And this is why I have been able, in the midst of so much that was new and bewildering, to remember quite circumstantially the dates and all the events connected with these last two days. They were to be our last two days in Cairo; and to-morrow morning, Saturday, the 13th of December, we were to go on board a certain dahabeeyah now lying off the iron bridge at Boulak, therein to begin that strange aquatic life to which we had been looking forward with so many hopes and fears, and toward which we had been steering through so many preliminary difficulties. But the difficulties were all over now and everything was settled; though not in the way we had at first intended. For, in place of a small boat, we had secured one of the largest on the river; and instead of going alone we had decided to throw in our lot with that of three other travelers. One of these three was already known to the writer. The other two, friends of the first, were on their way out from Europe and were not expected in Cairo for another week. We knew nothing of them but their names. Meanwhile L---- and the writer, assuming sole possession of the dahabeeyah, were about to start ten days in advance; it being their intention to push on as far as Rhoda (the ultimate point then reached by the Nile railway), and there to await the arrival of the rest of the party. Now Rhoda (more correctly Roda) is just one hundred and eighty miles south of Cairo, and we calculated upon seeing the Sakkârah pyramids, the Turra quarries, the tombs of Beni Hassan, and the famous grotto of the Colossus on the Sledge, before our fellow-travelers should be due. “It depends on the wind, you know,” said our dragoman, with a lugubrious smile. We knew that it depended on the wind; but what then? In Egypt the wind is supposed always to blow from the north at this time of the year, and we had ten good days at our disposal. The observation was clearly irrelevant. CHAPTER III. CAIRO TO BEDRESHAYN. A rapid raid into some of the nearest shops for things remembered at the last moment--a breathless gathering up of innumerable parcels--a few hurried farewells on the steps of the hotel--and away we rattle as fast as a pair of raw-boned grays can carry us. For this morning every moment is of value. We are already late; we expect visitors to luncheon on board at midday; and we are to weigh anchor at two P.M. Hence our anxiety to reach Boulak before the bridge is opened, that we may drive across to the western bank, against which our dahabeeyah lies moored. Hence, also, our mortification when we arrive just in time to see the bridge swing apart and the first tall mast glide through.