Her Royal Highness Part 6

They stood together beneath the shade of that spreading tree with the heat of the desert sand reflected into their faces--stood in silence, neither speaking.

At last he said:

"And may I not know the ident.i.ty of the man who is marked out to be your husband?"

"No; that is a secret, M'sieur Waldron, which even you must not know.

It is my affair, and mine alone," she replied in a low tone.

"I'm naturally most curious," he declared, "for if I can a.s.sist you to extricate yourself from this impa.s.se I will."

"I thank you most sincerely," was her quick response, as she looked up at him with her soft, big eyes. "If at any time I require your a.s.sistance I will certainly count upon you. But, alas! I fear that no effort on your part could avail me. There are reasons--reasons beyond my control--which make it imperative that I should marry the man marked out for me."

"It's a shame--a downright sin!" he cried fiercely. "No, mademoiselle,"

and he grasped her small hand before she could withdraw it; "I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself to your uncle's whim."

She shook her head slowly, answering:

"It is, alas! not within your power to prevent it! The matter has already been arranged."

"Then you are actually betrothed?"

"Yes," she replied in a hoa.r.s.e voice. "To a man I hate."

"Then you must let me act on your behalf. I must--I will?"

"No. You can do nothing to help me. As I have already explained, my life in future can only be one of tragedy--just as yours may be, I fear," she added in a slow, distinct voice.

"I hardly follow you," he exclaimed, looking at her much puzzled.

She smiled sadly, turning her big eyes upon his.

"Probably not," she said. "But does not half Madrid know the tragedy of your love for the dancer, Beatriz Rojas de Ruata, the beautiful woman whose misfortune it is to have a husband in the person of a drunken cab-driver."

"What!" he gasped, starting and staring at her in amazement. "Then you know Madrid?"

"Yes, I have been in Madrid," was her answer. "And I have heard in the _salons_ of your mad infatuation for the beautiful opera-dancer. It is common gossip, and most people sigh and sympathise with you, for it is known, too, that Hubert Waldron, of the British Emba.s.sy, is the soul of honour--and that such love as his can only bring tragedy in its train."

"You never told me that you had been in Madrid!"

"Because you have never asked me," was her calm reply. "But I know much more concerning you, M'sieur Waldron, than you believe," she said with a mysterious smile. Then, her eyes glowing, she added: "I have heard you discussed in Madrid, in Barcelona, and in San Sebastian, and I know that your love for the beautiful Beatriz Rojas de Ruata is just as fraught with tragedy as the inexorable decree which may, ere long, bind me as wife to the one man whom I hate and detest most in all the world!"

CHAPTER FIVE.

A SURPRISE.

Egypt is the strangest land, the weirdest land, the saddest land in all the world.

It is a land of memories, of monuments, and of mysticism; a land of dreams that never come true, a land of mystery, a great cemetery stretching from ancient Ethiopia away to the sea, a great grave hundreds of miles long in which is buried perhaps as many millions of human beings as exist upon our earth to-day.

Against the low-lying sh.o.r.e of the great Nile valley have beaten many of the greatest waves of human history. It is the grave of a hundred dead Egypts, old and forgotten Egypts, that existed and possessed kings and priests and rules and creeds, and died and were succeeded by newer Egypts that now, too, are dead, that in their time believed they reared permanently above the ruins of the past.

The small white steamer lay moored in the evening light at the long stone quay before the sun-baked town of Wady Haifa, close to the modern European railway terminus of the long desert-line to Khartoum.

On board, dinner was in progress in the cramped little saloon, no larger than that of a good-sized yacht, and everyone was in high spirits, for the Second Cataract, a thousand miles from Cairo, had at last been reached.

Amid the cosmopolitan chatter in French, English, Italian and German, Boulos, arrayed in pale pink silk--for the dragoman is ever a chameleon in the colour of his perfumed robes--made his appearance and clapped his hands as signal for silence.

"La-dees and gen'lemens," he cried in his long-drawn-out Arab intonation, "we haf arrived now in Wady Haifa, ze frontier of Sudan.

Wady Haifa in ze days of ze khalifa was built of Nile mud, and one of ze strongholds of ze Dervishes. Ze Engleesh Lord Kig'ner, he make Wady Haifa hees headquarter and make one railroad to Khartoum. After ze war zis place he be rebuilt by Engleesh engineer, as to-morrow you will see.

After dinner ze Engleesh custom officer he come on board to search for arms or ammunition, for no sporting rifle be allowed in ze Sudan without ze licence, which he cost fifty poun' sterling. To-morrow I go ashor wiz you la-dees and gen'lemens at ten o'clock. We remain here, in Wady Haifa, till noon ze day after to-morrow to take back ze European mail from Khartoum. Monuments teeckets are not here wanted."

There was the usual laugh at the mention of "monuments tickets," for every Nile traveller before leaving Cairo has to obtain a permit from the Department of Antiquities to allow him to visit the excavations.

Hence every dragoman up and down the Nile is ever reminding the traveller of his "monument ticket," and also that "galloping donkeys are not allowed."

"Monuments teeckets very much wanted; gallopin' don-kees not al-lowed,"

is the parrot-like phrase with which each dragoman concludes his daily address to his charges before setting out upon an excursion.

Dinner over, many of the travellers landed to stroll through the small town, half native, half European, which has lately sprung up at the head of the Sudan railway.

As usual, Chester Dawson escorted Edna and went ash.o.r.e laughing merrily.

Time was, and not so very long ago, when Wady Haifa was an unsafe place for the European, even by day. But under the benign British influence and control it is to-day as safe as Brighton.

Hubert Waldron lit a cigar, and alone ascended the long flight of steps which led from the landing-stage to the quay. On the right lay the long, well-lit European railway station, beyond, a clump of high palms looming dark against the steely night sky. The white train, with its closed sun-shutters, stood ready to start on its long journey south, conveying the European mail over the desert with half a dozen pa.s.sengers to the capital of the Sudan.

He strolled upon the platform, and watched the bustle and excitement among the natives as they entered the train accompanied by many huge and unwieldy bundles, and much gesticulation and shouting in Arabic.

Attached to the end of the train was a long car, through the open door of which it could be seen that it contained living and sleeping apartment.

At the door stood a st.u.r.dy, sunburnt Englishman in s.h.i.+rt and trousers and wide-brimmed solar topee. With him Waldron began to chat.

"Yes," the English engineer replied, "I and my a.s.sistant are just off into the desert for three weeks. The train drops us off two hundred miles south, and there we shall remain at work. The track is always requiring repair, and I a.s.sure you we find the midday heat is sometimes simply terrible. The only sign of civilisation that we see is when the express pa.s.ses up to Khartoum at daybreak, and down to Haifa at midnight."

"Terribly monotonous," remarked the diplomat, used to the gay society of the capitals.

"Oh, I don't know," replied the Englishman, with a rather sad smile. "I gave up London five years ago--I had certain reasons--and I came out here to recommence life and forget. I don't expect I shall ever go back."

"Ah! Then London holds some painful memory for you--eh?" remarked Waldron with sympathy.

"Yes," he answered, with a hard, bitter look upon his face. "But there," he added quickly, "I suppose I shall get over it--some day."

"Why, of course you will," replied the diplomat cheerfully. "We all of us have our private troubles. Some men are not so lucky as to be able to put everything behind them, and go into self-imposed exile."

"It is best, I a.s.sure you," was the big, bronzed fellow's reply. Then noticing the signals he shouted into the inner apartment: "We're off, Clark. Want anything else?"

"No," came the reply; "everything is right. I've just checked it all."

"We have to take food and water," the engineer explained to Waldron with a laugh. "Good night."

"Good night--and good luck," shouted Hubert, as the train moved off, and a strong, bare arm waved him farewell.