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Page 96
Blessed, sanctified refuge against all harm!
Five minutes of quick discussion; rapid weighing of the pros and cons
as to the best way to keep from the ears that which would serve as a
whetstone to the tongues of the scandalmongers; a sharp, clear
understanding and decision.
The manager of the hotel salaamed deeply in the doorway before the
high-born women, and showed no surprise at the tale--which he believed,
perhaps--of Miss Hethencourt, who had gone to meet her grace and having
undoubtedly mixed up instructions, had either gone up to Kulla to meet
her, crossing her on the river, or had crossed to the other side,
thinking, as her grace had suggested doing, that the return from Kulla
would be made by camel on the far side of the Nile.
Good gracious! no. He had long since given up showing or feeling
surprise at anything any of the great white races might elect to do.
He had harboured them for several winters in his hotel, you see.
Certainly everything should be ready in the quickest possible time. A
hamper and some brandy; the boat; and upon the other side the swiftest
camel from the hotel stables for her Excellency the wife of the Sheikh
el-Umbar; the swiftest men to carry a litter--ah! two litters, as her
grace's maid would join in the search. Not Miss Coop; she was staying
behind, of course, to have everything in readiness for Miss
Hethencourt, who would doubtless be very tired and a little frightened.
"There is nothing to fear," he added. "Nobody has ever really been
lost in Egypt, and as Miss Hethencourt will not want a crowd of friends
to meet her on her safe return, not one word shall be said about the
little expedition of relief."
He salaamed and retired, leaving the duchess looking after him.
She had her doubts about his belief in one word of the story.
* * * * * *
Wrapped in her ermine cloak and leaning on her ebony stick, Olivia
Duchess of Longacres stood near all that is left of the Gate of
To-morrow.
Hugh Carden's mother looked down at her from the back of her camel, on
which had been fixed the padded seat which is perhaps the most
comfortable of all saddles.
Wellington, with the book between his teeth, sat next her, firmly
secured by a rope through the steel ring in his spiked collar to the
back of the seat.
"Take him, your grace," had urged Jane Coop, whose own heart was nigh
to breaking at being left behind. "Take him; he'll find her if we
should happen to have made a mistake. Missie calling you, Wellington.
Take the book to Missie; she wants it."
And the dog had obediently picked up the book in his teeth and waddled
in the wake of the search-party.
Maria Hobson stood close beside her mistress; the indifferent
_fellaheen_ stood some little way apart. They, too, have long since
become accustomed to the vagaries of the great white races.
"Let me go alone, dear. He is my son!"
The mother had pleaded for the sake of her first-born, and the old
woman, understanding, had given way.
"Goodbye, dear. I will wait for you here. Hobson will look after me.
Besides, as long as we save her good name, what matters anything else?
Thank God for the moon, Jill. You will easily follow the track of the
two horses. Give them both my love, and tell them I'm waiting. _Au
revoir_."
She stood and watched the camel slither across the desert at that
animal's almost incredible speed; then turned, sat down on the edge of
her litter, took out her bejewelled Louis XV snuff-box, rasped a match
on the sole of her crimson shoe, and lit a Three Castles with her eyes
on the track left by the hoofs of two horses.
Yes! Two.
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