“This is amazing!” he cried. “Positively! Never would have believed you come from the Senussi country! Never! Was down there in ’nineteen. What’s your part?” Mr. Tawwab exchanged a swift, malicious glance with Mrs. Uffington. John Cumberland looked helplessly at Barry. Zalithea stared at the speaker as though she had not heard him. It was Professor Blackwell, husky in his embarrassment, who explained: “Our friend does not speak English, sir.” “Oh, damn it! What a fool I am!” yelled Captain Quick. “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! I know the lingo.…” Zalithea stood up, leaving her wrap on the arm of the chair. “Bahree!” she said--and pointed to it. Then, without so much as a glance at any of the party, she walked slowly, languidly, out of the alcove. “Excuse me!” Barry mumbled. He had flushed to the roots of his hair. Grabbing the wrap, he ran after the girl. Zalithea, moving with an unfamiliar, swaying movement of the hips which he had always imagined characteristic of the women figured on the ancient wall paintings, was making for the entrance. He came up with her, but she did not pause or glance aside. The night was perfect, and there were groups assembled before the hotel: visitors, residents, vendors of many wares, and guides clamouring to conduct somebody, anybody, to the Great Temple by moonlight. Barry was longing to walk through those mighty halls with Zalithea, but--incredible thought!--they had feared the memories which sight of that stately ruin might arouse in the girl. Karnak she had seen. And Barry could never forget her expression, in which sorrow, stupefaction, and horror had mingled. She had retired to her apartment, refusing to see anybody for a whole day afterward. How he longed to be able to talk to her! If his own brain became so tumultuous when he thought of the history of this lovely, wayward, yielding, imperious girl, what deathly terrors must she know when realization of the truth was borne home to her? Side by side they walked on through the scented night. He placed the wrap over her shoulders. She was following her favourite route--that to the ancient _shadûf_. And so, presently, in silence, they were alone beside the Nile. Zalithea paused, resting against a crumbling wall and staring out over the whispering water. A boatman began to play a reed pipe. He played that age-old melody which surely the boatmen of Seti knew. Barry glanced at Zalithea. She was listening--intently. Her lips were slightly parted, her lashes drooped. She looked beautiful. But--perhaps because of the Egyptian night and the music of the reed--she seemed unearthly. A cold hand clutched his heart. Princess Zalithea! He was alone with a ghost! She knew that music! What was she thinking? Whom was she remembering? Did it bring dreams of happiness--of love? Or did it magically cast her spirit back over the ages to the coming of that unnatural sleep? Zalithea sighed, shudderingly. Turning, she put her hand in his.