At Ibrim--a sort of ruined Ehrenbreitstein on the top of a grand precipice overhanging the river--we touched for only a few minutes, in order to buy a very small shaggy sheep which had been brought down to the landing-place for sale. But for the breeze that happened just then to be blowing we should have liked to climb the rock and see the view and the ruins--which are part modern, part Turkish, part Roman, and little, if at all, Egyptian. There are also some sculptured and painted grottoes to be seen in the southern face of the mountain. They are, however, too difficult of access to be attempted by ladies. Alfred, who went ashore after quail, was drawn up to them by ropes, but found them too much defaced as to be scarcely worth the trouble of a visit. We were now only thirty-four miles from Abou Simbel; but making slow progress and impatiently counting every foot of the way. The heat at times was great, frequent and fitful spells of Khamsîn wind alternating with a hot calm that tried the trackers sorely. Still we pushed forward, a few miles at a time, till by and by the flat-topped cliffs dropped out of sight and were again succeeded by volcanic peaks, some of which looked loftier than any of those about Dakkeh or Korosko. Then the palms ceased and the belt of cultivated land narrowed to a thread of green between the rocks and the water’s edge; and at last there came an evening when we only wanted breeze enough to double two or three more bends in the river. “Is it to be Abou Simbel to-night?” we asked for the twentieth time before going down to dinner. To which Reïs Hassan replied: “Aiwah” (“certainly”). But the pilot shook his head and added: “Bûkra” (“to-morrow”). When we came up again the moon had risen but the breeze had dropped. Still we moved, impelled by a breath so faint that one could scarcely feel it. Presently even this failed. The sail collapsed; the pilot steered for the bank; the captain gave word to go aloft--when a sudden puff from the north changed our fortunes and sent us out again with a well-filled sail into the middle of the river. None of us, I think, will be likely to forget the sustained excitement of the next three hours. As the moon climbed higher a light more mysterious and unreal than the light of day filled and overflowed the wide expanse of river and desert. We could see the mountains of Abou Simbel standing, as it seemed, across our path, in the far distance--a lower one first; then a larger; then a series of receding heights, all close together, yet all distinctly separate.