The Hawk of Egypt
d'you think, Dekko old friend? What course shall I set? Shall we go
home, or to Heliopolis?"
The bird scrambled awkwardly on to the dressing-table.
"Well, old man, how about it?"
"Steer a straight course for hell, old dear," came the muffled reply,
as the bird twisted its head under its wing, then untucked it to murmur
sleepily: "T'hell!"
So she made up her mind to move on the very day after the girl's
birthday, which fell in a fortnights time. She would, indeed, have
left at once if it had not been that she had issued invitations on a
gigantic scale for a fancy-dress ball in honour of the anniversary.
Inwardly Damaris rebelled at the suggestion of moving on to Heliopolis;
outwardly she acquiesced without enthusiasm.
"But if it will do that nasty little cough good, dearest, why wait for
the ball?"
"Do you want to go, Maris?"
"The desert will be so near," evaded the girl. "Half-an-hour's ride at
the most, so--so Ben Kelham told me, and there you see the desert,
miles upon miles of it stretching right away like the sea."
The hawk-eyes flashed across the girl's face, taking in the forced
indifference of the expression and the light which gleamed far down in
the eyes.
"I had a letter from Ben this morning. His lung has been troubling
him; that is why he hasn't been over."
"Did you--has it--is it--?" rather lamely replied the girl.
He had written Damaris a perfunctory note of welcome to the Land of the
Pharaohs; then, a week later, had come over to dine. He had ached to
take his beautiful little chum up in his arms and shake her for her
haughtiness and by sheer strength of arms and will force her to say
"yes" to the question which it took him all his strength not to ask.
Since childhood he had been her slave, her door-mat, and the butt of
her various moods, feeling infinitely well rewarded by a careless smile
or word; so that he found it difficult, in fact well-nigh impossible,
to act up to her grace's plans and suddenly transpose himself into the
strong, silent man.
The girl, spoilt and accustomed to slavish devotion and used to his
worship, felt incensed, then hurt, and finally perplexed, and, to hide
it all, retired therewith into a shell of icy reserve.
He had adored her openly, and now, seemingly, looked upon her as just
one of the crowd of women in the hotel; she had taken his adoration for
granted and as a right, to waken one morning to find the gem she had
tossed in amongst the rubbish of her little experiences, gone!
Is there a greater mistake in the world than that of looking upon love
as an ordinary possession, instead of as a rare jewel?
They were both very young, so that they suffered the agonies of doubt
and uncertainty, whilst the worldly-wise old dame smiled up her sleeve.
From the hour of the early cup of tea until breakfast-time on the
morning of the ball, which was also the girl's birthday morning,
tarbusched, impudent young monkeys of messenger boys, bearing gifts and
flowers, arrived in a stream at the hotel.
Flowers in pots and vases and bunches lay everywhere in the suite;
shawls of many colours, silken veils, slippers, albums of views of
Egypt, rare antiques (made mostly in Birmingham), one mummied cat
(genuine), scarabs (suspicious), and one live gazelle littered the
place.
Ben Kelham had bought her a finger-napkin ring of dull gold; through it
he had forced some flowers, and sent it along.
She held it tight in her hand for a moment, then deliberately and
ostentatiously laid it amongst the clutter on the table, whilst her
grace peeped from behind the newspaper which she was reading in bed.
Arrived at the table in the breakfast-room, the girl suddenly flushed
pink and then went quite white.
Right in the centre, flanked on one side by the glass dish of glowing
fruit and the other by a cut-glass jar of Keiller's marmalade, stood a
cage tied at the top with silver ribbon and containing two cooing doves.
The doves were just ordinary ones, but their prison was no ordinary
cage. Fair-sized and square, it was made of fine white bars of ivory.
The underside was also ivory, square and unblemished, and would have
made an ideal hairpin-tray; it stood upon ebony feet inlaid with
infinitesimal precious stones.
"It has but just arrived, Miss Hethencourt," said the maitre d'hotel,
who had been fluttering around upon the tiptoe of a most unusual
curiosity. "There is no name, no message."
"Please send it to my room," she replied indifferently, whilst, for
some unaccountable reason, her heart throbbed as she responded to the
birthday greetings which came from every corner of the room.
CHAPTER VI
"_A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive_."
COLERIDGE.
"May the blessing of Allah who is God be upon thee, O woman!"
The sonorous words, of the benediction rang through the room as Hugh
Carden Ali stood with the silken curtain drawn back in one hand and the
right raised in blessing upon his mother, who stood with arms
outstretched in the centre of the room.
Then he knelt to receive the benison of the woman he loved, smiled when
he felt the small hands upon his head and, leaping to his feet, swung
her up into his arms, covering her face with kisses.
"You beautiful darling!" he said, as he crushed her up, to the
derangement of her perfumed silks and satins and many jewels. "It's
just heavenly coming back to you, you dear, understanding mother."
The woman's heart leapt to battle, for in the last words, in the way
her beloved son looked down upon her in the tone of his voice, she knew
that, somewhere out in the world, he had received a hurt. She knew so
little of him, had only had him for such a little, little while under
the influence of her love and in the shelter of her heart, and she
loved him, her firstborn, with a love beyond words. Thinking to do the
best for him, and making the biggest mistake of all, beating down her
beloved husband's opposition, she had sent the boy to England, and in
the subsequent eight years had only seen him twice.
"He is of the East, Woman of my Heart! Behold, I have studied him,"
had said the Sheikh, all those years ago. "Let him be, else evil may
befall him."
But Jill, his beautiful wife, had insisted, and his love for her being
beyond telling, the great Arab had submitted to her wish.
For so it had been written.
And what can be the outcome of the tragic mixing of blood? Nothing but
pain.
"Come to the roof and talk, Mother, under the stars."
So up the marble staircase, with his arm about her waist, to the roof
they went, where the silken awnings lay folded and the scented white
flowers hung asleep.
They stood under the canopy of purple night studded with flashing,
silvery points, as the soft winds carried to them the notes of a guitar
softly thrummed in the shade of the palms.
"It is Mary, dear," happily whispered the woman. "She came with me to
welcome you." And then she clasped her hands at the blaze of anger
which swept the man's face.
"Most gracious Mother, I am master of my house, and, save for your
ever-esteemed, ever-desired presence, I cannot have woman set foot in
it without my consent. When I have the desire for one as wife,
plaything or servant, then I will give orders."
"But, Hugh, Mary is your sister!"
"Mary is my sister, and I do not deem it wise or seemly that she should
run about the country at her own wish or whim."
"But, Hugh,------"
"Dear, let me speak. I saw so much of woman in Europe that the
yashmak, the barku, the seclusion and modesty of the East have become
dear to me above all else. Have you forgotten, dear, the restaurants,
the theatres, the parks and, Allah! the streets? The half-stripped
bodies, the craving for excitement, the wine, the nights turned into
day! Why, one has but to stretch the hand, for flowers to be laid
therein; the feet trip at every step with the trap of woman's hair; the
quarry stands waiting for the arrow; there is not even the incentive of
the chase, the hot pursuit, the lust of the kill. I speak as my
father's son, and in my house I will have privacy and seclusion and
seemliness. Women shall be brought to me when I desire their
presence." And the steeliness of the voice brought the woman
up-sitting as he gave her an order cloaked in the guise of a favour
begged. "And I shall be glad if you will ask my sister to keep within
the women's quarters until I send for her."
"But----"
And she ripped the corner of her veil between perturbed fingers when,
upon the clapping of hands, a slave ran swiftly to learn his master's
pleasure, then hastened away to find the head body-woman of the
guesthouse assigned to women-visitors.
After which the sweet thrumming of the guitar instantly stopped.
On more than one night they talked under the stars, sitting on satin
cushions, or leaning on the marble fret-work of the balustrade looking
due east to where, so many miles away, flows the blue-green Nile, as it
has flowed through the centuries, all unheeding of the passing of
mighty kingdoms.
And yet had the mother learned nothing of the hurt reflected in her
firstborn's eyes.
"Most precious Mother," he was saying, as he stood flicking the pages
of the latest illustrated paper just arrived from Cairo, but which was
really a volume of the Book of Life written, printed and published by
Fate. "If it pleases you to stay when I am gone, will you do so just
as long as you find happiness in my dwelling?"
"You are going, Hugh,--so soon--for long?"
"There has come a report of lion in the Nubian Desert, as far north as
Deir el-Bahari. I can hardly believe it, for it is years and years
since a lion has been seen even in the Khor Baraka. However, a runner
from Nubia came in this morning, so there may be something in it. God
grant it, for the sport and the danger would be great, killing or being
killed, in the rocks and ruins of the Temple. Also I could visit my
Tents of Purple and of Gold. How long shall I be gone, sweet Mother?
That is known only to Allah, to whom our goings and our comings are as
the drifting of the sands."
"Your tents are very beautiful, my son. The servants are waiting for
your orders before pitching the--the--middle one. Without asking
permission, I went to inspect them. Just before your return, just to
see if everything was quite all right. One can never quite trust the
servants."
Jill might have been sitting on a rectory lawn, talking about her
linen-cupboard or spring-cleaning with a neighbour, instead of one of
the wonders of modern Egypt. In fact, so quaint was it that the man
laughed and swung her onto the balustrade.
"I'm not surprised Father worships the ground your ridiculous little
feet tread on, Mater," he said, causing his mother to gasp, so English
did he sound, so Oriental did he look.
"Dear!" she said gently, as she scrutinised him with a mother's eyes
and touched his face and patted his cheek and pulled a bit here and
there at his fine white linen coat, upon which in coarse thread was
embroidered the Hawk of Old Egypt. "Dear! don't you think you would be
happier if you were to marry and--settle down?"
And it was then that there came to her the full explanation of the hurt
reflected in her firstborn's eyes.
"I shall never marry, dear," very gently replied the man, so fearful
was he of causing pain to the woman who had borne him. "I--I--you see,
I cannot."
"Cannot, Hugh? But, my dear, what is the matter? You will have to,
some day, you know. You are your father's eldest son," answered the
woman, who, wrapped in perfect love and happiness, had never given a
thought to the far-reaching effects of her marriage with the Arabian.
"Dear son, there are so many beautiful, cultured, gentle women here and