Part 64 (1/2)

”I don't know about repaying Mike,” she said coldly. ”There are some things which can never be repaid or bought.”

Meg certainly got as good as she had given. ”I never meant to suggest that I had so much wealth that it would be a burden to me. I think I shall find some way of spending it enjoyably.” She turned to the left wing of the corridor; her bedroom lay there. ”Now I must say good-night,” she said, still more coolly. ”I have a great deal to do.”

She looked down at her dress. ”My luggage has never come on from Luxor--it's such a nuisance. I had to wear a 'dug-out' to-night, a blouse and skirt I wore in the desert. They have lain packed all that time--I never thought I should have to wear them again.” As she spoke, she visualized her last evening in the camp, when she had given Ha.s.san her instructions for their flitting. She had worn the blouse that same evening.

”It looks very nice,” Margaret said carelessly.

”Oh, it's terrible! I didn't venture to come down to _table d'hote_ in it--I dined in my room. Good-night.”

”You still wear your eye of Horus?” Margaret said; she had noticed the amulet the moment she saw Millicent in the lift.

”Of course! It is my most treasured possession.”

Margaret longed to tell her that she knew where the bit of blue faience had been found on the day when it was lost in the hut. She burned to say, ”You little prying cat, you read my diary!” instead of which she said, quite calmly:

”The Divine Eye ought to have known better than to be the cause of Mohammed Ali's telling one of his finest lies.”

”What do you mean?” Millicent asked. But even as she spoke, her face paled a little. ”Your language has become quite cryptic--the result, I suppose, of your work in the tombs!”

”Probably,” Margaret said. ”Life in the Valley has taught me many things--but first and foremost, above all others, it has shown me the power and the danger of _baksheesh_. Good-night,” she added quickly.

”I've been keeping you.”

Millicent looked at her with steely eyes. Meg's words were not too cryptic for her comprehension. ”Good-night,” she said. ”When I hear from Mike, I'll let you know.”

When Margaret reached her room, she flung off her self-restraint.

Catching up a sofa-cus.h.i.+on, she flung it at an imaginary Millicent; two more went flying in the same direction.

”Oh, you beast, you hateful little beast!” she cried. ”I believe you have won, after all! I wanted to find out if Michael was to blame, I wanted to make you confess that you trapped and followed him into the desert! And all I succeeded in doing was to hear from your own lips what all the hateful tongues in Egypt have been screaming and shouting in my ears for weeks past!” She sank down on the low sofa. ”My pride spoilt everything. I wouldn't let you know that I cared, that I didn't know a word about anything, that I have never heard a line from Michael.” Her mind stood at attention; a new thought held it. The holy man! Millicent had spoken of the holy man. Was he the ”child of G.o.d” who was to lead Mike to the hidden treasure? She groaned. Oh, why had she not questioned her, why had she not controlled her own anger and her pride, and learnt from Millicent a thousand things she longed to know? She had not even asked her at what definite place in the desert she had left Michael! She had asked her absolutely nothing which would help her to find him. She had only gleaned from her the one fact, the fact which made it absolutely imperative for her to return at once to England. Her pride was so cruelly injured that she accepted that fact as absolute. Even if Michael was entirely innocent of any dishonour to herself, it was impossible not to feel wounded and hurt to the quick by his silence. She had sworn to trust him, but was he not asking too much of human nature? Might he not have given a thought to the fact that Freddy and all the world would condemn him?

Of Michael's health Millicent had told her nothing. She had spoken in a manner which suggested that she had left him in the enjoyment of perfect health. Her excuses for him to Freddy had melted into thin air. How was she to tell Hada.s.sah Ireton? Hada.s.sah, whose complete trust had made her ashamed of Freddy.

She had gone to her room early, but it was far into the night before she began to undress and get ready for bed. She was tired and unhappy and for once she allowed herself to accuse Michael. She began by saying that he had been thoughtless and neglectful, that he ought to have managed somehow to get a letter through to her as soon as Millicent appeared on the scene. She felt convinced that she would have contrived to let him hear under similar circ.u.mstances it . . .

well, if she had wanted him to hear, if she had had a satisfactory explanation to offer. It was the horrible ”if” which kept Margaret awake. That mustard-seed of suspicion grew and grew until its flowers of evil covered her whole world. Thought can make our heaven or our h.e.l.l. Margaret's thoughts that night created no divine vision, no fair City of the Horizon.

If Millicent had come back to Cairo, because of business, surely Michael could have sent a letter by her servants, even if he had not cared to entrust it into her own hands. That was the thought which triumphed--it shed its darkness over the things of light.

CHAPTER XVI

The next morning Margaret rose early. During her long and sleepless night she had reviewed her position over and over again; there seemed to be no way out of it. She must and would keep her promise to Freddy.

It is impossible to give a lucid interpretation of her tortured feelings. In her practical, reasoning mind her thoughts were black and suspicious; her heart was full of doubts, anger, wounded pride; while in the background, still s.h.i.+ning like the dim light on the horizon at the approach of dawn, was her unconquerable belief in her lover's honour.

She felt compelled to act up to her practical judgment, to her promise that she would go home to England if she heard from either Michael's or Millicent's own lips that they had been together in the desert. But it was the horizon-light which helped her and made her able to bear the shock of Millicent's brutal announcement.

For one whole night she had faced the certain fact that Millicent had camped in the desert with Michael. Anyone who has considered the ceaseless workings of the human brain will understand what no pen could describe--the countless arguments for and against her lover's honour which came and went in an endless rotation in Margaret's mind.