Graham laughed grimly, glancing at his watch. "Only half an hour late," he said, standing up, "Wait here, Eileen; I shall not be many minutes." "But I should like to see him, too. He might accept the price from me where you would fail to induce him to take it." "Never fear," said her husband; "he wouldn't have come if he meant to refuse. What shall I offer him?" "Whatever you think," said Eileen, smiling; "be generous with the poor old man." Graham nodded and signed to the boy that he was ready to start. The night swallowed them up; and Eileen sat waiting, whilst the band played softly and voices chatted incessantly around her. Some five minutes elapsed; ten; fifteen. It grew to half an hour, and she became uneasy. She stood up and began to pace up and down the verandah. Then the slinking figure of the Egyptian youth reappeared. "Graham Effendi," he said, showing his gleaming teeth, "says you come too." Eileen drew her wrap more closely about her and smiled to the boy to lead the way. They passed out from the hotel, turned sharply to the left, made in the direction of the river, then bore off to the right in the direction of the sand-dunes. The murmuring life of Mena House died into remoteness; the discordance of the Arab village momentarily took precedence; then this, in turn, was lost, and they were making out desert-ward to the hollow which harbours the Sphinx. Great events in our lives rarely leave a clear-cut impression; often the turning-point in one's career is a confused memory, a mere clash of conflicting ideas. Trivial episodes are sharp silhouettes; unforgettable; great happenings but grey, vague things in life's panorama. Thus, Eileen never afterwards could quite recall what happened that night. The thing that was like to have wrecked her life had no sharp outlines to etch themselves upon the plate of memory. Vaguely she wondered to what meeting-place the boy was leading her. Faintly she was conscious of a fear of the growing silence, of a warning instinct whispering her to beware of the loneliness of the desert. Then the boy was gone; the silence was gone; harsh voices were in her ears--a cloth was whipped about her face and strong arms lifted her. She was not of a stock that swoon or passively accept violence. She strove to cry out, but the band was too cunningly fastened to allow of it; she struck out with clenched fists and not unshrewdly, for twice her knuckles encountered a bearded face and a suppressed exclamation told that the blows were not those of a weakling. She kicked furiously and drew forth a howl of pain from her captor. Her hands flew up to the bandage, but were roughly seized, thrust down and behind her, and tied securely.