Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

world!"

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  A SURPRISE.

  Egypt is the strangest land, the weirdest land, the saddest land in allthe world.

  It is a land of memories, of monuments, and of mysticism; a land ofdreams that never come true, a land of mystery, a great cemeterystretching from ancient Ethiopia away to the sea, a great grave hundredsof miles long in which is buried perhaps as many millions of humanbeings as exist upon our earth to-day.

  Against the low-lying shore of the great Nile valley have beaten many ofthe greatest waves of human history. It is the grave of a hundred deadEgypts, old and forgotten Egypts, that existed and possessed kings andpriests and rules and creeds, and died and were succeeded by newerEgypts that now, too, are dead, that in their time believed they rearedpermanently above the ruins of the past.

  The small white steamer lay moored in the evening light at the longstone quay before the sun-baked town of Wady Haifa, close to the modernEuropean railway terminus of the long desert-line to Khartoum.

  On board, dinner was in progress in the cramped little saloon, no largerthan that of a good-sized yacht, and everyone was in high spirits, forthe Second Cataract, a thousand miles from Cairo, had at last beenreached.

  Amid the cosmopolitan chatter in French, English, Italian and German,Boulos, arrayed in pale pink silk--for the dragoman is ever a chameleonin the colour of his perfumed robes--made his appearance and clapped hishands as signal for silence.

  "La-dees and gen'lemens," he cried in his long-drawn-out Arabintonation, "we haf arrived now in Wady Haifa, ze frontier of Sudan.Wady Haifa in ze days of ze khalifa was built of Nile mud, and one of zestrongholds of ze Dervishes. Ze Engleesh Lord Kig'ner, he make WadyHaifa hees headquarter and make one railroad to Khartoum. After ze warzis place he be rebuilt by Engleesh engineer, as to-morrow you will see.After dinner ze Engleesh custom officer he come on board to search forarms or ammunition, for no sporting rifle be allowed in ze Sudan withoutze licence, which he cost fifty poun' sterling. To-morrow I go ashorwiz you la-dees and gen'lemens at ten o'clock. We remain here, in WadyHaifa, till noon ze day after to-morrow to take back ze European mailfrom Khartoum. Monuments teeckets are not here wanted."

  There was the usual laugh at the mention of "monuments tickets," forevery Nile traveller before leaving Cairo has to obtain a permit fromthe Department of Antiquities to allow him to visit the excavations.Hence every dragoman up and down the Nile is ever reminding thetraveller of his "monument ticket," and also that "galloping donkeys arenot allowed."

  "Monuments teeckets very much wanted; gallopin' don-kees not al-lowed,"is the parrot-like phrase with which each dragoman concludes his dailyaddress to his charges before setting out upon an excursion.

  Dinner over, many of the travellers landed to stroll through the smalltown, half native, half European, which has lately sprung up at the headof the Sudan railway.

  As usual, Chester Dawson escorted Edna and went ashore laughing merrily.Time was, and not so very long ago, when Wady Haifa was an unsafe placefor the European, even by day. But under the benign British influenceand control it is to-day as safe as Brighton.

  Hubert Waldron lit a cigar, and alone ascended the long flight of stepswhich led from the landing-stage to the quay. On the right lay thelong, well-lit European railway station, beyond, a clump of high palmslooming dark against the steely night sky. The white train, with itsclosed sun-shutters, stood ready to start on its long journey south,conveying the European mail over the desert with half a dozen passengersto the capital of the Sudan.

  He strolled upon the platform, and watched the bustle and excitementamong the natives as they entered the train accompanied by many huge andunwieldy bundles, and much gesticulation and shouting in Arabic.Attached to the end of the train was a long car, through the open doorof which it could be seen that it contained living and sleepingapartment.

  At the door stood a sturdy, sunburnt Englishman in shirt and trousersand wide-brimmed solar topee. With him Waldron began to chat.

  "Yes," the English engineer replied, "I and my assistant are just offinto the desert for three weeks. The train drops us off two hundredmiles south, and there we shall remain at work. The track is alwaysrequiring repair, and I assure you we find the midday heat is sometimessimply terrible. The only sign of civilisation that we see is when theexpress passes up to Khartoum at daybreak, and down to Haifa atmidnight."

  "Terribly monotonous," remarked the diplomat, used to the gay society ofthe capitals.

  "Oh, I don't know," replied the Englishman, with a rather sad smile. "Igave up London five years ago--I had certain reasons--and I came outhere to recommence life and forget. I don't expect I shall ever goback."

  "Ah! Then London holds some painful memory for you--eh?" remarkedWaldron with sympathy.

  "Yes," he answered, with a hard, bitter look upon his face. "Butthere," he added quickly, "I suppose I shall get over it--some day."

  "Why, of course you will," replied the diplomat cheerfully. "We all ofus have our private troubles. Some men are not so lucky as to be ableto put everything behind them, and go into self-imposed exile."

  "It is best, I assure you," was the big, bronzed fellow's reply. Thennoticing the signals he shouted into the inner apartment: "We're off,Clark. Want anything else?"

  "No," came the reply; "everything is right. I've just checked it all."

  "We have to take food and water," the engineer explained to Waldron witha laugh. "Good night."

  "Good night--and good luck," shouted Hubert, as the train moved off, anda strong, bare arm waved him farewell.

  Then after he had watched the red tail-light disappear over the sandywaste he turned, and wondering what skeleton of the past that exile heldconcealed in his cupboard, strode along the river-bank beneath the beltof palms.

  How many Englishmen abroad are self-exiles? How full of bitterness ismany a man's heart in our far-off Colonies? And how many good, sterlingfellows are wearily dragging out their monotonous lives, just because of"the woman"? Does she remember? does she care? She probably stilllives her own life in her own merry circle--giddy and full of a moderncraving for constant excitement. She has, in most cases, convenientlyforgotten the man she wronged--forgotten his existence, perhaps even hisvery name.

  And how many men, too, have stood by and allowed their lives to bewrecked for the purpose of preserving a woman's good name. But does thewoman ever thank him? Alas! but seldom--very seldom.

  True, the follies of life are mostly the man's. But the woman does notalways pay--as some would have us believe.

  Waldron, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar, his thoughts far away fromthe Nile--for he was recalling a certain evening in Madrid when he hadsat alone with Beatriz in her beautiful flat in the Calle de Alcala--hadpassed through the darkness of the palms, and out upon the path whichstill led beside the wide river, towards the Second Cataract.

  From the shadows of the opposite shore came the low beating of a tom-tomand the Arab boatman's chant--that rather mournful chant one hearseverywhere along the Nile from the Nyanza to the sea, and which ends in"Al-lah-hey! Al-lah-hey!" Allah! Always the call to Allah.

  The sun--the same sun god that was worshipped at Abu Simbel--had gonelong ago, tired Nubia slept in peace, and the stars that gazed down uponher fretted not the night with thoughts of the creeds of men.

  Again Hubert Waldron reached another small clump of palms close to thewater's edge, and as he passed noiselessly across the sand he suddenlybecame conscious that he was not alone.

  Voices in French broke the silence, and he suddenly halted.

  Then before him, silhouetted against the blue, clear light of the desertnight, rose two figures--Europeans, a man and a woman.

  The woman, who wore a white dress, was clasped in the arms of the man,while he rained hot, passionate kisses upon her brow.

  Waldron stood upon the soft sand, a silent witness of that exchange ofpassionate caresses. He feared to move lest he should attract theiratten
tion and be accused of eavesdropping.

  From where he was, half concealed by the big trunk of a date-palm, hecould distinctly hear the words uttered by the man.

  "I have been here for three days awaiting you, darling. I travelled byPort Sudan and Khartoum, and then on here to meet you."

  "And I, too, Henri, have been wondering if you would arrive here intime," was the girl's response, as her head lay in sweet content uponher lover's shoulder. "Imagine my delight when the Arab came on boardand slipped your note into my hand."

  "Ah, Lola darling, how I have longed for this moment!--longed to holdyou in my arms once again," he cried.

  Lola!

  Hubert Waldron held his breath, scarce believing his own ears.

  Yes, it was her voice--the voice he