"Yes, come. You must put me—right."
Mrs. Armine could not accompany Isaacson to the felucca or say a word to him alone, for Nigel kept, almost clung to, her hand.
"I must stay with him till he sleeps," she almost whispered as Isaacson was going.
She was bending slightly over the bed. Some people might have thought that she looked like the sick man's guardian angel, but Isaacson felt an intense reluctance to leave the dahabeeyah that night.
He looked at Mrs. Armine for a moment, saw that she fully received his look, and went away, leaving her still in that beautifully protective attitude.
He came out on deck. The felucca was waiting. He got into it, and was rowed out into the river by two sailors. As they rowed they began to sing. The lights of the Loulia slipped by, yellow light after yellow light. From above the blue light looked down like a watchful eye. The darkness of the water, like streaming ebony, took the felucca and the fateful voices. And the tide gave its help to the oarsmen. The lights began to dwindle when Isaacson said to the men:
"Hush!"
He held up his hand. The Nubians lay on their oars, surprised. The singing died in their throats.
Across the water there came a faint but shrill sound of laughter. Some one was laughing, laughing, laughing, in the night.
The Nubians stared at each other, the man who was stroke turning his head towards his companion.