness ! 
 
 What had the magic of Egypt wrought for her? 
 Depths of loneliness and humiliation, heights of su- 
 preme joy. The Song of the Nile had touched for her 
 the gamut of human emotions, and in her overstrung 
 tired mood she was almost ready to hear a requiem in 
 it now. A cloud of depression brooded heavily over 
 her, the inevitable reaction from the constant strain, 
 but she tried to dispel it, thankful for the reprieve 
 granted from day to day.
 
 Many Waters 391 
 
 "I shall obtain enough love 
 O dove, for a year and a day. 
 Lend me your wings, O dove!" 
 
 The voice ceased with a little twirl, and then began 
 over again in a slightly higher key, to the accompani- 
 ment of the creaking wheel. 
 
 There was the sound of a dip of oars, a murmur of 
 voices, but Hesper did not heed them until she saw a 
 figure moving quickly up the path from the little 
 landing-place a slim, grey, girlish figure whose foot- 
 steps quickened as she approached. 
 
 "It 's Hildred!" she cried, hastening to meet her 
 with open arms. 
 
 To Hildred, after the anxious monotony of her sea- 
 voyage and the dust, heat, and fatigue of her long 
 train-journey, the crossing from the mainland among 
 the desolate islets and the vivid colouring of the wild 
 Nubian hills seemed to cast about her a strange spell, 
 which culminated when she set foot upon this en- 
 chanted island. The tall white figure against the 
 green background, the gazelles, the turquoise bed of 
 the rivulet, owned all the glamour of the unreal, and 
 suggested some ancient mystic poem rather than the 
 actualities of real life. 
 
 "Why, it 's Smarlie!" she cried, as she drew near. 
 "How is he?" 
 
 "Better, thank God!" exclaimed Hesper, holding 
 out her arms. 
 
 By some subconscious trick of memory the picture 
 of Persephone's return to the upper air flashed across 
 Hildred's mind. Hesper's attitude was the attitude 
 of Demeter, loving, expectant, and it gave the tired 
 girl a sense of comfort, of ineffable relief, to feel those
 
 39 2 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 kind arms folded round her, and to receive that warm 
 welcome where she had not known what to expect. 
 After a moment she disengaged herself. 
 
 "You must be worn out, you poor child!" said 
 Hesper. " Why did you not wire to let us know when 
 to expect you? How did you get here?" 
 
 "I hired a boat at Assuan," answered Hildred, 
 conscious now of intense fatigue. " I wrote. Did n't 
 father get my letter?" 
 
 "No. There was no letter. Your room is ready, 
 though." 
 
 Suddenly the oddness of the situation, the unex- 
 pectedness of Hesper's presence, her welcoming, 
 proprietorial air, struck the girl in all its strangeness. 
 
 "Are you staying here, Smarlie?" she asked. 
 
 Hesper smiled. The child was tired, bewildered, 
 upset from the long strain and anxiety. "Naturally. 
 If you had only wired the name of your boat and date 
 of starting you should have had a telegram at every 
 port. I have been feeling so sorry for you, Hildred, 
 but I did not know what to do, whether to write or 
 not. Besides, I have been so terribly anxious. Ah, 
 you don't know what it has been like!" 
 
 She gave a little shiver. 
 
 Hildred looked at her curiously, all fatigue forgotten. 
 In the light of her father's former admission here was 
 something which she could not understand. 
 
 "But have you been nursing him?" she asked, 
 puzzled. "Are the Austrians here?" 
 
 A sudden suspicion struck Hesper. Was it pos- 
 sible that Ingram had never told the girl at all? That 
 she had misread the smile with which he had answered 
 her wordless query? She felt a little chilled and sorry,
 
 Many Waters 393 
 
 for Hildred's warmth had not been in response to their 
 new relations, as she had fancied, and the revelation 
 was yet to come. 
 
 " Graf von Strelitz lent the island to your father for 
 the winter. We have been here since November. I 
 thought you knew. " She would not assume Hildred's 
 ignorance until she was certain that the girl was 
 unaware of what had happened. 
 
 "We?" echoed Hildred, incredulity struggling 
 with a horrible suspicion. "We?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Hesper quietly, "your father and 
 I." 
 
 "Father and you? But " the words choked her. 
 
 "I see that he has n't told you. I am very sorry. 
 It was never my wish that you should be kept in 
 ignorance. " She checked herself, fearful of disloyalty 
 to Ivors. She took the girl's limp hand in hers. ' ' We 
 were married last May." 
 
 "Married?" Hildred seemed incapable of other 
 answer than horrified whispered repetition. 
 
 "Yes, married." Her lips trembled suddenly. 
 "Won't you say something nice to me, Hildred? 
 Won't you say at least that you are not sorry? I 
 have gone through much in these last days. I I 
 thought you liked me a little. " Her voice broke. 
 
 Some cord snapped and loosed Hildred's speech. 
 She snatched away her hand and turned to face 
 Hesper, her words coming incoherently. 
 
 "I did like you. I do like you. But it's all 
 a dreadful mistake. I can't believe it. Father 
 you 're not married. You can't be married. " 
 
 Hesper drew herself up, and looked in wonder at the 
 girl's white strained face. Was she mad? Why did
 
 394 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 she say such absurd things? Mere resentment could 
 not account for it. 
 
 "It 's all a mistake. You can't be married!" she 
 repeated wildly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because my mother is alive." 
 
 "Your mother is alive?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 By this time they had reached the house, and Hesper 
 suddenly swayed and sat down on the verandah steps. 
 
 The whole scene seemed unreal, impossible. 
 
 The woman and the girl in the garden, saying 
 unbelievable things to each other beneath a hard 
 blue sky. 
 
 The steps were in shadow, and the trails of withering 
 jasmine tapped lightly against them in a puff of wind. 
 Once again Hesper's world had crashed about her ears. 
 She had rebuilt it before, but now the fragments 
 appeared infinitesimal. Something in falling seemed 
 to have pierced her heart, and she had the odd fancy 
 that she could feel it dripping slowly drip, drip, drip, 
 tears of blood. It did not really hurt yet. 
 
 She looked up at Hildred, who stood above her, 
 bewildered, indignant, miserable, caught in a swirl of 
 scarcely realised emotions, not knowing what to say or 
 what to do. She continued to ask incredible questions 
 in a dull toneless voice. 
 
 "Your mother is really alive?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Was she alive last May?" What an absurd 
 question! What inadequate things words were! 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did he know?"
 
 Many Waters 395 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 " He must have known. " 
 
 "No possible doubt?" Even as she spoke Hesper 
 knew that there was no doubt. Half -forgotten un- 
 comprehended memories, thronging from the past, 
 gave her instant assurance of that. In that blinding 
 flash much that had been hidden was laid bare. 
 
 "Not the faintest." Hildred put her hand to her 
 throat as if to ward off a choking sensation. She felt 
 a wild desire to scream, to run away, to do anything 
 in order to escape from this quiet cross-examination. 
 She could neither condone nor condemn. She was 
 too near the event to see it in any true proportion, and 
 the ghastly quietude and lack of sensation or drama 
 only added to the poignance of the scene. 
 
 There was a silence, which the song of Mahmud 
 broke violently. The two women started. Hesper 
 shivered. 
 
 "Then it was all a lie," she said dully. "All a 
 lie from beginning to end. My beautiful life, my 
 happiness, all a lie." 
 
 Hildred forced words. "No. If you were happy, 
 you were happy. You had that." 
 
 "Hush, child. How should you know what I had, 
 or what I 've lost?" She covered her face with her 
 hands, her body shaken by long, tearless sobs. "Oh, 
 God! Oh, God!" 
 
 Hildred was miserably silent. She would have 
 given much to be able to comfort this sorrow which 
 lay too deep for tears, but she was helpless. The call 
 of her blood forced her to share in the wrong done 
 to one who had given her best to both. But still,
 
 396 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 there in the hot sunshine the whole scene was tinged 
 with unreality, and Hildred longed vaguely for any- 
 thing that would end it, and bring about normality 
 once more. She had an odd feeling that if anything 
 happened she would awake and find that it had all 
 been some impossible incredible nightmare. 
 
 The sight of the proud head humiliated to the dust, 
 the hidden, tortured lips crying low upon God, hurt 
 her with an actual physical pain. Tears rolled silently 
 down her cheeks. She did not think of wiping them 
 away. 
 
 Then something happened. A voice called in a 
 husky whisper : ' ' Hesper B elhasard ! ' ' 
 
 Hesper started and looked around her with wild 
 terrified eyes, seeking escape and finding none. 
 
 "I can't go. I can't," she cried hoarsely. 
 
 The voice called again. Hildred moved forward. 
 
 "Can I ?" 
 
 Again Hesper looked about her desperately. 
 
 "No, he does n't expect you. It might Oh, 
 how can I go?" 
 
 She covered her face with her hands again. 
 
 "Do let me." 
 
 " No, it is me he wants. " 
 
 The voice called a third time, strained, petulant, 
 and Nanno hurried round the corner of the verandah 
 in evident agitation. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Hesper, ma'am, I 've been looking for 
 you. The master " she stopped at the sight of the 
 two white faces, the evident tension. 
 
 Hesper drew a long breath, a sigh that was half a 
 sob. 
 
 "Here is Miss Ivors, Nanno. Be very good to her.
 
 Many Waters 397 
 
 She is worn out. She her journey take care of her. 
 Coming, Ingram." 
 
 She went up the steps and along the verandah, 
 slowly, with dragging feet, a heavy travesty of her 
 usual free gait. She would have given all that she 
 possessed to have been able to creep away into some 
 remote corner where she could wrestle in solitude 
 with what had befallen her, where she could find her 
 soul again among the ruins of her life. If only she 
 need not have faced Ingram for one brief hour. 
 
 She paused at the open window of his room, sup- 
 porting herself with a hand on either side. The 
 evening sun shining behind her threw her shadow 
 athwart the polished floor in the form of a cross. So 
 Ivors, looking towards her, saw her against the golden 
 glow. 
 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 In that instant Ivors remembered all that had gone 
 before his sin, his chances of confession, his fears, 
 his vacillation , his incessant punishment . Now stand- 
 ing on the borderland as he did, his vision suddenly 
 pierced the cloud of things that are, and read in Hes- 
 per's eyes that she too knew. Caught in the meshes 
 of a great fear, mute, incapable of speech or motion, 
 in that tense moment of clearer vision he realised what 
 he had wrought upon the one being who really loved 
 him, and all his soul, crying dumbly in self-abasement, 
 pleaded through his eyes, craved, besought. 
 
 Time was burnt like a scroll in the flame of the spirit 
 that rose between them; silence and the things of 
 earth passed away, and the soul of the sinner saw for 
 his punishment, the soul of the sinned-against cry out 
 against him before the Throne of Judgment, for the
 
 39 8 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 beautiful things he had deliberately murdered, her 
 faith, her trust, her love. 
 
 Fearing all things, hoping nothing, the whole 
 strength of his ebbing life was concentrated on the 
 supreme effort of entreating Hesper's forgiveness. 
 
 She stood and met that look. Gradually all thought 
 of self shrivelled before the fire of the spirit. Agony, 
 disillusion, sense of betrayal were consumed in that 
 pure flame, and all she remembered was that he, her 
 dearest, was ill, dying perhaps, and that he needed 
 her. His tense, white stillness, the mute agony of his 
 gaze, pleaded more powerfully than words. 
 
 Oddly enough, his speech of that day among the 
 golden hills flashed back to her. 
 
 '"Does God care as you care?' As I care. How 
 do I care? Won't He judge by that?" 
 
 "Belhasard?" the voice was a mere thread, a 
 husky, anguished question. 
 
 She stumbled across the room to him with a little 
 inarticulate murmur. In a moment her arms were 
 round him. 
 
 "You forgive?" his eyes asked. 
 
 " Sure, you know I love you, " she cried, holding him 
 to her as if she would never let him go, having said all.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ANOTHER ASPECT OF THE PROBLEM 
 
 THAT night Ivors lay between life and death. 
 To Hesper, who watched, the barrier seemed 
 frail as spun glass and the night dark with the shadow- 
 ing wings of the Angel of the Asphodel. Everything 
 paled before the fear of losing him. She thought 
 nothing of her wrong as she wrought with the dark 
 angel for his life, and her heart was wrung as his husky 
 whispers, half-sane, half-delirious betrayed the fear 
 that had accompanied him as closely as his own foot- 
 steps. 
 
 Over and over again came the words 
 
 " She cannot leave me now. She will not leave me 
 now. She would have left me in the beginning if I 
 had told her. I know she would. She is good. She 
 is without sin. I have made her sin. No, it is I who 
 have sinned. She is good. She will not leave me now. 
 Hesper Belhasard. . . . ' 
 
 So ever and again round an endless circle, selfish 
 love whipped by fear. 
 
 Hesper saw the love but not the selfishness, in that 
 divine blindness which dulls the critical faculty in 
 women who love as she did. Her voice, her touch 
 were ever ready to sooth and comfort. Her patience 
 welled inexhaustibly. 
 
 399
 
 4oo The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Once the murmuring voice broke into a laugh and 
 startled her ; the sound chimed so incongruously with 
 the heaviness of her thoughts. 
 
 The weak fingers sought and clung tenaciously to 
 her hand. 
 
 "What if the friend happen to be God?" said Ivors 
 very distinctly. Then he feebly put her hand under 
 his cheek, turned on it, and went to sleep. 
 
 Hesper could not move when he awoke. She was 
 cramped and helpless, and Dr. Ayrton and Moussa 
 carried her to her room while Nanno took charge of 
 the patient. 
 
 " I '11 be very good," Ivors said. " I '11 make Nanno 
 tell me stories in her comfortable brogue, and I 
 promise not to ask for Hesper, until I feel that I really 
 cannot exist a moment longer without her." 
 
 "You'll be good enough to speak when you're 
 spoken to and not till then," said Dr. Ayrton gruffly. 
 "You 've gone back points since yesterday." 
 
 "I 'm going to get well now," retorted Ivors, with 
 his old smile. 
 
 "See that you do. It will be the best return you 
 can make your poor wife for her devotion. " 
 
 His poor wife! How sweet, how piercingly sweet, 
 the words sounded! She would not leave him. She 
 was his wife in the sight of God, and it was one of the 
 bitterest pangs of his punishment that he could not 
 make her so in the eyes of man. 
 
 Another pang pricked him would his recovery 
 really be the best thing for Hesper? Would she 
 ... he wondered. In his weakness slow tears 
 rolled down his thin cheeks. 
 
 Nanno, startled, came and wiped them away.
 
 Another Aspect of the Problem 401 
 
 "Now, sir, you mustn't be frettin'. Sure, a hot 
 bath and a bit of a rest will make the mistress like 
 herself again. 'T is only the way she is a bit stiff-like 
 from sittin ' in the one position so long. " 
 
 " Have I hurt her again? I did n't know." 
 
 "Sure, 'twas nothin' at all, sir, only the way she 
 could n't stir for fear of disturbin' you in your sleep. " 
 
 " Even in my sleep, " he murmured. " I must hurt 
 her even in my sleep." 
 
 " Now, sir, 'tis a shame for you to be talkin'. Beside 
 Miss Hesper is one o' them that would rather have a 
 hurt from the one they love than a kiss from e'er 
 another." 
 
 " You need n't tell me what she is, " he said, with a 
 flash of his old spirit. 
 
 Then he lay silent for an infinity of time, longing to 
 see her again, to know that she was within sight and 
 touch, craving for her mere physical presence with the 
 intense disproportionate desire of the invalid. 
 
 " How long is it since they left the room? " he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Just ten minutes, sir." 
 
 "Ten minutes!" he groaned. "And I meant to 
 have done without her for an hour!" 
 
 "Would you like to see the young lady, sir?" 
 
 "Is Hildred here?" he asked languidly. He felt 
 no sensation, neither surprise nor pleasure. It did not 
 seem to matter whether she were here or not. Nothing 
 mattered except Hesper. 
 
 Dr. Ayrton came suddenly into the room, and stood 
 by the bedside looking silently down on him for a 
 moment. 
 
 " So you Ve an addition to your battalion of nurses ! " 
 26
 
 402 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 he said at last. " We '11 have to dismiss this one. She 
 lets you talk too much. If I allow your daughter in 
 to see you will you promise not to let it agitate you? 
 If you talk or get excited I shall forbid her the room for 
 the present." 
 
 " I promise, " he answered. " Hildred will be a nice 
 cool person to look at." 
 
 "Very well, then." 
 
 Ivors did not realise what lay between him and Hil- 
 dred. He vaguely connected her coming with Hesper's 
 knowledge, but the thought had no power to trouble 
 him. Hesper knew ; she loved him ; she had forgiven 
 him. That was all that mattered. She would not 
 leave him. But she had left him! Oh, how he wanted 
 her! 
 
 He groaned again, and moved feebly. In an instant 
 Nanno was bending over him. 
 
 "What is it, acuth? " she asked, as if he were a child. 
 
 "I want Hesper," he murmured with closed eyes. 
 
 " She '11 come to you the very minute she 's able, sir. 
 Sure she 's been watchin' all night, and she must have 
 a bit to eat, the poor lamb. " 
 
 "I won't be selfish, but tell her to come as soon as 
 she can. If she only knew how I wanted her ' 
 he sighed heavily. 
 
 It was with mingled feelings that Hildred received 
 Dr. Ayrton's summons. 
 
 She had realised that sooner or later she would have 
 to face her father, and she shrank inexpressibly from 
 the ordeal. She had slept the sleep of exhaustion dur- 
 ing the night, and the watchers had not disturbed her; 
 therefore she was rested in body and consequently
 
 Another Aspect of the Problem 403 
 
 capable of clearer perception than she had been when 
 the long strain of her journey had culminated in the 
 final blow. 
 
 Although she had never idealised her father the 
 shock was a severe one, and the old sense of resentment 
 arose within her when she thought that she was the 
 medium through which the wound of knowledge had 
 been dealt to Hesper. 
 
 Through a woman's eyes she had seen, as thrice 
 before, a glimpse of the depths so carefully hidden 
 beneath the surface; she had seen a soul in anguish 
 and it was her innocent hand which had struck the 
 blow. Verily, the sins of the fathers. . . . 
 
 "Oh, it's unfair! It's unfair!" she cried with 
 clenched hands. 
 
 To the clear, pitiless eyes of youth no extenuating 
 circumstances appeared. Her father had deliberately 
 sinned against Hesper, against her mother, and against 
 herself. He had, with all the arts at his command 
 and they were many and insidious, the girl acknow- 
 ledged to herself with a bitter little smile striven to 
 win a love to which he had no right, legally or morally. 
 He had sinned against Heaven and before the world, 
 and had humbled and brought to the dust the proud- 
 est woman Hildred had ever known. Three character- 
 istics of Hesper rose saliently before her, pride, purity, 
 and generosity, in its widest sense. At each of these 
 had he struck. Two he had slain, thought the stern 
 young judge, and the third he had wounded past 
 belief. She would never forget how Hesper had 
 looked yesterday, never, never, never. She thought 
 she now knew something of what one would feel who 
 had slain unwittingly. And her father, who had
 
 404 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 committed the crime, who had done this incredibly 
 wicked, cruel thing, had slipped away from the 
 consequences, and made himself, by his illness and 
 weakness, the centre of his universe as usual. 
 
 What rankled most in Hildred was the sense of in- 
 justice done; that she, who had left her beloved work 
 in England to rush off to Egypt, hot haste, in response 
 to her father's wish, should have been chosen to deal 
 this blow to one for whom she really cared, and that 
 he, with his usual selfish facility, should have shuffled 
 the burden of his responsibility on to the shoulders 
 of another. 
 
 In that bitter moment the girl felt that she hated the 
 two beings who had given her birth : that she was the 
 most cruelly wronged of all. Hesper had had her few 
 months of perfect happiness "the beautiful life that 
 was all a lie!" What a world of sad suggestion the 
 simple words conveyed! Her mother could not be 
 really affected by any action of her father's. It was 
 she who was the tool of their circumstances, she who 
 was flung about like a shuttle-cock by their caprices. 
 Was she never to have any life of her own? 
 
 The thought of Dr. Lisle, who had seen her off at 
 Waterloo, flashed suddenly across her mind and 
 brought a quick sense of warmth to her sore heart. 
 
 "My cage of dreams is very strong now," he had 
 said, with an odd fire in his blue eyes, "and very full. 
 If I show them to you when you come back will you 
 promise not to open the door and let them fly away?" 
 
 "Isn't it rather a pity to keep them caged?" she 
 had answered a soft young Hildred who was known 
 only to this little brown man. 
 
 " You must n't let them go again. "
 
 Another Aspect of the Problem 405 
 
 "Again?" 
 
 "Have you forgotten that day in the wood?" he 
 asked in return. "The day we feasted on wild fruit? 
 The day I had my hour?" 
 
 "Did I, then?" she asked flushing. 
 
 He nodded. "What's more, you clapped your 
 hands to make them fly all the faster. " He took one 
 of the offending hands in his as he spoke. "Do you 
 think you have grown any wiser?" 
 
 She blushed deeper. "I don't know." 
 
 At that moment Time, the mischief-maker, had 
 caused the guard to blow his whistle. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Dr. Lisle. "Take care of your- 
 self. I hope you will find your father better, also 
 that you will seek wisdom in the East. " 
 
 " I '11 look for it, at any rate. " 
 
 "Whatever you find be sure to come back to me, " 
 she thought he added, but his last words were lost in 
 the movement of the train. 
 
 The thought, indefinite as it was, softened her. Dr. 
 Lisle was the one person who always understood. He, 
 at all events, desired her friendship. She stood for 
 something in his life. What was the true wisdom? 
 Where should she seek it? 
 
 At this moment Dr. Ayrton broke in upon her 
 musings with his summons. 
 
 He glanced approvingly at her trim, white-clad 
 figure, her clear look of health, and her soft fair 
 hair. 
 
 "No agitation, my dear young lady," he said. 
 
 "I am a nurse myself," she replied with a touch 
 of dignified reproof which amused him vastly. "At 
 least I am learning to be one. "
 
 406 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Then you ought to know something of the great 
 essentials, patience and sympathy," he retorted. 
 "Your father is in a precarious state. Humanly 
 speaking it is your mother who has kept him alive." 
 A slight stiffening of the girlish figure checked him. 
 
 "She 's not your mother, surely?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I thought not. She 's too young to be anything 
 but your step-mother. Your father 's a lucky man. 
 She's a fine creature, a fine creature," he repeated 
 musingly. Then he stopped and looked at Hildred. 
 
 " She 's nearly worn out now. I see a great change 
 in her even since yesterday. You must take care of 
 her now that you 've come. Ivors will hardly let her 
 out of his sight, and she has no thought but for him. 
 She is absolutely selfless." 
 
 "It's not an Ivors's failing," said Hildred. The 
 hardness of her tone surprised the doctor. 
 
 " Ah, you Ve got to learn men and women yet, " was 
 all he said. "We 're all only human beings at best, 
 and I daresay Mrs. Ivors has her flaws as well as the 
 rest of us. I 'm bound to say, though, I Ve never seen 
 'em. Here we are. There 's nothing to be frightened 
 of." 
 
 Hildred paused upon the threshold, shrinking from 
 the inevitable. Her heart beat quickly and she would 
 have given worlds to be able to run away. 
 
 "This is sheer cowardice," she thought to herself. 
 "It must be done." 
 
 She lifted her head and went in. 
 
 The room with its round Moorish arches looked big, 
 and bare, and dim, as everything that could exclude 
 the air had been removed. The French windows
 
 407 
 
 which opened on to the verandah had their green sun- 
 shutters down, but here and there a shaft of sunlight 
 penetrated and shone in a little dancing pool of light 
 on the polished boards. 
 
 Ivors's bed was drawn near one of the windows, and 
 he lay white and still amid its whiteness. Hildred had 
 expected to see a change from the debonair man from 
 whom she had parted, not without a qualm, in Cairo, 
 but the reality came with a shock. All vitality seemed 
 to be concentrated in his eyes the thin limbs, sunken 
 cheeks, and damp hair seemed to have little left of 
 life and those eyes, dark and wistful, met Hildred's 
 as she entered, with the mute appeal of a dog's. 
 
 "Is that you, little girl?" he said in a husky 
 whisper. 
 
 She sprang forward, all her bitter thoughts melting 
 into pity. 
 
 "Oh, father! father!" she cried, stooping to kiss 
 him. 
 
 "Sit there, and let me look at you," he said. 
 
 Nanno brought a basket chair forward. 
 
 "Not that horrid thing, it creaks. Oh, no, not on 
 the end of my bed. I can't bear people to sit on my 
 bed." 
 
 "Not so much talking, my good man," put in Dr. 
 Ayrton. "You may look at Miss Ivors as much as 
 you like, but unlimited conversation is not allowed. 
 Now remember." He went away. 
 
 Hildred noticed a wicker-covered flask of eau-de- 
 cologne on a table. " Would you like me to put some 
 of that on your forehead?" she asked. "I could fan 
 you after. It 's very cooling." 
 
 "Thanks."
 
 408 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 She deftly touched him with the tips of her fingers, 
 soothingly moving his lank hair. 
 
 "You 've nice hands," he murmured after a while. 
 "I always said so." 
 
 Everything still bore an air of unreality to Hildred. 
 She had never imagined that people could touch 
 tragedy so quietly. She did not yet realise the nar- 
 cotic power of illness, and had never come in contact 
 with the broken words and halting phrases with which 
 the proud decently cover their hurt, jealous of its sight 
 by any eyes other than their own. 
 
 That her father could still be impatient, petulant, 
 came to her with a little shock of surprise. 
 
 Her months among the children had taught her a 
 good deal and broadened her mental outlook, but she 
 had still much to learn. 
 
 "Think largely," Mrs. Marston, the matron, used 
 to say to her. "Even the wisest person only sees 
 life from a limited standpoint, so it behoves us all to 
 try to think largely." 
 
 She would try to think largely now, to readjust her 
 old rigid standards of right and wrong to this new com- 
 plex problem, to realise the inner meaning of the 
 tragedy in which they were all involved, and above all 
 not to condemn too harshly. 
 
 Ivors grew restless. He moved his head upon the 
 pillow ; he raised weak hands and let them fall again ; 
 he coughed huskily ; he sighed. 
 
 "What is it?" Hildred asked. 
 
 "Hesper," he answered. "I really cannot do 
 without her for one moment longer. I have been a 
 marvel of patience, but not a second more. Go and 
 tell her."
 
 Another Aspect of the Problem 409 
 
 "But she's tired. She you ought " began 
 Hildred disapprovingly. 
 
 Ivors looked up at her with a glance which mingled 
 his old whimsicality with a new and yearning de- 
 precation. 
 
 "O wise young judge," he whispered hoarsely. 
 "You can't afford to cast a stone. Why did you 
 ever leave me?" 
 
 "Father!" Hildred gasped, flushed, and went 
 hurriedly out of the room. 
 
 It was the final touch to make her responsible for 
 his weakness, to saddle her with his sins, to rate her 
 omission, if it were an omission, with his commission, 
 to reproach her, whom he had wronged among the rest. 
 
 Still, under his words lay a truth which pierced and 
 stung; an Ithuriel truth whose spear- touch revealed 
 her own self-deception, and brought home the fact 
 that she, too, might have erred; that she, too, was not 
 without reproach; that, as her father had said, she 
 should not be the first to cast a stone. 
 
 If she had remained with him this could never have 
 happened. With a tingling conscience she remem- 
 bered the hint of appeal in his manner at Luxor; the 
 half -confidence, the request that he would not make, 
 to which she had deliberately shut her ears. Was it 
 possible that instead of being noble and self-sacrificing 
 in her desire to devote her life to the sick and suffering 
 she had but echoed the selfishness which she so 
 strongly condemned? 
 
 All the things which had made her life beautiful, her 
 dreams, her love of art, her aspiration, suddenly fell 
 away. She was face to face with the naked truth now, 
 and she could not look at it unashamed.
 
 410 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 Hastily summoning Moussa she gave him the 
 message for Hesper, and went out to the side of the 
 verandah which was in shadow to take counsel 
 with her surging thoughts, alone.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE SOLUTION 
 
 WHEN Ivors slept that afternoon Hesper went 
 in search of Hildred. She found her curled 
 up on a big divan in the drawing-room near a latticed 
 window reading a letter. 
 
 The girl sprang up as she entered. 
 
 "You look half dead," she cried. "Rest here on 
 the divan and put your feet up. " 
 
 "I am half dead," answered Hesper quietly, "but 
 it does n't matter. Don't move, child. I have been 
 resting on the couch in your father's room. He is 
 asleep now, so I slipped away. I wanted to see 
 you." 
 
 Her voice was dull, toneless; she bore the same 
 resemblance to the woman who had welcomed Hildred 
 yesterday as a waxen image does to its living proto- 
 type. Some spring seemed to have been broken 
 within her, some vital essence destroyed. Her answer 
 to Hildred's comment sounded startlingly true. She 
 looked half dead, and her voice, when she spoke, 
 seemed to come from far away. 
 
 "I wanted to see you," she said again. "I think 
 it is better to talk this thing out." 
 
 "Oh, must we?" cried Hildred, shrinking. 
 
 4U
 
 412 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 " I think we must. The fact of shutting one's eyes 
 and pretending a thing is n't there won't prevent it 
 from staring us in the face the moment we open them 
 again. I thought we might confront it once for all, 
 and then " she raised her hands and let them fall 
 with a gesture of finality. 
 
 "As you like," answered Hildred uncomfortably. 
 "You are the person to be considered. It is your 
 right " 
 
 " Don't!" Hesper sat for a moment looking at her 
 wedding-ring and turning it mechanically on her 
 finger. Then she lifted her head suddenly. "What 
 is your mother to you, Hildred?" 
 
 The girl reddened from neck to brow. 
 
 "An instinct, no more," she answered, crumpling 
 the letter she held in her hand with a quick fierce 
 gesture. 
 
 " Can you tell me anything of the circumstances 
 I don't want to hurt you, but I must ask this once. " 
 
 "I they " the girl paused awkwardly. 
 
 " Can't you see that I want some reasons, something 
 to make me understand?" said Hesper in quickened 
 tones. "I want to understand." 
 
 Her voice broke pitifully and Hildred in response 
 told her what she knew, all the bald, ugly story of 
 selfishness and neglect of duty. 
 
 " My mother loves no one except her dogs, " Hildred 
 concluded warmly. "I wrote to her before I came 
 away to tell her about about father, and I have just 
 had this letter from her. Will you read it, just to see 
 her point of view, or will it hurt you?" 
 
 "Nothing else can ever hurt me." 
 
 Hildred handed her the letter. "It was written
 
 The Solution 413 
 
 shortly after I started, but it travelled quicker than I 
 did. I am glad, glad that I arrived before I got it. 
 I want to be your friend, Hesper, if you will let me." 
 
 "That's generous of you, child," said Hesper, 
 opening the letter. 
 
 It displayed a cold disregard for her husband's 
 health and deplored the flightiness of Hildred's mind 
 which had led her to abandon her chosen career and 
 dash off half across the world because her father 
 imagined himself to be ill. It was short and was 
 signed "your sincere H. D. Ivors," but, like a scorpion, 
 its sting lay in its tail. There was a long and hastily- 
 added postscript, tacked on because she had not time 
 to write another letter to catch that mail. She had 
 met the Waveneys, she said, and Laura had been 
 coming to tell her a shocking piece of news which she 
 had heard from a cousin who was staying at the 
 Cataract Hotel at Assuan. "Not to put too fine a 
 point on it, it was to the effect that your father is 
 living with a woman on some island near the place. I 
 will not presume to dictate, Hildred, but I hope that 
 you will have sufficient sense of what is due to yourself 
 to leave the place at once. Wire me what boat you are 
 coming by and I will meet you." A cheque for fifty 
 pounds dropped out of the envelope, as Hesper 
 replaced the letter with trembling fingers. 
 
 In spite of her brave assertion there still remained a 
 vulnerable spot, and this letter had hurt it cruelly. 
 In the midst of her pain and grief she had never 
 dreamed for a moment that any one could consider her 
 sinful or her presence contaminating. The conven- 
 tional, uncomprehending view of the situation had 
 never occurred to her, and the thought that any one
 
 414 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 could consider her purity smirched was a new and 
 stinging revelation. She turned away her face for a 
 moment to hide her quivering lips, and gradually the 
 lesser pain merged into the greater. 
 
 " She is a hard, narrow woman, " cried Hildred. " I 
 don't want her money. I have plenty of my own. She 
 does not know how cruelly wronged you have been. " 
 
 "Hush! She is hard and narrow, perhaps, but she 
 is your mother, Hildred. " 
 
 "She has never been a mother to me, any more than 
 she was a wife to him. " 
 
 At that Hesper drew herself erect, and a light burned 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Ah, there," she said, speaking quickly, "there she 
 has much to be forgiven. If it comes to that, it is 
 she who is living in sin rather than I. She, a married 
 woman, ought to have realised something of the 
 temptations to which she exposed him when she cast 
 him adrift, young and impetuous as he was. She 
 sinned against God and man, against him and you, 
 when she did so. She broke her solemn promises to 
 satisfy her own selfish pride. The sin is hers, not 
 mine. I deny that I have sinned, that I am sin- 
 ning " she stopped. 
 
 Hildred was flushed and troubled; her thoughts 
 were incoherent, her sympathies swayed. 
 
 "But what will you do eventually?" she asked at 
 last, feeling to the full the awkwardness of such a 
 question. "Will you surely you will leave him?" 
 
 "I will never leave him." 
 
 "But " 
 
 " He will leave me, " said Hesper very low. 
 
 Hildred gasped. This solution had not occurred to
 
 The Solution 415 
 
 her. Yet, though the words came as a shock, she 
 realised, subconsciously, that they were not altogether 
 a surprise, for she had seen a shadow on her father's 
 face a shadow with which her winter's work had 
 sadly familiarised her. 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure. Dr. Ayrton told me so to-day." 
 Then her calm broke and she covered her face with 
 her hands. "Oh, God, he will leave me, and I shall 
 be alone in a cold world again. " 
 
 Hildred put her arms round her. Her heart was 
 wrung at the sight of Hesper's grief. It seemed so 
 pitifully hard that she, the innocent, should suffer so 
 poignantly, while those who had wronged her she 
 paused on the thought. How did she know what 
 her father had endured? How could any one even 
 dimly conjecture the processes of another's mind, the 
 bitterness of another's pangs? In the eyes of the 
 world Hesper had wronged her mother, while, to those 
 who knew, it was Mrs. Ivors who had, indirectly, 
 wronged Hesper. It was the stone thrown into the 
 pool of life, whose circles, ever widening, touched other 
 circles undreamed of. 
 
 Who could tell? Who should dare to judge? So 
 some sense of the scope of life and its larger issues 
 came to the girl's troubled mind. 
 
 Hesper disengaged herself gently, and looked up 
 with dry burning eyes. 
 
 " Don't be kind to me. I can't afford to give way 
 just now. He needs me too sorely." 
 
 "Hesper, do you ever think of yourself?" cried 
 Hildred, wondering at a greater love than her starved 
 life had ever seen.
 
 4i 6 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "I think of myself when I think of him," Hesper 
 answered. "It is all the same. It was that way 
 almost from the beginning. We are really one, 
 Hildred." 
 
 "You feel like that for father?" All the wonder of 
 one generation at the needs and desires of an older 
 rang in her tone. 
 
 "I do. Ah, child, how should you understand?" 
 she drew an impatient breath, checked herself, and 
 continued: "We have given each other what no one 
 else in the world could have given us. I would have 
 given him anything I had. I have given him every- 
 thing I had." She raised her hands again and let 
 them fall with the same hopeless gesture. "Without 
 knowing. " 
 
 "If you had known?" 
 
 "Ah, how could I answer such a question now?" 
 She turned her ring again, and Hildred noticed how 
 thin her hands had grown. 
 
 "Hildred " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Do you want to stay?" 
 
 "To stay?" 
 
 Hesper looked up with a sudden red flame on her 
 cheek. "I never thought it did not occur to me 
 what what outside people might think or say. If 
 it would harm you in any way " 
 
 "Harm me to be with you?" 
 
 Hesper nodded, shamed, humiliated beyond words. 
 
 The girl took the hand with the ring on it between 
 her own two warm ones and kissed it. 
 
 " I am proud to be with you, " she said, tears quick 
 as rain falling down her cheeks.
 
 The Solution 417 
 
 "Child, you mustn't cry. Don't! I can't stand 
 it." 
 
 There was a silence in the room. A low wind 
 moaned outside and filled the air with its hot breath. 
 A yellowish haze obscured the blue of the sky, and the 
 sakiyeh creaked and purred unaccompanied to-day by 
 song. 
 
 " I 'm afraid it's blowing up for a khamdsin, " 
 said Hesper. "I hate these hot winds and these 
 sand-storms. Ingram always said that their elec- 
 tricity invigorated him, but now it 's so bad for him. 
 You are good to me, Hildred," she said suddenly. 
 "It 's such an impossible situation altogether. Your 
 mother " 
 
 " Don't talk of her, please. " 
 
 "But I must talk of her," Hesper gently in- 
 sisted. "I would not come between you for the 
 world." 
 
 "There is nothing of that sort," Hildred began. 
 
 "Ah, child, there is," Hesper interposed. "You, 
 in your generosity, are all for championing me, and 
 that would create an instant breach." 
 
 "There is a breach already." 
 
 "Don't widen it, then. Your mother loves you, 
 Hildred. You are all she has. Don't take that from 
 her." 
 
 " I assure you that you 're mistaken. She does n't 
 care a jot for me. Games and dogs " 
 
 "Ah, no, Hildred. Those who love always know 
 love when they see it. I saw it in every line of that 
 cold, hard letter. It cried out in jealousy for you, in 
 the words that jibed at you for rushing to your father 
 away from her, in her care for your reputation, in her 
 27
 
 418 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 thought in sending you money which you might need, 
 in her wish to meet you on your return. " 
 
 " I don't want her money, " cried the girl resentfully. 
 " And as for my reputation it can't be worth much if 
 it is so easily tarnished. She may be jealous, as you 
 say " 
 
 "Jealousy implies love, Hildred. It 's the mother 
 instinct asserting itself at last. " 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 " I Ve been face to face with big things lately, " 
 answered Hesper simply, "and when the little things 
 are stripped away one sees more clearly. Besides, 
 there 's a lot of the child in every man. Perhaps 
 that 's how I know." 
 
 Hildred looked at her curiously. "You don't 
 understand my mother, Hesper. You have nothing 
 in common with her type. " 
 
 "She's a woman, isn't she? And she's your 
 mother." 
 
 "It's odd that you should defend her to me, 
 Hesper. " 
 
 Hesper flushed again. " Oh, I 'm not defending her. 
 I think she has acted both wickedly and foolishly, but 
 I have a great pity for her because she wilfully threw 
 away the best things of life and picked up rubbish 
 instead." 
 
 All at once the girl softened. 
 
 1 ' You 're a good woman, ' ' she said. ' ' A good, good 
 woman." 
 
 "Ah, my dear " 
 
 Moussa entered noiselessly. 
 
 "Master awake. Wants the sitt." 
 
 Hesper rose. "Will you come, child?"
 
 The Solution 419 
 
 "No, he doesn't want me," Hildred answered. 
 "No one really wants me," she thought as Hesper 
 hurriedly left the room. 
 
 Then a vision of her mother ready to come and meet 
 her was evoked by Hesper's words; and Dr. Lisle's 
 warm insistence on her return suddenly rang in her 
 ears with more than a tinge of reproach. 
 
 She smiled to herself and felt vaguely comforted. 
 Then remembering the shadow of death which brooded 
 over the island she chid herself for heartlessness, 
 and thought anew upon the depth and height of 
 Hesper's love, before which her own little rush-light 
 of affection paled its ineffectual fire.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 LOVE TRIUMPHANT 
 
 HESPER found Ivors propped up in bed with 
 pillows. His eyes were clear and bright, 
 and a spot of colour burned in either cheek. 
 
 He greeted her with a smile and a weak air of 
 triumph the pitiful travesty of his former buoyance. 
 
 "I got Moussa and Nanno to lift me up. I felt 
 choked lying down. A khamdsin is brewing, I think. 
 I feel it tingling through me." 
 
 "As usual," she said, sitting down next him, and 
 speaking in her softest tones. The waves of her black 
 hair were loosened, and emphasised the whiteness of 
 her face. 
 
 "As usual. I feel ever so much better. If old 
 Ayrton would only let me move to some cooler spot 
 I should get well in no time. " 
 
 "In no time," she echoed, the sentence ringing in 
 her ears. Then she roused herself. "You are not 
 strong enough for the journey yet, dearest." 
 
 "Am I still your dearest?" he asked in the husky 
 whisper which always thrilled her with fear. It 
 pierced her heart to hear it, yet every time he slept 
 she dreaded lest she should never hear it again. 
 
 "Always." 
 
 420
 
 Love Triumphant 421 
 
 "Through life and death?" 
 
 "Through life and death." 
 
 "Up in your high, white heaven?" 
 
 "Up " her voice failed. 
 
 "You'll wait there till I come, won't you?" he 
 persisted. 
 
 "For ever if need be." 
 
 "Ah, not for ever. God is pitiful to sinners. You 
 taught me that. " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Ah, beloved, I feel all the more because I cannot 
 speak. I know. I repent. If you if you can forgive 
 how should any omniscient God be less merciful?" 
 
 " Hush, my very dearest. You must n't talk. You 
 must not agitate yourself." 
 
 " It is worse for me to keep silent. Just this once, 
 Belhasard, and then I '11 do everything I can to get 
 well. I want to get well in order to atone. " 
 
 Every word hurt. How could she tell him? What 
 did it matter after all? Confession had been made for 
 him; she had forgiven; by the light of her love he 
 perceived the shadow of Love Eternal. 
 
 "If I had told you beforehand would you have 
 left me?" he whispered. 
 
 "Why worry about that now?" 
 
 "But would you?" he persisted. 
 
 "I think so," she answered slowly, stroking the 
 dry, transparent hand she held. 
 
 "Then I 'm glad I did n't," he said huskily. 
 
 "So am I," she answered, flushing. "It may be 
 wicked of me, but I am glad to have had what I 
 had all those beautiful months, all that wonderful 
 happiness "
 
 422 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 ' ' Wicked ? You ? " he interrupted . 
 
 " Perhaps it is n't the best part of me that 's glad, " 
 said Hesper, wistfully. " I don't know. At any rate, 
 for a time, I tasted perfect happiness. That is more 
 than most people can say. You gave it to me. " 
 
 She hid away her wounded faith, her betrayed trust. 
 She loved him ; the matter of atonement lay between 
 him and God. She loved him, and she must lose him. 
 
 In spite of her words some sudden apprehension 
 seized him. 
 
 "You won't leave me?" he pleaded, clutching at 
 her hand. 
 
 "Never, my dearest, never." 
 
 "Ah, I never felt sure. You good women your 
 sense of right and wrong is so strong. So " 
 
 "Hush, my dearest. I am sure it is bad for you 
 to talk so much." 
 
 A sudden fear pricked her that she might have fallen 
 in his estimation by consenting so easily to remain with 
 him. 
 
 " You don't think any the worse of me? " she began 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " My fixed star shines high in the heaven above me, " 
 he answered, understanding at once. " I don't know 
 how you stooped to such a worm as I, Hesper Bel- 
 hasard. Do you remember the night at Minieh when 
 you danced into my heart? You came lightly in 
 
 ' ' It was never lightly. I strove against you at first . ' ' 
 
 "It was no use. . . . Now you know why I 
 ran away." 
 
 "Now I know." 
 
 "Now you understand why I could not leave you 
 at Capri."
 
 Love Triumphant 423 
 
 i 
 
 Hesper was silent. 
 
 "You do, don't you?" The whisper sharpened a 
 little, and he tried to see her face. 
 
 "Now I understand," she cried at last in an- 
 guish. "Oh, Ingram Ingram." 
 
 She hid her face in his pillow. Long sobs rent her. 
 
 "Hesper, don't. I can't bear it," he cried weakly. 
 
 She checked herself with an effort. 
 
 " Darling, forgive me. I am sorry, " she said under 
 her breath. "I did not mean to distress you. I 
 think the khamdsin has upset me." 
 
 The hot wind moaned round the house, filtering 
 fine sand upon the floor. 
 
 "It is doing me good," he said. "I feel ever so 
 much better." 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 * This pillow is n't very comfortable, though. " 
 
 "What can I do to make it easier?" 
 
 "You can sit on the bed next to me, and put your 
 arms round me, and let me lay my head against you 
 instead." 
 
 In an instant her arms were round him, and he was 
 raised very gently, his head sinking on the desired 
 resting-place. 
 
 "Ah, how soft and sweet you are," he murmured, 
 with a weary sigh. "After all, I feel a little tired 
 now. I think I could sleep." 
 
 "Do, my dearest." 
 
 Her arms held him closely, tenderly. She crooned 
 inarticulately as she rested her cheek against his head. 
 
 The wind howled outside the strange wind that 
 was hot instead of being cold. A sudden gust rattled 
 the sun-shutters.
 
 424 The Fringe of the Desert 
 
 "Who is that?" asked Ivors, rousing. 
 
 " Only the wind, beloved. " 
 
 He looked up and smiled at her. "I thought it 
 might be some one coming to take you from me. " 
 
 She held him closer. 
 
 " I feel safe when your arms are round me like that, " 
 he whispered. "When I am better I will hold you 
 so closely that no one can take you from me. " 
 
 "You never held me closer than now, dearest," she 
 whispered back. She did not dare to trust her voice. 
 
 "Ah, wait until we go adventuring again." His 
 head slipped down a little, and she pillowed it softly 
 above her beating heart. 
 
 "Are you comfortable?" 
 
 "Very comfortable. Stoop down and kiss me 
 before I go to sleep. " 
 
 "Are you tired?" 
 
 "Not now." 
 
 "Only sleepy?" 
 
 " Only sleepy and happy, " he murmured. " Don't 
 let the others in. We don't want any one else you 
 and I. Do we, Hesper Belhasard?" 
 
 "No," she answered. 
 
 The Eastern night fell suddenly through the yellow 
 twilight and still Hesper sat holding Ivors to her heart, 
 protecting him from intrusion. 
 
 She did not know the moment when the Un- 
 bidden Guest entered and, summoning him from that 
 desired bourne, set out with him upon the last Great 
 Adventure. 
 
 THE END
 
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