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Page 63
"To the Shrine of Anubis the god of Death, where I would show you the
Hawk of Northern Egypt upon the wall."
They passed between the great columns and up the flight of steps to the
doorway beyond which lie the chambers of the Shrine, and there Hugh
Carden Ali took the girl's hand as he called her name aloud, until the
walls or the spirits of the gods thundered back the echo.
"The gods introduced the kings of Egypt to the sanctuary. Anubis god
of Death, as you will see by the painting upon the wall, led the great
queen to the door," he said in reply to a whispered question from
Damaris. "I would not that the shadow of death touched the hem of your
raiment. I called your name aloud so that the gods might hear. . . .
Do I believe in such strange things? How can one say, I believe, or do
not believe, in this land which is in the grip of a dead past which is
not dead?"
And they passed in through the door and stood looking up at the Hawk of
Horus painted in the XVIII dynasty upon the wall.
Brilliant in colouring, green and white, with red-tipped wings, it
spreads them above the place where once was seen the painted picture of
the queen who reigned and suffered and died, thousands of years ago.
"Ah!" said Damaris, as she looked up to the corner. "It is your--your
crest--your------"
"It is a fantasy of mine. We trace my father's house right back
without a break to the days of the Pharaohs--so, I believe, does
Mohammed Ali, vendor of slippers in the bazaar." He paused, then added
abruptly, with a frown and a movement of the shoulders as though he
were trying to shift a burden, "If you will come with me to the inner
chamber, if you are not afraid, I will interpret the Story of the Hawk
to you in the shadows where it belongs."
Damaris put out her hand as though to speak, then passed into the inner
room, across the threshold of which the dogs of Billi laid themselves
down.
"Death is around us," said Hugh Carden Ali. "Do you believe in
omens?--No? Nor I. I wish there was a seat, so that you could rest
whilst I tell you------"
Damaris laid her hand gently upon his arm, and he looked down into the
face shining dead-white in the reflection of the moon which had silted
in through a hole in the roof.
"You know?"
Damaris looked up and smiled.
"Yes! I know. And, being the son of such splendid people, I cannot
understand why------"
The gates of pain and love and sacrifice were opened and the girl
shrank back against the wall as the tide of pent-up bitterness swept
around her in the ruined shrine. The man's face was white, his eyes
blazed in the agony of his hurt, whilst the dogs lifted their heads and
growled.
". . . You do not understand! You do not understand that I love you!
And, loving you, I stand a prisoner behind the bars wrought for me by
the love of my parents. That I love you as surely you never have been,
never will be loved, and that I dare not, can not ask you to be my
wife,--even if you loved me--which you do not. . . What? You do not
see why I should not marry into my mother's race even as my father did?
I will tell you why." He gripped her wrists and pulled her to him.
"Because I am the outcome of their union. My father is an Arab, my
mother an Englishwoman. I--I am a half-caste. I am nearer white,
truly, than my father, but--but my son, although he might be white or
dark,--a--a native, as you say in England--would only be a half-caste
lying on your white breast, if you were my wife."
The moonbeams lengthened as the man talked on, whilst Damaris learned
of one of love's bitterest mistakes.
"Oh, forgive me!" he ended. "Why did I bring you here to hurt you, to
make you cry for a pain which is not yours? Why are you left alone?
It is so dangerous in this land of my fathers. Your godmother deserts
you whilst she goes to my mother, who is afraid for me--ah! did you not
know? The man who loves you has left you to the wind of chance: my
friend, Big Ben Kelham--O gods of ancient Egypt, how you must
laugh!--my _friend_! Shall we meet again, I wonder?----"
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