The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6Parker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
This eBook was produced by David Widger
THE WEAVERS
By Gilbert Parker
BOOK VI.
XL. HYLDA SEEKS NAHOUM
XLI. IN THE LAND OF SHINAR
XLII. THE LOOM OF DESTINY
CHAPTER XL
HYLDA SEEKS NAHOUM
It was as though she had gone to sleep the night before, and waked
again upon this scene unchanged, brilliant, full of colour, a chaos of
decoration--confluences of noisy, garish streams of life, eddies of petty
labour. Craftsmen crowded one upon the other in dark bazaars; merchants
chattered and haggled on their benches; hawkers clattered and cried their
wares. It was a people that lived upon the streets, for all the houses
seemed empty and forsaken. The sais ran before the Pasha's carriage, the
donkey-boys shrieked for their right of way, a train of camels calmly
forced its passage through the swirling crowds, supercilious and heavy-
laden.
It seemed but yesterday since she had watched with amused eyes the
sherbet-sellers clanking their brass saucers, the carriers streaming the
water from the bulging goatskins into the earthen bottles, crying, "Allah
be praised, here is coolness for thy throat for ever!" the idle singer
chanting to the soft kanoon, the chess-players in the shade of a high
wall, lost to the world, the dancing-girls with unveiled, shameless
faces, posturing for evil eyes. Nothing had changed these past six
years. Yet everything had changed.
She saw it all as in a dream, for her mind had no time for reverie or
retrospect; it was set on one thing only.
Yet behind the one idea possessing her there was a subconscious self
taking note of all these sights and sounds, and bringing moisture to her
eyes. Passing the house which David had occupied on that night when he
and she and Nahoum and Mizraim had met, the mist of feeling almost
blinded her; for there at the gate sat the bowab who had admitted her
then, and with apathetic eyes had watched her go, in the hour when it
seemed that she and David Claridge had bidden farewell for ever, two
driftwood spars that touched and parted in the everlasting sea. Here
again in the Palace square were Kaid's Nubians in their glittering armour
as of silver and gold, drawn up as she had seen them drawn then, to be
reviewed by their overlord.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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