His Hour

"You see," he said, "we skirt these rocks and then we shall ride

through the village. One can very well imagine it has been the same

always."

They entered the little town. The streets were extremely narrow and the

dark houses gave an air of mystery--a speculation--what could be going

on behind those closed shutters? Here and there a straight blue-clad

figure slunk away round a corner. There was a deep silence and the

moonlight made the shadows sharp as a knife. Then a shaft of red light

would shoot from some strange low hovel as they passed, and they could

see inside a circle of Arab Bedouins crouching over a fire. There

seemed no hilarity, their faces were solemn as the grave.

Presently, in the narrowest and darkest street, there was a sound of

tom-toms, strains of weird music and voices, and through the chinks of

the half-opened shutters light streamed across the road--while a small

crowd of Arabs were grouped about the gate in the wall holding donkeys

and a camel.

"A wedding," said the young man. "They have escorted the bride. What

pleasure to raise a veil and see a black face! But each one to his

taste."

Tamara looked up at the window. She wondered what could be happening

within--were the other wives there as well? She would have liked to

have asked.

The young man saw her hesitation and said laconically-"Well?"

"They are having a party," Tamara replied, with lame obviousness.

"Of course," said the young man. "Weddings and funerals--equally good

occasions for company. They are so wise they leave all to fate; they do

not tear their eyes out for something they cannot have--and fight after

disappointment. They are philosophers, these Arabs."

The little crowd round the gate now barred the road, half good

humoredly, half with menace.

"So, so," said the young man, riding in front. Then he laughed, and

putting his hand in his pocket, brought out a quantity of silver and

flung it among them with merry words in Arabic, while he pointed to the

windows of the house.

Then he seized the bridle of Tamara's camel and started his horse

forward. The crowd smiled now and began scrambling for the baksheesh,

and so they got through in peace.

Neither spoke until they were in a silent lane again.

"Sometimes they can be quite disagreeable," he said, "but it is amusing

to see it all. The Sheikh lives here--he fancies the pyramids belong to

him, just as the Khedive fancies all Egypt is his--life is mostly

imagination."