There were
white lines like long ruffles of foam on the edges of azure waves,
struck still by enchantment while breaking on an unseen shore; and far
off, along a mystic horizon, little islands floated on the gleaming
flood. Stephen could hardly believe that there was no water, and that
his horses could travel the blue depths without wetting their feet.
It was just as he was thinking thus, and wondering if Victoria had
passed this way, when the strange sound came to his ears, out of the
distance. "Stop," he said in French to his Arab driver. "I think friends
of mine will be in that car." He was right. A few minutes later Nevill
and Lady MacGregor waved to him, as he stood on the top of a low
sand-dune.
Lady MacGregor was more fairylike than ever in a little motoring bonnet
made for a young girl, but singularly becoming to her. They had had a
glorious journey, she said. She supposed some people would consider
that she had endured hardships, but they were not worth speaking of. She
had been rather bumped about on the ghastly desert tracks since Biskra,
but though she was not quite sure if all her bones were whole, she did
not feel in the least tired; and even if she did, the memory of the
Gorge of El Kantara would alone be enough to make up for it.
"Anything new?" asked Nevill.
"Nothing," Stephen answered, "except that the driver of the carriage
ahead let drop at the last bordj that he'd been hired by the French
officer, who was taking Maieddine with him.
Pages:
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490