And yet could any good, any happiness, ever come to her through the praying donkey-boy? Always she instinctively connected him with fatality, with evil followed by sorrow. The look in his eyes when they were turned upon her seemed like a quiet but steady menace. She had a secret conviction that he hated her, perhaps because she was what he would call a Christian. Strange if she were really hated for such a reason!
Once more she stood still by the edge of the river.
She heard the sailors still singing on the Loulia, the faint barking of dogs, perhaps from the village of Luxor. She looked up at the stars mechanically, and remembered how Nigel had gazed at them when she had wanted him to be wholly intent upon her. Then she looked again, for a long time, at the blue light which shone from the Loulia's mast-head.
Behind her the bushes rustled. She turned sharply round. Ibrahim came towards her from the tangled darkness.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him. She spoke almost roughly. The noise had startled her.
"My lady, you better come in," said Ibrahim. "Very lonely heeyah. No peoples comin' heeyah!"
She moved towards the bank. He put his hand gently under her elbow to assist her. When they were at the top she said:
"Where's Hamza, Ibrahim?"
Ibrahim's boyish face looked grim.
"I dunno, my lady. I know nothin' at all about Hamza."