CHAPTER VII--THE DESERT AND THE CITY
Daniel's mind was not at ease as he rode through the gathering darkness.His thoughts had been shaken out of their habitual tranquillity by hisfew hours in the city, and he had the feeling that he had turned hisback upon a picture which he would have liked a little longer tocontemplate, that he had shut a book in which he would have preferred toread yet another chapter. But when the moon rose and cast its earlymystery upon the empty wilderness around him, a greater calm fell uponhim, and he began to appreciate once more that sense of detachment fromthe restless doings of the world which is the particular gift of thedesert.
For two hours or more he rode in silence, and ever as he passed deeperinto the great void before him his musing mind contemplated withincreasing serenity the events of the last night and day. Out here inthis everlasting calm he could smile at the little agitations which hadbeset him in Cairo, and could observe their triviality. Here thestrident call of flesh and blood was hushed, and the equable balance ofmind and body was able to be resumed. No wonder, he thought to himselfthat the monks of old had hidden themselves in the wilderness: they haddiscovered a blessed equanimity, and a consequent happiness not to befound in the busy thoroughfares of the city.
At length he called a halt in a rugged valley, through which a streamhad flowed in bygone ages. Its bed of fine shingle and sand made a softand pliable resting-place; and here he ate his evening meal, lying backupon his sheepskin thereafter, smoking his pipe and talking to hisfriends, until sleep came to him.
On the following day they rode no more than five-and-twenty miles,taking a course somewhat more roundabout than that of their outwardjourney, and it was mid-afternoon when they reached the water-hole atwhich the night was to be spent. Riding round a bend in a precipitousvalley, Daniel, who was some distance ahead of his retainers, suddenlyfound himself looking down upon the rocky hollow in which lay the littlepool of water, so blue in its setting of mellow sun-bathed rocks that itseemed even deeper in tone than the sky it reflected. Here grew thegreenest reeds and rushes, and, mirrored in the water, there was adelicate tamarisk whose soft foliage swayed in the breeze as thoughsetting the time to the nodding dance of the reeds.
Sitting beside the pool a little girl was tending a few goats whosebleating came merrily to his ears on the wind. She had not heard thesoft pads of his approaching camel, and he was almost upon her beforeshe looked up. With a cry of surprise she fled down the valley, andsuddenly, from amidst the shadows of the boulders, a grey-bearded son ofthe desert stepped forth into the sunlight, an ancient broadsword in hishands, and a ragged cloak of many colours thrown over his shoulders.
Daniel dismounted from his camel, and exchanged greetings with thepatriarch, while the little girl hid herself behind the man's thin brownlegs, and the goats leaped upon the rocks to stare at the stranger froma safe distance.
"Never fear, little one," said the old man as he patted the child'shead. "This is only an Englishman. There are many such: they harm not."
The old goatherd, and two of his grandsons, who presently made theirappearance, proved to be related to families in the Oasis of El Hamranwhere Daniel resided; and the talk during the evening meal was all ofmutual acquaintances, of the movements of various groups of Bedouin, ofcamping-grounds and water-holes.
A woman and the little girl, her daughter, sat amidst the rocks in thebackground as they talked, and Daniel observed that the child wasnursing a primitive doll made of three sticks and a piece of rag, andthat at length she fell asleep with this poor proxy held close in herbrown arms. Later in the evening, therefore, in the light of the moon,he fashioned a very much more convincing article out of sticks, string,and a handkerchief; and with his fountain-pen he outlined an audaciousface, which, with a few combings from his sheepskin in the place ofhair, gave an appearance of striking and awful reality to the figure.
The goatherds encouraged his efforts with excited laughter, and when, atlast, the doll was finished, he walked over to the sleeping girl andplaced it in her arms.
On the third day they made good going, passing across a range of lowhills, and descending into a wide plain where they disturbed a herd ofgazelle, which went galloping off at their approach and were lost in thehaze of the distance.
So they journeyed in easy stages; and day by day Daniel more fullyresumed that jovial, contented mind which is the basis of happiness. Thebenign influence of sun and breeze and open space was upon him oncemore, and his heart was filled as it were with laughter. Riding everwestward, he seemed to be following the course of the sun; and eachevening, as it passed down behind the horizon ahead, it markedtomorrow's track, as though bidding him come deeper, ever deeper, intothe merry freedom of the desert. He whistled a tune to himself as herode through echoing valleys; he sang at the top of his voice as, farahead of his men, he passed over the hills, and viewed the great vistasbefore him; and as he drew near to the oasis which was his destination,and observed once again the presence of birds and the tracks of jackals,he urged his camel forward with many an endearing and persuasive word.
Now he met with goatherds and camelherds who were his friends, andmerrily he called his greetings to them; now he knew the lie of thecountry, and noted the places where, from time to time, he had camped orrested in the shade at noon when he had been out hunting gazelle, ortracking the jackals to their lairs, by way of exercise. Now the westwind brought the faint scent of the cultivated land to his sensitivenostrils, and his camel lifted its head to snuff at the breeze.
At last, in a golden sunset, amidst the chattering of innumerablesparrows, he descended from the barren hills into the dense palm grovesof the Oasis of El Hamran, from whose shadows the white-robed figures ofthe Bedouin emerged to greet him.
An all-pervading peace enfolded him, and his short visit to civilizedlife seemed like a dream that was fading from his memory. The citybeside the Nile had become a thing of unreality, and he had awakened, asit were, to the happy sunshine of life's placid day, and was eager to beonce more at his work.
Yet, in far-away Cairo, there were five minds at least which retained avivid recollection of his brief incursion into the city. There was LordBarthampton, who, for forty-eight hours after Daniel's departure, hadlain in a drunken stupor which, for form's sake, was termed a touch ofthe sun; and who, thereafter, had forsworn all intoxicating liquor, andhad resumed his place at the mess in the sullen silence of one who hasreturned unwillingly to the fold.
There was Lizette, who had wept a little, and for a little while hadbemoaned her lot, and who, later, had gone, as was her wont, to theFranciscan Church, and had said her beads and had prayed that one dayshe might meet again the mighty man who had sent the pig Barthampton sobeautifully sprawling upon the floor.
There was Lord Blair, who had received an effusive reply from thegratified Minister of War, and, thereat, had schemed and plotted tobring the wise Daniel within closer reach of the Residency. There wasRupert Helsingham, who, ever since the ride to Mena House, had beenfilled with matrimonial dreams and fears of rivalry, and had racked hisbrains to decide upon a course of action which should give himopportunities of displaying those brutal tendencies of manhood whichseemed to be so successful with the opposite sex.
And lastly, there was Muriel, who had aroused Rupert's jealousy bytalking from time to time about Daniel, with a sort of defiance in hervoice which could almost be mistaken for awe.
It was inevitable that she and Charles Barthampton should meet: it wasonly strange that they had not met before in London. On the same eveningupon which Daniel had arrived at his home in El Hamran, his cousin was aguest at dinner at the Residency, where he found himself seated next toMuriel. The latter had been taken into dinner by one of the Egyptianprinces, an elegant personage who had lived most of his life in Vienna,Paris, and Monte Carlo, and whose contempt for the English was onlyequalled by his scorn of the Egyptians. He was an authority on modernFrench art; and when Muriel, in a frenzy of tact, had rushed theconversation again and again into that
province, and had exhausted allthat she knew by rote upon the subject, she was glad of an opportunityto turn in the opposite direction and address herself to Barthampton.
He, on his part, had taken in the daughter of the French Consul-General,who was much more interested in Rupert Helsingham upon her other hand;and, being thus left alone to play with his toast and sip his wine, hehad turned to Muriel with relief.
"I can't talk to this French girl," he whispered. "She doesn'tunderstand English, and my French isn't exactly ladylike."
"Well, do you know anything about French art?" she asked, hopefully."I'm sitting next to a connoisseur, and I've run dry."
"French art?" he laughed. "Rather! I've got a collection ofpostcards--I've framed some of them; and I take _La Vie Parisienne_regularly."
Muriel sighed. "No, I'm afraid that won't help," she said.
"Well, try him on English art," he suggested. "Good stuff, youknow--Landseer and Leighton and Alma-Tadema."
"No," said Muriel gravely, "he's very modern."
"Oh, modern, is he? Then what about Kirchner? Or Cecil Aldin?--but Idon't suppose he knows a fox from a hound." He leaned forward and staredat the Prince. "Queer little devil, isn't he, what? Doesn't look muchlike a nigger."
"Why should he?" Muriel asked. "The Royal house is Albanian--pureTurkish."
"Oh, I lump them all together," he answered, with a gesture of his redhand. "Quaint country, Egypt, isn't it? What d'you think of it?"
"So far, I like it immensely," she replied. "But I shouldn't think itwas an interesting place for a soldier. What do your men think of it?"
"I don't know: I've never asked 'em," he replied. "Not much, I shouldn'tthink. There are not enough housemaids to go round, and the beer'satrocious. I can't think why we're not kept in London; after all, we'rethe Guards. They ought to leave the dirty work to the ordinary regimentsof the line. I don't see why we should be made to sweat out here. It'sthese Radicals: they never can mind their own business."
"Father and I are Radicals, you know," she smiled. "And our forebearswere Whigs before us."
"Beg pardon," he said, with a grunt. "I'd forgotten my history lessons.We Lanes were always Tories."
Muriel glanced at him quickly. "Oh, I'd quite forgotten," she said, withinterest. "Of course, you're a Lane. I wonder if you're any relation toa certain Daniel Lane?"
Lord Barthampton's face fell. "How d'you come to know Daniel Lane?" heasked, as he busied himself with his food.
"I met him the other day," she answered. "He's a friend of my father's.Oh, yes, I remember now: he said he had a relation out here in theGuards."
"Yes," he replied, with his mouth full. "He's a cousin; but I hardlyknow him. He's spent much of his life in the States."
"Tell me about him," she said. She was all interest.
"I don't know anything to tell you," he answered, casually. "He's acrank--lives with the niggers in the desert or something. Looks like atramp."
"He's very clever, isn't he? My father thinks the world of him."
Lord Barthampton noisily threw down his knife and fork. "There's notmuch love lost between him and me," he said, and relapsed into silence;while Muriel, seeing that she had touched upon a sore subject, took theopportunity to resume her conversation with her partner.
Late that evening, after the guests had departed, Muriel, prompted by asense of duty, found herself in the library, bidding a motherlygood-night to her father, who was smoking a final cigar, and wasstanding before the empty fireplace, his hands under his coattails inunconscious retention of the habits of other days.
"By the way," she said, "did you know that Lord Barthampton was DanielLane's cousin?"
"You don't say so!" he exclaimed. "Well, well! I had no idea."
He opened a bookcase, and lifting out _Burke's Peerage_, turned over itspages with evident interest. After a few moment's study, he uttered alittle ejaculation.
"Dear me, dear me!" he remarked. "Daniel is not only his cousin, but hisheir presumptive." He stroked his chin, and carried the bulky volumenearer to the light. "Hm! Well, well--to be sure!" he muttered.
He laid the book down, and clasping his hands behind his back, walked toand fro across the room, while Muriel turned to glance at the familyrecord.
As she looked up once more, her father paused, his head on one side, hisfingers stroking his jaw. "Now, if that lout were to die ..." he mused.
"D'you mean Mr. Lane?" asked Muriel innocently.
"No, no! Tut, tut!" exclaimed her father, pinching the lobe of her ear,and then, as though afraid of giving offence, patting her cheek instead."Daniel Lane is not a lout! I was referring to his cousin. If Danielwere to inherit--"
"If he were to inherit," Muriel put in, as he paused, "there'd be apanic in the House of Lords--peers hiding under benches, Lord Chancellorflung into gallery, Archbishop popped into waste-paper basket--"
Lord Blair raised his delicate hand in protest: his thoughts were moreserious. "You know," he said, "that man is wasting himself in thedesert. I wish I could persuade him to accept some official position inCairo. I should like to push him into prominence--oblige him, force him,to take an active part in the government of this country."
An expression almost of sadness came into his face. "I sometimes feel,"he went on, "that we diplomatists, products of the Foreign Office, aretotally unfitted to rule a mediaeval country such as this. Look at me,Muriel; am I the romantic figure to impress the native mind? Egypt doesnot want diplomacy; she wants physical strength combined withphilosophy--she wants a man who is a mighty hunter before the Lord, agiant, a hero out of a legend."
"Oh, father dear," Muriel replied, "everybody says you are the idealruler." She felt sorry for him: he seemed such an insignificant littlefigure, so fussy, so well-meaning, and just now so modest.
"No," he continued, "I don't understand the native mind; I must confess,I don't understand it. And I sometimes think that I am not serving thebest interests of England. I want my country to be respected, Muriel; Ihave such vast ambition for England. I want our manhood to be seen tothe best advantage, so that the natives may say: 'Since we are to beruled, let us be glad that we are ruled by _men_.'"
Muriel put her hands upon his shoulders. For the first time she reallyliked him. "I think you're splendid, father," she said.
"Now, if Daniel Lane took his position in society," he mused, "if, forinstance, he were Lord Barthampton, there would be no difficulty. Icould push him forward, and in a few years he would be old enough tosucceed me here at the Residency. A little more care about hisappearance, perhaps--"
"And a little less rudeness," said Muriel.
"No, he is not rude," Lord Blair corrected her. "He is onlyunceremonious."
There was a tap at the door, and Rupert entered. He was the only one ofthe Secretaries who lived on the premises.
"I'm just off to bed," he said. "Is there anything you want me to do,sir?"
Lord Blair looked at him, as though waking from a dream. "Let me see,yes, there was something I was going to ask you to do. What was it, now?Dear, dear! How bad my memory is! Ah, yes, I have it! A letter: I wantyou to acknowledge it formally, the first thing in the morning. It's onmy study table. No, you could not find it in all that litter. I mustreally have a grand tidying-up, I must indeed. One moment: I'll get itfor you."
He hurried from the room, in short, nervous steps, and, as hedisappeared, Rupert turned to Muriel. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "You dolook beautiful tonight. I could hardly take my eyes off you all theevening."
Muriel smiled happily. "I'm glad you think so. I thought I looked asight; and Prince What's-his-name was evidently bored with me."
"On the contrary," he answered, "he told me he thought you werecharming, and such a connoisseur."
"Of what," she asked brightly.
"Of the art of the Stone Age, he said. I don't know what he meant."
Muriel flushed. "The little beast!" she cried, angrily. "He was tryingto be rude."
"Rude, was he?" said Rupe
rt, viciously. He assumed a fighting attitude,and, when Muriel had frankly explained the insinuation of the remark, heset his teeth and made a determined attempt to appear grim.
"He'll get one in the jaw, if he doesn't look out," he muttered.
Lord Blair re-entered the room, carrying the letter (for some unknownreason) extended in his thumb and first finger as though it smelt. Hepaused on seeing Rupert's simulation of pugilism, and looked at himcritically, as it were measuring the young man's capacities in thatarena. Then he shook his head sadly, and handed him the letter.
When Rupert had left them, Lord Blair turned to his daughter."Undersized," he murmured, "sadly undersized."
"Oh, not so very," said Muriel, divining his thoughts. "And, any way,he's a good-looking boy, and his manners are charming. I'm growing veryfond of Rupert."
Lord Blair glanced at her quickly.
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