The way of the spirit

by H. Rider Haggard

So convinced was he of the desperate nature of his plight that he had not even attempted to offer any explanation to the Egyptian Government, as he saw that his only chance lay in influencing those at headquarters and persuading them to order a further local inquiry in Egypt. Besides, he was anxious to get home, and knew that if he had opened up the matter in Cairo, he would probably be detained for months, and very possibly be put under arrest pending investigations.

Rupert’s journey across the desert had been long, but unmarked by any incident or danger, for they passed round Osman Digna’s hordes and through country that was practically depopulated, meeting but few natives and no white men. So far as Rupert was concerned it was comfortable enough; since after the Arab caravan had started from the neighbourhood of Tama, he found to his surprise that Mea had provided him with a guard of twenty of her best men, who brought with them a tent and ample provisions. He ordered them to return, but they refused, saying that they had been commanded by their lady to travel with him to the Red Sea as an escort to the dog Anubis that had insisted upon following him from the town, which dog they were charged to bring back safely when he parted with it at the water. Then understanding what Mea meant by this Eastern subterfuge about the dog and fearing to hurt her feelings, should he insist, he suffered the men to come with him, with the good result that he found himself regarded as a great personage in the caravan.

At length they reached a little port on the Red Sea whence the pilgrims to Mecca proposed to proceed by dhow to Suez, and, as it chanced, found there this English collier that was taking in fresh water. On her Rupert embarked with the pilgrims, passing himself off as one of them, for the captain of the collier was glad to earn a little by taking passengers. The last that he saw of the desert was his Tama escort, who, having kissed his hand and made their dignified farewells, were turning their camels’ heads homewards, the poor cur, Anubis, notwithstanding his howls and struggles, being secured in a basket which was fastened to the side of one of the said camels. No; that was not quite the last, for as the boat rowed out to the steamer which lay at a little distance, it passed a jutting spit of land that gave shelter to the shallow harbour. Of a sudden from this promontory there floated up a sound of wild, sad music, a music of pipes and drums. Rupert recognised it at once; it was the same that he had heard when he rode with Bakhita and Mea from Abu-Simbel, the music of the Wandering Players, those marvellous men who refused baksheesh.

As the morning mist lifted he saw them well, on the sandy beach within twenty yards of the boat. There were the five muffled figures squatted on the ground, three blowing at their pipes and two seated opposite to them beating drums to time. As before they seemed to take not the slightest notice of the passers-by, except that their music grew wilder and more shrill. An English sailor in the boat shouted to them to stop that funeral march and play something funny, but they never lifted their heads, whereon, remarking that theirs was a queer way to earn a living, caterwauling to the birds and fishes, the sailor turned his attention to the tiller and thought no more about them. But even on the ship their melancholy music could be heard floating across the water, although the players themselves were lost in the haze. Indeed, it was while Rupert read the report of what had passed in the House of Commons in the old paper which he found in the deck cabin, that its last wailing burst reached him and slowly faded into silence.

At Suez the pilgrims left the steamer, but as she suited him very well, and the fare demanded did not make any big hole in his £100, he revealed himself as an Englishman and booked a passage on to London. Now London was in sight, yonder it lay beneath that dark mass of cloud, and—what would he find there? He had not telegraphed from Suez or Port Said.

It was, he felt, impossible to explain matters in a cable, and what could be the use, especially as then everything would get into the Press? They thought him dead, or so he gathered from that paper, therefore no one would incur extra suspense or sorrow by waiting for a few more days, to find that he, or some of him, was still alive. He longed to see his wife with a great longing; by day and by night he thought of her, dreaming of the love and sympathy with which she would greet him.

Yet at times doubts did cross his mind, for Edith loved success, and he was now an utter failure, whose misfortunes must involve her also. Could he be the same Rupert Ullershaw who had left Charing Cross railway station nine months before, prosperous, distinguished, chosen for an important mission, with a great career before him? Undoubtedly he was, but all these things had left him; like his body his future was utterly marred, and his present seemed almost shameful. Nothing remained to him now except his wife’s love.

He comforted himself. She would not withhold that who had taken him for better or worse; indeed it was the nature of women to show unsuspected qualities when trouble overtook those who were dear to them. No; upon this point he need not torment himself, but there were others.

Was he to tell Edith the dreadful secret of her birth which had haunted him like a nightmare all these weary months? Sooner or later he supposed that it must be done. And must he meet Lord Devene, and if so, what was he to say when they did meet? Then Edith would want to know the truth of this story of the lady in the desert, which, of course, she had a right to learn in its every detail. There was nothing in it. Mea was no more than a dear friend to him; indeed he had thought of her but little lately, whose mind was so preoccupied with other matters. Yet he felt that the tale of their relationship, told exactly as it occurred, and he could repeat it in no other way, might be open to misinterpretation, as the facts of his escort of her and her aunt across the desert had been already.

Well, she would have to take his word for it, and even if she did not estimate that quite as high as Mea had done, at least she knew that he was no teller of lies. Then after these difficulties were overcome, how was he to live? He had saved a little money, and perhaps as a wounded man they might give him a small pension, out of which his heavy insurance would have to be paid, if indeed it did not absorb it all. There remained her father’s—he winced as the word came into his mind—settlement upon Edith, but that income, personally, he would rather starve than touch. Still his wife must be supported in a way commensurate with her position. This outlook, too, was so black that he abandoned its consideration and fell to thinking of the joy of his meeting with his mother.