By the gods beloved

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

“Well! I think I may safely promise not to do that, old chap,” he said with a laugh.

Together we explored the pavilion and garden, which before moonrise were silent and deserted. The pavilion itself was built of alabaster and divided into two rooms—one room in which to eat, and one in which to sleep, when one could. Every drapery in it was white, the curtains, the couches, the seats; it was lighted from above, as well as from the sides, so that the rays of the moon could at all times penetrate within. Here the lonely and expectant bridegroom heard but little of the din and noise of the city, busy in preparations for the coming marriage festivities, and of course Hugh would see nothing of the deputations from every corner of the vast empire which poured into Tanis, streams of people, men and women and children, who came to catch a glimpse of the most blessed in the land, the son of Ra, the well-beloved of the gods.

Somehow I did not like parting from him. These twenty-four hours, the last before he took the irrevocable step, were sure to be trying for him; but we had all through our stay in this interesting land most solemnly decided to follow all its laws and customs, and after all, my wish to be with Hugh was mere sentimentality. He himself, I think, preferred to be alone. We never had spoken of her since the day when I forced Hugh’s confidence. I don’t think he could have borne it, and Sawnie Girlie was the last man in the world ever to break down, even before me. His word was a fetish to him. He had given it to a woman and demanded hers in return, and he meant to carry to the end the burden which his own hands had placed upon his life. There was no doubt that he was eating his heart out with longing and with love for the beautiful girl who could be nothing to him, and I could do nothing to help or save him. Outwardly he was cheerful, even enthusiastic at times, but to my ears and eyes, rendered acute by my affection for him, there was always a false ring in his laugh, a jarring discord in his enthusiasm.

He seemed to have aged all of a sudden, and on the temples, for the first time, to-day, I had noticed a few streaks of grey.

When the shades of evening began to draw in round the poetic retreat where Hugh was to spend the last night of his bachelorhood, I at last reluctantly decided to go.

“When do you suppose we shall meet again, Girlie?”

“Ah! that I don’t know. The marriage ceremony is an hour after midnight to-morrow; I go straight to the temple from here, and it appears that it is against all etiquette that I should wander outside this garden of Eden until then. Perhaps you can find your way as far as my loneliness, some time during the day.”

But I was doubtful.

“I can try. What happens after the wedding ceremony?”

“Another strange custom, Mark, old chap,” replied Hugh, with a smile. “All those present in the temple during the ceremony, including the bride, retire, leaving the unfortunate bridegroom alone: he is supposed to pray and to worship Isis, until he sees the first streak of dawn through the marble gateway. Then he goes out to meet his bride. But these people, ever seeking for the poetic and the picturesque, ever sensuous and ever voluptuous, have a custom by which the royal bridegroom meets his bride in a special bower in the very middle of this garden.”