He drooped morosely and went out, softly closing the door behind him.
As soon as he had gone Mrs. Armine undressed, leaving her clothes scattered pell-mell all over the room, and got into her bed. She kept the lamp burning. She was afraid of the dark, and she knew she would not sleep. Although she laughed at Egyptian superstition, as she glanced about the room she was half unconsciously looking for the shadowy form of a ginnee. All night the wind roared, and all night she lay awake, wondering, fearing, planning, imagining, in terror of the future, yet calling upon her adroitness, her strong fund of resolution, to shape it as she willed.
And she would have helpers—Baroudi, Ibrahim, Hamza.
When at dawn the wind died down, and at last slumber, like a soft wave, came stealing over her, the last thing she saw with her imagination was Hamza, straight, enigmatic, grave, holding an upright wand in his hand.
Or was it the ginnee, who had come in out of the night to meet "my lord Arminigel"?
What was that? Was it the ginnee moving, speaking?
Was it—? There had surely been a movement in the room, a sound. She opened her eyes, and saw sunshine and some one by the bed.
"Ruby!"
She blinked, stared, lying perfectly still.