The Hawk of Egypt
the smooth surface into a thousand miniature waves which turned, as she
stared, into the mocking smiles of her acquaintances and friends; and
she knelt quite still until the surface was once more smooth, out of
which, as she stared, looked the tragic face of the dead man's mother
and the grief-stricken, shamed face of her beloved godmother.
The gossip, the scandal, with her name linked as lover to that dead
man; the chuckles, the sly lifting of eyebrow and pursing of lips when
it should be known that the other man, the dead man's greatest friend,
had come upon them unawares, alone in the tent at night?
The story of this struggle, the shooting of the treacherous friend--for
who would believe the story, told by the principals in the drama, of a
wounded lion which had turned and disappeared into the night?
There would be the inquest, the inquiry, the arrest for murder and the
trial, in which she and all those she loved would be pilloried, through
her fault, in the eyes of the world.
She stared down at the water, which seemed to hold her hands in the icy
grip of death--her hands--look! what was that?--what had happened to
them?
They were spotted with red!
She tore at her handkerchief and rubbed them; under the water, rubbed
hard, rubbed frantically, but the red spots were there on her hands, on
her handkerchief, on the water--the red she had seen when she had
looked . . .
She flung the handkerchief from her and rose to her feet, shaking
convulsively from head to foot.
Poor child! Half-crazed from horror, light-headed from fatigue and
want of food, she had mistaken the reflection of the jewelled Hawk she
wore at her breast, thrown by the lamp upon the water, for the stain
she had seen and which had looked like a crimson rose above the heart
of Hugh Carden Ali, as he lay asleep, with his feet turned towards
Mecca.
"God!" she prayed. "You Who alone can save me and--everyone--from
shame; You Who can hide me from--Ben--show me a way out--show me a way
out!" And as she repeated the words, the answer came.
"Of course," she whispered. "Right out in the desert, out on the
sands, alone with my shame, where, when this has been forgotten,
perhaps all that will be left of me will be found by some wandering
Bedouin, who will bury me deep in the sand."
She was genuinely remorseful and horrified at what she had done, but
also was she, as are so many of us who do not really feel deeply,
pleasurably thrilled at the thought of the dramatic picture in which
she should be the centre figure.
If only men knew it, that is why so many women create such terrific
scenes over nothing at all--it gives them a chance of donning their
most effective gown and pulling their hair--if their own--down about
their shoulders.
Not even then did she grasp the full meaning of love!
She parted the curtain at the back of the room of prayer, and looked
out across the desert and behold! standing upon the tips of slender
feet, wrapped about in binding cloths of grey and white, there stood a
figure.
And the wind of dawn, upon whose wings are wafted the liberated souls
into the safe keeping of Allah, who is God, lifted for one instant the
veil from before the face.
Just for a moment she looked upon the eyes alight with no earthly
happiness and the tender mouth smiling in farewell, and then the wind
lifted the soft cloth of grey and white and bound it across the
hawklike face.
Half-turned, the figure stood with beckoning hand outstretched. And to
the girl was granted the Vision of the Legions at Dawn.
There was no sound in all the limitless desert, yet the air was filled
as with the tramp of feet, the thunder of horses, the rumble of wheels.
They came from nowhere, those countless legions, from out of the
shadows of the spent night. They walked in phalanxes, the uncountable
spirits of dead kingdoms, with eyes uplifted to the dawn; spears
raised, mouths open, with their shouts of welcome to the break of day,
they rode their horses thundering down the path of Time; they drove
their four-horsed chariots straight towards the cup of gold which
rested on the rim of the world.
They come from nowhere, those countless legions, from out the shadows
of the spent night; they journey over the ordained path which they have
trod since the beginning of time, which has no beginning, and which
they will tread unto the end of all time which shall have no end.
And, laughing or sobbing, hoping, despairing, we shall fall in as our
line passes and go marching along with them, marching along, until we
came to the place where "_the shadow of the God is like a ram set with
lapis lazuli, adorned with gold and with precious stones_."
"Wait for me."
The whisper was just a part of the shadows, as the girl turned her face
to the East.
Wrapped in her satin cloak, she walked wearily on and on. Her eyes
were wide open, staring in a terrible fatigue; she saw nothing; her
heelless slippers were torn to shreds, her feet were bleeding; she felt
nothing. Not once did she look up or back or round. Had she done so,
she might have noticed that her footprints in the sand were describing
a circle, as our footprints do when we are lost in the bush or the
desert.
The shadows had gone, and the sands stretched a carpet of rose and grey
and gold before her; the sky a canopy of blue and grey and purple above.
Like a lighthouse of Hope, Day was flashing his golden beams across the
sky, a message to the weary who have toiled through the night.
And then, with one great leap he sprang clear of the horizon, just as
Damaris stopped.
She looked back in the direction in which she thought she had come.
There was no sign of the tents; there could not be; they were not out
of sight, but merely wrapped in the mist which, sometimes rises as a
fog in the desert at dawn.
"Let me die soon! let me die soon!"
A great sob shook her as she prayed the prayer of the weak. How much
easier is it to stand at the window, with the police battering at the
door, and, stimulated by its morbid interest, blow out our brains
before the gaping crowd--which will, by the way, take exactly the same
morbid interest in the shooting of a horse in the street--than to
retire into the silence of the prison-cell or seclusion of the tideless
backwater, and there work out our salvation amongst those who do not
know if our name is Smith or Jones or Brown--and much less care!
In the intensity of her prayer she clasped her hands upon the jewelled
symbol upon her breast and looked up.
From out of the west, cleaving the air like a thrown spear, flying
straight towards the sun in greeting, there came a hawk. Up, up it
sped, as though to pierce the very heavens; then hovered, wheeled and
swooped downwards above the girl. She flung out her arms as its symbol
struck through her clouded senses, and unconsciously called the "Luring
Call" she had heard but once, when she had first seen the man, who lay
asleep in the tent, in the market-place of the Arabian quarter in Cairo.
Sweet and clear her voice rose through the morning air, rising until
the bird caught the sound and, just as she swayed and fell, swooped.
Down it came, straighter than a shaft of rain; swept across her like
the wind; rose; and sailed away.
There was no call to bring it back now. The falconer who had thrown
it, as was the custom, at sunrise, was upon his knees with his forehead
upon the ground, in sign of a great grief, taking no notice of his
master's favourite _shahin_ which he had petted and trained. It flew
towards the rising sun; it flew away; it was never seen again.
Perhaps, after all, had it heard its master's call?
CHAPTER XXXIII
"_Good-night?. . . .
. . . .
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be GOOD night_."
SHELLEY.
Ben Kelham sat on the ground, with his head resting on the edge of the
wooden couch so that his friend's satin coat touched his cheek.
Save for his hands clenched round his knee there was no sign of the
grief which was well-nigh breaking his heart; which had drawn great
lines across his face and had turned him in one hour from a youth, into
a grave man, with steady, sorrowful grey eyes.
There was no sound as he sat staring in front of him as the light of
the lamp grew dim in the coming light of day, there was no movement
anywhere save for the chequered curtain behind his friend, which
stirred as though blown by the wind of dawn; they seemed to be alone,
quite alone in the desert, these two who had been known as David and
Jonathan in the care-free days on the Hill.
And he turned his head and looked at the wonderful beauty of the calm
face, and in the soft light it seemed that the brown eyes were looking
at him from under half-closed lids, and he stretched out his hand and
laid it on the arms which were folded across the breast in an attitude
of surpassing dignity.
"Carden, old fellow," he said, "wake up!"
As his friend slept on, he spoke more clearly, repeating the line out
of the school-song, which had acted like a charm in those days when
love, and pain, and death had been mere words to them:
"Carden," he called, "Carden, '_it's a quarter to seven, there goes the
bell_!'"
And when there came no answer he turned and buried his head on his arms.
So he sat and kept his vigil with never a thought to the outcome of it
all. Servants there must be somewhere, he knew, but time enough to
explain things when they appeared; time enough to face the world with
the terrible tale; time--oh! a whole long life in which to regret. And
he ached with a great longing to look upon the girl he loved; he longed
passionately to be able to tell her everything before he must tell
others; he threw out his arms in a vain hope that perhaps he could
reach her, and drawing her to him put his head down upon her knees and
tell her of his love for his friend, which had almost equalled his love
for her; his one moment of doubt when a vile hand had linked their
names together; his happiness when the friend he had doubted had lashed
him with words, and told him bluntly to try again.
Then he sat up and turned and looked out into the desert and got to his
feet, but his hand did not go to his hip pocket as he watched something
which came running fleetly through the shadows.
Iouaa and Touaa, the dogs of Billi, were racing home to tell their
master of a surprising adventure which had befallen them, ever so far
out in the desert, where they had gone for an evening stroll before
taking up their posts as sentries outside his tent for the night.
And if only He had not shaken his head when they asked him to go with
them--and He had had his riding-boots on and all---He would have seen
for Himself that there was every excuse in the world for them being out
so late at night.
What matter if they were a disgrace to look upon, with their shaggy
hair matted with sand, and what looked suspiciously like blood? What
if one of Touaa's ears hung limp and Iouaa's tail hung down? The
lioness was dead, and they were coming just as hard as they could pelt
to ask Him to come and see.
They knew exactly what He would say and do when they rushed upon Him.
He would hold up His hand and say, "You disgraceful-looking pair of
disreputable tikes"--He always did--and pull them to Him--Touaa first,
because she was a lady--and would run His hands over them to feel for
bumps, and turn back their ears and lips and look at the pads of their
feet, and give them a good cuff, and lead them off, if they were
scarred with battle, right away to another tent. And there He Himself
would wash their faces and their wounds and brush the sand out of their
coats and--but of course this was a deadly secret--would prize open