k down in the magical wonder of this old and golden
world.

"Don't tie up near any other dahabeeyah."

"No, gentlemans," said Hassan.

Again the crew got out their poles. Two men stripped, went overboard
with a rope, and, running along the shore, towed the _Fatma_ up stream
against the tide till she came to a lonely place where two men were
vehemently working a shaduf. There they tied up for the night.

The gold was fading. Less brilliant, but deeper now, was the dream of
river and shore, of the groves of palms and the mountains. Here and
there, far off, a window, touched by a dying ray of light, glittered out
of the softened dusk. Isaacson leaned over the rail. This evening, after
his long months of perpetual work in a house in London, deprived of all
real light, he felt like a man taken by the hand and led into Heaven.
Behind him the naked fellahin, unmindful of his presence, cried aloud in
the fading gold.

For a long while he stood there without moving. His eyes were attracted,
were held, by a white house across the water. It stood alone, and the
river flowed in a delicate curve before it by a low tangle of trees or
bushes. The windows of this house gleamed fiercely as restless jewels.
At last he lifted himself up from the rail.

"Who lives in that house?" he asked of Hassan.

"An English lord, sah. My Lord Arminigel."

"What house is it? What's the name?"

"The Villa Androud, my kind gentlemans."

"The Villa Androud!"

So that was where Armine had gone for his honeymoon with Bella Donna!
The windows glittered like the jewels many men had given to her.

Night fell. The song of the fellahin failed. The stars came out. Just
where the _Loulia_ had lain the _Fatma_ lay. And under the stars, on
deck, Isaacson dined alone. To-morrow at dawn he would start on his
voyage up river. He would follow where the _Loulia_ had gone. When
dinner was finished, he sent Hassan away, and strolled about on the deck
smoking his cigar. Through the tender darkness of the exquisite night
the lights of Luxor shone, and from somewhere below them came a faint
but barbaric sound of native music.

To-morrow he would follow where the _Loulia_ had gone.

The lady patient that morning had been very communicative. One of her
chief joys in life was gossip. Her joy in gossip was second only to her
joy in poor health. And she had told her beloved doctor "all the news."
The news of the Armine _menage_ was that Nigel Armine had got sunstr