“If he promised you any money,” the other interjected, “you won’t get it.”
Daniel took no notice. “I won’t trouble you with the first pages of the letter,” he remarked. “They just tell an old man’s disappointment in his son, and his fears that you will not only ruin yourself, but also sully the name and squander the estate. ‘Now, Daniel,’ he writes, ‘I am going to put the matter entirely into your hands, and to rely on your honour to carry out my wishes. In spite of my son’s shortcomings I love him for his mother’s sake, and it is my earnest desire that he should be a worthy representative of our line. If, however, you find that he is hopelessly going to the bad, I herewith place the documentary evidence in your hands by means of which you can turn him out in favour of yourself.’”
“What’s he mean?” exclaimed his cousin, half rising from his chair. “It’s forgery – it’s a trick or something!” His voice was unsteady.
Daniel, pipe in mouth, continued quietly to read: “‘I regret to say that, as these papers will show, my son was born out of wedlock. You are aware, no doubt, that I met my wife in South Africa, when I had a farm there, some years before I even expected to come into the title; but, except you and I, no living person knows that Charles was born six months before our marriage. I now leave the secret entirely in your discretion, knowing that you will only reveal it if you feel that I should wish you to do so.’”
“It’s a lie!” shouted Lord Barthampton. “It’s blackmail!”
“No,” said Daniel. “There’s no getting over it. The documents are all in order. You’re only Lord Barthampton on sufferance.”
His cousin sank back in his chair. His cigar had gone out, and he flung it on the ground. Then he leant forward and rested his head in his hands, scratching his red ear with one finger. In this attitude he appeared fat, unpleasant, and altogether devoid of dignity.
At length he looked up, sullenly, with a sort of cunning in his face. “How much do you want for those papers?” he asked.
Daniel sucked at his pipe for a few moments. “I want rather a stiff price,” he declared at length.
“What?” said his cousin, in a dull voice.
Daniel fixed his eyes upon him. “Your reformation,” he said.
“Oh, go to Hell!” was the reply, and Daniel rather liked him for it. He felt uncomfortable in a mentorial rôle.
“Look here,” he said, “let’s understand what your father meant.”
Charles Barthampton got up and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda. “If that letter’s genuine,” he muttered, “there’s no understanding him.”
“Oh, yes, it’s simple enough,” replied Daniel. “You are his son, whether you’re legitimate or not; and he didn’t want to have your name, or his, or especially your mother’s, dragged through the mud by letting out his secret. So he wished you to inherit. But at the same time, he had a very Spartan sense of duty; and, as he was good enough to trust me, he thought I would act as a bit of a brake on you, if you knew that I could have you fired out if you didn’t behave yourself.”
“A dirty trick!” the other grunted, pacing up and down the room, his fists clenched, and much of the colour gone from his face. He swung round on his heel, and stared at Daniel with fierce, bloodshot eyes. “Oh, it’ll be easy enough for you to find a pretext for outing me. I can see already I’m done for. You’ve only got to say the word, but, by God! if you do turn me out” – he shook his fist in his cousin’s face – “I’ll send a bullet through you.”
Daniel put his hand to his hip-pocket, from which the butt of his revolver protruded. “I’m not a bad shot myself,” he replied.
“Oh, really!” Barthampton ejaculated, with an explosive splutter, and, darting to the table, he pulled open a drawer and dived his hand into it.
Instantly Daniel whipped out his revolver and covered him. “Stand back from that table!” he called out, and there was something very terrible in his voice.
His cousin’s hand fell to his side, and he took a pace back. Still covering him, and not taking his eyes from him, Daniel leaned over the table and felt for the revolver which lay there. Having found it, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.
“Now don’t behave like a damned fool,” he said. “Understand me: I am not going to turn you out. I haven’t the slightest wish to do so. I don’t want the beastly estates, and I much prefer to be plain Daniel Lane. By law I’m Lord Barthampton, not you; but by something that’s above law, I mean fair-play, you are your father’s son and the heir he wanted. And nothing short of your utter damn-foolery will ever make me turn you out. D’you understand? But, mind you,” and his voice resumed its gravity, “you’ve got to turn over a new leaf. You’ve got to give up your drink and your pig ways, and your gambling, and your tantrums, and your women. You’ve got to be a considerate landlord to your tenants, and a good citizen, and a credit to your country, and your regiment, and your family. And you’ve got to live within your income, and give generously to the poor. D’you hear me? – give generously to the poor. We shan’t see much of each other, but from time to time I’ll look you up, and I shall be surprised if I don’t find a great improvement in you.”
Lord Barthampton stood in front of him, staring at him as at a ghost. He was visibly trembling, and his face had lost its colour. Very nearly he had been a murderer. He appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
“D’you mean what you say?” he whispered. “How can I trust you?” His mouth was so dry that his tongue clicked as he spoke.
“Your father trusted me,” Daniel replied, and held out his hand.
Very slowly his cousin responded, and a cold, trembling, clammy hand was placed in his own.
“Very well, then, good-bye, Cousin Charles. I’m off to the desert now. I don’t know when we’ll meet again.”
He took his cousin’s revolver from his pocket and, putting it back in the place where he had found it, closed the drawer. “May I take one of your cigars?” he asked. His pipe had gone out.
“Y-yes, of course,” the wretched man replied, still standing like one in a dream.
Daniel took the cigar, lit it, and, turning round, walked out of the room.
In the blazing sunlight outside he paused and stared across the dazzling open space, which, towards the west, led down to the Nile. A scorching wind beat in his face, and blew the dust of his footsteps towards the building which he had left. “Phew!” he whispered. “Thus goes ten thousand pounds a year and a peerage!”
He gazed across the river to the shimmering line of the desert which could be seen in the distance between the palms, and held out his hands towards it.
CHAPTER VI – TOWARDS THE SUNSET
During the warm weather an afternoon siesta is habitual to the residents in Egypt, and Muriel at once lent her support to the custom with undisguised approval. This was but her third day in Cairo, yet, as soon as Daniel Lane had taken his departure, she went up to her room as though to the manner born, and slipped off her dress.
The bed looked cool and inviting, and a mass of white roses upon a table beside her pillow spread a gentle fragrance through the room; but this she thoughtlessly dissipated by lighting a Turkish cigarette. She did not particularly want to smoke, but she felt that the little gold-tipped cigarette was in keeping with her state of dainty semi-undress, with her somewhat exotic surroundings, and with the French novel which she had selected as an inducement to sleep.
Anybody peeping at her through the keyhole as she lay upon the rose-bud coverlet, bare arms and silk-stockinged legs asprawl, would have been hard put to it to decide whether here rested the girlish chastity of English tradition or the naughtiness of French fiction; for nowadays, when the one has had the hardihood at last to claim its share of the habiliments of the other, appearances are astonishingly deceptive. Actually, however, Muriel was but an innocent production of that form of upbringing which, while encouraging independence of action, accustoms the minds to the standards of the seraglio.
She had moved freely in the segment of London society which patronizes Covent Garden, hobnobs with the stage, and becomes ecstatic over the latest painter, sculptor, poet, or dancer. She had been shown all the little vices and failings of the world in their most attractive guise; and for her special edification the ancient virtues had been rendered even more seemingly ridiculous than the virtuous themselves had made them. Obediently she had laid her thoughtless tribute at the altar of the alluring goddess of today; and she had been shown the correct posture of obeisance that was to be made to the World, the Flesh, and the Devil.
She had been taught, if she had not actually mastered, all the short cuts to that appearance of culture which is so highly appraised; and, in matters of taste and form, she had been shown how to be bizarre without being crude, audacious without being vulgar. She knew just what to say about men of letters, and what books to leave lying about the room; and in regard to politics, the church, and sport, she had been shown how to lump the three together under the one heading of “Tradition.”
It was now three years since this part of her education had begun; and yet she had passed through the school with a surprisingly unsullied mind. Like most pupils of her age, she was, of course, in complete outward subjection to Mistress Fashion; but a spirit of mutiny still plotted in the dark chambers of her heart.
She had not yet altogether stupefied herself into that chronic semblance of light-heartedness which passes for happiness; and there were moments when in inward revolt she sent her entire circle of friends to blazes. At such times she was vaguely aware that, in some subtle manner, she was in bondage; but so carefully had she been trained to wear her golden chains with grace that the fleeting consciousness of their presence induced little more than an extra yawn or two, and a more luxurious enjoyment of any opportunity to kick up her heels.
As she lay now upon the bed, she was not conscious of any lack of freedom in her life, and yet she was profoundly happy to be out here in Egypt, where the day’s routine was not so hide-bound as it was in England.
The drone of the flies and the plaintive cry of the circling kites, the incessant cawing of the crows in the garden, and the occasional song of the boatmen on the Nile, soon lulled her to sleep; and it was four o’clock before she arose to dress herself for her ride with Rupert Helsingham. When she descended the stairs half an hour later, she was wearing a new riding-habit of white linen and a wide-brimmed felt hat in which she was conscious of appearing at her best.
Rupert, too, who awaited her at the tea-table in the drawing-room, was aware of his own becoming costume; and the spurs upon his highly polished boots clicked more frequently than was necessary. He was certainly good-looking, if somewhat undersized.
“I’ve told them to meet us with the horses on the other side of the water,” he said. “We’ll go across in the launch, which will save a long round by the bridge.”
After a hasty cup of tea, therefore, they walked through the garden to the landing-steps, and were soon speeding over the river in the glare of the afternoon sun, the cloudless heavens above them and the swift-flowing waters of the ancient Nile shining beneath.
They landed amidst the cool shade of the palms on the opposite bank, near a road along which many native carriages and English dogcarts were passing to and fro, this being the fashionable hour for taking the air; and many curious eyes were turned upon the immaculate couple as they mounted their horses, for the white launch with its little Union Jack at the stern, and the scarlet livery of the native attendants, revealed their identity, and Lady Muriel’s charms had already become a topic of general conversation.
“Which way would you like to go?” asked Rupert. “By the native roads across the fields, or straight along the main road out to Mena House?”
Muriel looked quickly at him. “Mena House?” she said. “Isn’t that on the edge of the desert, where Mr. Lane said he was starting from?”
Her companion nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “We would probably run into him. Shall we go the other way?”
Muriel drew rein for a moment. She would like to take her first view over that garden wall of which Daniel Lane had spoken, and it might be interesting to watch him ride away towards the setting sun. She might even have an opportunity of firing a parting shot at him – something about his rumoured harîm of Bedouin women to whom he seemed so anxious to return. She would like to hurt him.
“No, let’s go to Mena House,” she answered at length, and she gave as her reason her anxiety to see the Pyramids which stand on the edge of the desert, dominating the well-known Mena House Hotel.
Rupert looked at his watch. “It’s nearly five,” he remarked, without any particular reason. He was not thinking of the hour of Daniel Lane’s departure.
But Muriel was thinking of it, and, for answer, she urged her horse forward.
“I enjoy a good long gallop, don’t you?” she said, as they turned into the avenue of acacias which runs in a fine straight line out to the desert, flanked by a riding-track of soft earth.
“It’s a bit hot for anything strenuous, isn’t it?” he suggested. He wanted to ride quietly and talk to her as they went.
For some distance they trotted in silence, but at length Muriel shortened her rein. “Come in!” she laughed, and therewith she gave her restless Arab a touch with her heel, and instantly was off and away in a cloud of dust, as though she and her horse had been discharged in one piece from some monstrous gun.
Rupert swore peevishly, and followed in her wake, presently overtaking her and galloping by her side. The tree-trunks on either hand seemed to whirl past them, and the foliage, which met overhead, formed a sort of tunnel pierced at one side by stabbing shafts of dazzling sunlight. The effect was blinding, and soon Rupert, an excellent horseman, began to feel as though he were the maddened villain of some flickering film of the Wild West, whose career had soon to end in a frightful tumble.
“Isn’t it lovely?” shouted Muriel, ecstatically. Her blood seemed to be boiling in her veins; she glowed like a fiery immortal being, full of tremendous excitement and enthusiasm. This was life! – this was youth! She dragged her hat over her eyes, regardless of her own appearance, regardless of the hat’s. She felt entirely crazy, and presumably her horse felt the same, for not for a moment did he slacken his thundering speed. The warm wind whistled in her ears; occasional roadside villas appeared to whirl past almost as soon as they were sighted; an automobile, full of gesticulating Egyptians, raced them and had difficulty in beating them; the electric tram from the Pyramids to Cairo appeared to leap past them with wildly clanging bell; she caught sudden glimpses of peasant carts and an occasional smart carriage, astonished brown faces and smiling white ones. Her hair began to come down.
At last her horse had had enough, and his gallop decreased to a trot, his trot to a walk. Her companion turned a laughing red face to her. He had caught the infection of her spirits, and, like her, was conscious of a burning sense of youth and strength. The perspiration was streaming down his cheeks.
“Phew!” he exclaimed, and recklessly mopped his forehead with a coloured silk handkerchief intended only for a breast-pocket ornament. “D’you often get taken like that?”
Muriel laughed excitedly, and, twisting the reins around her arm, pulled off her hat, thereby letting loose a tumbling mass of brown hair, which fell about her shoulders. Then, handing the hat to Rupert to hold, she raised her hands and coiled up the hair on to her head again, fastening it with the few remaining hairpins.
Rupert uttered an ordinary, vulgar whistle. He, too, had been galloped into naturalness. “By Jove!” he cried. “You have got glorious hair!”
Muriel settled her hat upon her head once more, and picked up her reins.
“I’ll let it down properly for you some day,” she said. At that moment she would have stood on her head, had anybody dared her to do so. A law should be passed prohibiting women from galloping.
“I’ll kiss you if you do,” replied Rupert. The law should, perhaps, include young men as well.
He was startled at his audacity; but Muriel was not in a mental condition to do otherwise than laugh.
Thus they arrived, like two flushed children, at the end of the road, the hotel on their right, the mighty Pyramids rising up like hand-made mountains on their left, backed by the descending sun. In front of them stretched the desert – a ridge of white and yellow shelving rocks, and great shadowed slopes of sand mounting to the clear sky. Southwards, at the foot of the hills, stood a native village, the clustered white houses and dignified groups of palms reflected in the still waters of the inundation which, at this time of the year, cover the surrounding fields.
Outside the hotel several Bedouin dragomans sauntered about or sat smoking and chatting; and a few camels and donkeys, saddled in readiness for hire, stood tethered near by.
Muriel hardly glanced at the Pyramids: they had been visible to her through the trees during most of the ride, and they were just as she had pictured them. But the Bedouin in their flowing silks, the betasselled camels, and the background of the desert made a picture which delighted her eyes.
“What’s the time?” she asked. “I wonder if he has gone.”
It was some seconds before Rupert took her meaning: he had forgotten about Daniel Lane. He looked at his watch: it was half-past five.
“I’ll ask some of these fellows if they’ve seen him,” he said, perhaps a little put out. A shadow had fallen upon the gay opening scene of his romance.
He rode forward, and soon elicited the information that “the Englishman who came in from the desert” had but a few minutes ago gone up the hill to the rocky plateau above, where his camels were awaiting him.
“We’ve missed him,” he said, returning to her. “He’s just gone.”
“Well, let’s ride after him,” she answered, and without further remark she trotted up the short, winding road which led on to the higher ground. Rupert followed her, musing upon the inscrutable ways of women.
The road lay in the shadow of the hillside, but as they reached the summit they came into the full glare of the setting sun which was now nearing the distant horizon. On their left the Pyramids towered up into the blazing sky, but before them the rock-strewn plateau lay open and vast, and over it the wind blew warm and mysterious.
Muriel arched her hand above her eyes and looked about her.
“There he is!” she cried at length, directing her companion to a little group in a sandy hollow about a hundred yards distant, and therewith they both trotted forward.
Daniel Lane was about to mount his camel as they approached. Muriel waved her hand to him, whereat he pulled off his well-worn hat and laughed aloud.
“That’s odd!” he said. “I had a sort of feeling you’d come.”
Muriel stared at him, and her responding smile died upon her lips.
“We rode in this direction quite at random,” said she, coldly. “I don’t yet know one way from another.”
“Well, you’ve found your way to the desert quickly enough,” he replied. “You know there are some people who seem to be drawn towards it at once.”
Muriel glanced about her. “I think it looks a horrid place,” she said, which was entirely untruthful. “I don’t feel at all drawn to it.”
She turned to Rupert Helsingham. He was slowly riding round the four camels which crouched, grunting, on the sand, in charge of two lean and wild-looking men of the desert, whose appearance was strikingly different from that of the Bedouin of the Pyramids, grown prosperous in their profession as guides and dragomans to the sightseers. Three of the camels were saddled, the seat in each case being covered by a rough sheepskin, and having on either side a coarsely embroidered bag containing food, while a rifle and two water-bottles were slung across the back. The fourth camel, which was to be led by one of the riders, was lightly laden with stores and various purchases made in Cairo, and two small water-skins depended at its sides.
“I travel light, you see,” said Daniel, as Rupert returned to them.
“Yes, you couldn’t otherwise have come in at the pace you did,” he answered. “Are you going back at the same rate?”
Daniel laughed. “Oh, no,” he said. “I shall travel in easy stages, taking five or six days probably – as long as the food lasts, in fact. We can pick up water at the wells, and if we shoot anything we can take it still slower.”
Muriel looked curiously at him. “Then why were you in such a hurry to be off?” she asked.
“One night in a Cairo hotel is enough for me,” he answered. “I’m starting now so as to get ten or fifteen miles away by bedtime, where I can sleep peacefully on the clean sand, away from mosquitoes and bad smells and noise. And then we can just saunter. So long as we plan to reach a water-hole every two days, there’s nothing to hurry us.”
He turned towards the sunset and breathed in the pure air with evident satisfaction. “It’s splendid to think there’s all that empty space in front of one!” he exclaimed. “In a few minutes now I shall be swallowed up in it! Gee! I’ll think of you tonight, my girl, in your stuffy bedroom; and you can envy me lying under God’s heaven, talking with my two good friends here about cities and slavery and civilization and things, till we yawn ourselves to sleep.”
Muriel’s interest in him began to revive. “It sounds wonderful,” she said, doubtfully.
The sun had sunk behind the low line of the horizon when at length Daniel bid good-bye and mounted his camel. Rupert, who was impatient to be back, had already turned his horse’s head and was slowly moving away as the four camels, snarling and complaining in their wonted manner, rose upon their long legs, lifting their riders high above the ground; but Muriel remained for a moment or two, curbing her restless horse, while Daniel looked down at her from his lofty seat.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you,” he said. “I’m afraid you think I’m very rude and rough. I don’t mean to be, only – ”
“Only what?” she asked, as he paused.
“Yes?” She was all attention now.
“Only when I meet a girl like you – ”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, and there came a look of great earnestness into his eyes. “There’s so much you’ve got to unlearn, my dear.”
He struck his camel lightly with his stick, and trotted away. Then, turning in his saddle, he put his hand to his mouth and called out to her: “Why don’t you break loose?”
Muriel made a gesture indicating that she did not unde