|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 61
"I _don't_ understand the meaning of the story," she repeated, as she
watched the figure of a _fellah_ wrapped in a big cloak which shone
snow-white under the moon, trudging patiently across the grounds to the
servants' quarters. Then, as the huge dog flung himself against her,
she struck her hands together. The sudden impact sent her mind flying
back to the first time she had seen Hugh Carden Ali, in English
riding-kit and Mohammedan _tarbusch_ in the bazaar; then in her memory
she saw him dining as an Englishman; saw him riding with falcon upon
fist--a very Eastern, saw him as an Arab of Arabia in the desert; again
as an Englishman, save for the Mohammedan _tarbusch_, holding in the
bay mare as she thundered past him on the stallion Sooltan.
In a flash she understood the tragic story of the Hawk of Egypt.
"The pity of it!" she whispered. "Oh! the cruel pity of it!" and crept
back to bed.
* * * * * *
Wide-eyed and quiet, she stood very early next morning with the
jostling, laughing crowd, waiting to be ferried across the Nile on the
excursion to the Tombs of the Kings, which to most of the crowd ranked
on a level with Madame Tussaud's Waxworks, with the difference that in
the valley of desolation you could leave the remnants of your lunch
anywhere, which is a habit strictly forbidden in the Marylebone Road.
Mounting the diminutive donkeys caused peals of laughter; the hamlets
of Naza'er-Rizkeh and Naza'el Ba'irait rang with the cries of the
cavalcade, and Damaris blindly followed Lady Thistleton's energetic
offspring, as with note-book and pencil they followed the guide in and
out of the regulation tombs of Biban el-Muluk, the history of which he
repeated with parrot-like monotony.
Lucy Jones, lighthearted tourist, thought the lunch awfully jolly in
the shade of the tomb, in fact, she made it a riotous feast, with the
help of others as young and non-temperamental as herself.
After all, what did it matter?
As Lucy said, "The dead had been such a jolly long time dead," and the
desolation of the valley made such a splendid contrast to the golden
sunshine and violent blue of the sky.
The zig-zag path down to Deir el-Bahari occasioned more laughter and
little screams and offers of help from the sterner male, who, under an
extreme insouciance, tried to hide the insecurity of his perch on the
back of the humble, scrambling quadruped.
When the laughing, jostling and somewhat dishevelled crowd streamed
back down the second incline and across the Central Terrace, en route
for the donkeys, it left Damaris standing with dancing eyes, and
laughing mouth under the blue and star-strewn ceiling of the Shrine.
And when the last sound of laughter, and clattering stone under nimble
hoof had melted away; when the sky had turned the marble temple mauve
and pink and deepest red, and back to pink, to mauve, to softest white;
when the first star had fastened the robe of day to the cloak of night,
and silence had fallen like balm upon the wound caused by raucous
voices, Damaris tip-toed down the steps and out into the Colonnade of
Punt.
She was quite alone.
CHAPTER XXI
"_No time so dark but through its woof there run
Some blessed threads of gold_."
C. P. CRANACH.
It is difficult--no, it is impossible to describe the wonder of Deir
el-Bahari under the moon, just as it is impossible to describe "the
light that never was, on land or sea," or the Taj Mahal, or a mother's
love.
To our eyes it is the picture of desolation. Just as it must have been
a picture of grandeur to those of the woman who built it, Queen
Hatshepu, sister, wife and queen of Totmes III.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|