“Missie told you to keep it for her.”

The room vibrated with the thunder of his fury as he placed both feet on the book and glared about him.

“I know,” said Jill as she read the message over the old woman’s shoulder.  “She has gone to my son.  To his tents in the desert.”  She spoke quietly and with a certain dignity and authority which checked all questions.  “He will take her straight to me.  Shall we go back to Khargegh, or shall I go to them, to his tents?” There was no sign of the triumph in the mother-heart at the thought of the happiness which was to come to her first-born; neither had she a single thought for the others.

A mother’s love is the most surpassing of all loves; it is the eighth wonder of the world; it is a mystery before which that of the Sphinx shrinks to insignificance; it is the one love which asks for so very little in return for all it gives.

Blessed, sanctified refuge against all harm!

Five minutes of quick discussion; rapid weighing of the pros and cons as to the best way to keep from the ears that which would serve as a whetstone to the tongues of the scandalmongers; a sharp, clear understanding and decision.

The manager of the hotel salaamed deeply in the doorway before the high-born women, and showed no surprise at the tale—­which he believed, perhaps—­of Miss Hethencourt, who had gone to meet her grace and having undoubtedly mixed up instructions, had either gone up to Kulla to meet her, crossing her on the river, or had crossed to the other side, thinking, as her grace had suggested doing, that the return from Kulla would be made by camel on the far side of the Nile.

Good gracious! no.  He had long since given up showing or feeling surprise at anything any of the great white races might elect to do.  He had harboured them for several winters in his hotel, you see.

Certainly everything should be ready in the quickest possible time.  A hamper and some brandy; the boat; and upon the other side the swiftest camel from the hotel stables for her Excellency the wife of the Sheikh el-Umbar; the swiftest men to carry a litter—­ah! two litters, as her grace’s maid would join in the search.  Not Miss Coop; she was staying behind, of course, to have everything in readiness for Miss Hethencourt, who would doubtless be very tired and a little frightened.

“There is nothing to fear,” he added.  “Nobody has ever really been lost in Egypt, and as Miss Hethencourt will not want a crowd of friends to meet her on her safe return, not one word shall be said about the little expedition of relief.”

He salaamed and retired, leaving the duchess looking after him.

She had her doubts about his belief in one word of the story.

* * * * * *

Wrapped in her ermine cloak and leaning on her ebony stick, Olivia Duchess of Longacres stood near all that is left of the Gate of To-morrow.