And in the meanwhile, the train which was conveying the new African explorers sped on its way. The journey had begun. CHAPTER XIV. FROM MISS BEATRICE POLES, TO MISS EMILY—— "Although thi& letter is dated 'Cairo,' do not imagine, my dear friend, that I am going to describe that town. If you are really anxious to see it through my spectacles, you have only to turn to my letters of 1861, when I was assisting that most charming of all charming travellers, Alexina Tinne, to arrange the expedition which was to have reached the sources of the Nile, and in them you will find a very detailed account of Egypt. Consequently, for some time to come, you must not expect any geographical details. That part of Africa where I now am does not count for anything—it is far too civilized. The Nile merely recalls the Thames to my mind, and, as for the streets of Cairo, they are to me just like the Strand. Africa, eastwards, does not begin, in my idea, until you reach the latitude of Khartoum. When we get that far, and not until then, I will give you a bird's-eye view or two of the country. So, dearest, for the present, let us put geography on one side, and come to purely personal topics. "You were rather angry with me, dear, were you not, on account of my sudden flitting, my hasty desertion from our cosy evenings and the tea which you know so well how to make, and my surrender of the excellent position which your interest obtained for me with that dear Mrs. Oxenford, to whom I send my warmest regards. "I could not remain in a situation—the monotony is too much for me. Nature, you may depend upon it, had some design in view when she gave me such prolonged feet. They are ever beckoning the rest of my body onward; and my other members, smaller and less self-asserting, have nothing to do but obey. I verily believe that, if I were fool-hardy enough to attempt any resistance, they would end by simply detaching themselves, and setting out, unaccompanied, in search of adventure. Consequently, as in that case I should lose, if not the most becoming, at all events the most extensive part of myself, I prefer giving way. Every being in this world obeys an irresistible impulse of some kind. Many are guided by their head, which, not being weighty enough, turns and twists in empty nothingness at the mercy of every wind; others follow the dictates of their heart, and a pretty mess they make of it. As for me, I obey my feet. They very often lead me into terrible quagmires, but, as a rule, I get off with the loss of my shoes.