|
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 27
The crash of hopes went echoing to the farthest reaches of her
consciousness. But pride stiffened her to dissemble, and she tried
to smile as she mechanically accepted the Captain's invitation to be
seated at the little candle-lighted table.
"There was no word to me personally?" she asked.
"None, but the telegram which came this morning. I judged that it
was not of a significance, for you did not send me a report."
"No--it was not of a significance," she repeated, with a ghost of a
little smile. "It was from the Evershams."
"Ah! Their condolences, I think?... And is it that they still make
the Nile trip?"
"Yes.... They went this morning." She spoke hesitantly, averse to
having this eager-eyed young host perceive how truly deserted she
was. "They expect me to take the express train later and join them."
"It is only a night's ride to Assouan." He spoke soothingly. "But
you are not eating, Miss Beecher. I recommend this consomm�."
It was worth the recommending. Miss Beecher spooned it slowly, then
demanded, "Why was I not called when the doctor came?"
"But he does not come! Perhaps he is afraid"--the young man's brows
and shoulders rose expressively--"but certainly he does not risk
himself. If a servant is ill we are to tell a soldier and the sick
one will be taken away to the house of plague--_bien simple_. It is
so hard that I am helpless for you," he said, with sympathetic
concern, then added, with an air of boyish confession, "although I
do not deny that it is happiness for me to see you here."
The look in his eyes forced itself upon her. And the secret sense of
discomfort intruded like a third presence at the little table.
In a clear voice of dry indifference: "That's very polite of you,"
she remarked, "but I imagine you are pretty furious, too, to be kept
pent up in somebody else's house like this."
"But this is not somebody else's house," he smiled, his eyes
observant of her quick glance and look of confusion. "I am _chez
moi_."
"Oh! I thought--I was visiting your sister."
"My sister lives with me. She is a widow--and we are both alone."
"She does not seem to care for company."
"She is indisposed. She regrets it exceedingly." The young man
looked grave and solicitous. "But I trust your comfort is not being
neglected?"
"Oh, my comfort is being beautifully attended to, thank you, but my
patience is wearing itself out!" Arlee spoke with a blithe
assumption of humor.
"I wish that I could extend the resources of my palace for you."
"You must tell me about the palace. I shall want to picture it to my
friends when I tell them about it. It's very old, isn't it? It must
have seen a great deal of life."
"Ah, yes, it has seen life--and what life! _Quelle vie!_" A flash of
real enthusiasm dispelled the suave indolence of his handsome
features.
"Have you seen those old rooms? Those rooms that were built by the
Mamelukes? There is nothing now in Cairo like them."
"I thought them very beautiful," said the girl. "Tell me about those
Mamelukes who lived here."
"They were _men_," he said with pride, his eyes kindling, "men who
lived as kings dare not live to-day!" The subject of those old days
and those old ancestors of his was evidently dear to the young
modern, and he launched into an animated sketch of those times,
trying to picture for Arlee something of the glowing pageant of the
past. And as she listened she found her own high spirit stirring in
sympathy with the barbaric strength of those old nobles, riding to
battle on their fiery Arab steeds, waging their private wars,
brooking no affront, no command, working no other man's will.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|