"Yes. And there-" I pointed. "There is your great-grandfather's tomb."

David had not seen the completed monument. While the others attempted to restrain Evvie (and tried to get her off the subject of dead people), he and I went on ahead. "It is odd, you know, to think of my grandfather as a saint," he said. "He was the bravest, truest man I ever knew, but . . ."

"He had his little failings," I agreed with a reminiscent chuckle. "Most people who become saints have them, David. Sanct.i.ty is attained by overcoming one's baser instincts."

Emerson came up in time to hear my comment. He let out a loud "hmph" but did not speak. We stood in silence outside the arched doorway of the monument. Dolly said proudly, "I have his name."

I put my arm round him. "Yes, you do. And he is-that is, he would be-very glad and proud that you have it."

"Tell me again about what he did," Dolly said, standing very straight.

So I told him, in the simplest language, of how Abdullah had died, giving his life to save mine, and of the many other occasions on which he had risked himself for me and Emerson. "He was a good man and a brave man," I concluded. "We all loved him and we miss him."

"But he is happy in Heaven," said Dolly.

"He certainly seems to be," I agreed, without thinking.

There was a general shuffling of feet and clearing of throats, and Evelyn, whose religious views are more conventional than mine, hastily changed the subject.

"The design is really lovely, David. Simple and traditional, yet it has an extraordinary grace."

"Yes, indeed," Walter agreed. "What a pity it has been disfigured by this unseemly rubbish."

The cord strung across the opening supported what was admittedly an unsightly collection of objects. They were not unseemly, however, and I felt obliged to mention this.

"It is not up to us, Walter, to decide what is proper to believers in any faith. For instance, our custom of entering our churches without removing our shoes would be considered quite unseemly by Muslims. These humble tokens are thanks to the holy man for favorable answers to prayers."

Emerson had, with great effort, refrained from making any of the sarcastic comments that express his views on organized religion of all denominations, though he did roll his eyes rather a lot. It was my insistence that he refrain from heretical comments when the children were present. Religion is difficult enough without people like Emerson confusing the issue.

Now he cleared his throat and remarked, with a slight curl of his lip and a provocative glance at me, "Abdullah seems to have answered a good many prayers in a rather short period of time."

"So he has," I agreed. I had no intention of allowing Emerson to provoke me into a theological discussion.

"I find it touching," Evelyn said gently. "What is it they ask for, I wonder?"

"The same things all human beings want," I said with a sigh. "Health, children, a peaceful life, and forgiveness of sin."

Evvie sat down quite suddenly and began to unlace her shoes. I fear it was not propriety that moved her so much as an excuse to remove these objects of attire, to which, like most children, she strongly objected. Her mother remonstrated, for she was of course concerned about scorpions, snakes, and sharp stones. As we debated the matter, a form emerged from the darkness of the interior and greeted us in Arabic.

His appearance gave me something of a start; I had not realized anyone was there. He wore the usual turban and galabeeyah and the usual beard covered the lower part of his face. It was vaguely familiar to me, but I could not place it immediately. However, I returned the greeting, as did David, while the others murmured politely. A closer examination of the fellow's face finally gave me my clue. He was obviously a member of Abdullah's far-flung family.

"You are Abu's son Abdulra.s.sah, are you not?" I inquired.

"I am the servant of the sheikh," was the reply, accompanied by a pleased smile.

"I see. You have taken Ha.s.san's place?"

The boy-he was hardly more than that-nodded. "Have you come to pray? It is good."

"I don't believe I will," Walter murmured in English. "Do you mind, Amelia? I mean no disrespect, it's just that-"

"Quite all right," I replied. "What about the rest of you?"

Evelyn decided to stay with Walter, and after receiving a somewhat dubious look from Abdulra.s.sah, Lia said she would stay outside with her daughter. "I don't remember the prayers," she explained. "And I don't think it would be 'seemly' for Evvie to be running around inside."

Emerson's excuse was audible only to me, at whom it was intentionally directed. "I don't mind praying when prayer is expedient, but Abdullah would laugh himself sick to see me capering around his tomb."

I saw no reason why my old friend should not enjoy a hearty laugh at Emerson's expense, and I felt sure he would be more amused than offended to have an innocent descendant playing nearby. However, Dolly was taking the business very seriously. His small face grave and his eyes wide, he had already removed his shoes. So only three of us went inside-David and I and Dolly-and it was fitting, since we were the ones who cared most. David took his son by the hand and led him through the prescribed ritual. Though his father had been a Copt-an Egyptian Christian-he had been raised among Muslims, and by us. Narrowness of belief is not one of our failings, and both Emerson and Ramses are thoroughly familiar with the beautiful prayers of Islam. David remembered them quite well. Dolly's wide eyes and quick breathing showed that he was mightily impressed, though I don't believe he understood much of what was said.

When we came out into the daylight, Abdulra.s.sah came with us. "The saint is happy that his family came," he announced. "Now will you make an offering?" He indicated a bowl that sat on the floor just inside the entrance. There were a few coins in it.

"Certainly," Walter exclaimed. Good-hearted man that he was, he wanted to compensate for what might have been viewed as a lack of respect, so I made no objection when he emptied his pockets of most of the coins they contained. Abdulra.s.sah's face took on a positively seraphic smile.

"What is the money used for?" I inquired.

The ingenuous youth did not dissemble. "For me, Sitt Hakim. Am I not the servant? I say the prayers, I sweep the pavement."

In evidence thereof he picked up the broom that was used only for that purpose, and began energetically sweeping our footprints away. It was one of those fascinating survivals one finds in Egypt; so the ancient priests had swept the corridors of the tomb after the mummy had found its last resting place and the mourners had gone, removing all traces of the outer world.

We left him to his prayers, or a facsimile thereof. I said thoughtfully, "He was a very lazy little boy."

David burst out laughing. "Aunt Amelia, you are a hopeless cynic. Are you suggesting that he took on the job to avoid manual labor?"

"Far be it from me to impugn anyone's motives, David. Someone would have succeeded Ha.s.san."

"His death might be considered a bad omen, though," David murmured.

"That is not how religious persons think," I explained. "To a true believer, in our faith as well as that of Ha.s.san, death is not an end but a beginning; and what greater guarantee of immortality could there be than service to a holy man?"

Emerson opened his mouth. Then he looked down at the little boy who was holding his hand, and closed it.

"Shall we go by Selim's house and collect the others?" I asked.

"We had better get young Sekhmet home," David said. He was carrying his daughter, and I was forced to admit that the nickname suited her, with her lion-colored mane of hair and her explosive temper. At that moment she was like the G.o.ddess in one of her more benevolent moods, limp and yawning in her father's arms.

"We must arrange for a proper visit," Lia added. "Not just a quick call and quicker departure. We are all tired."

Evvie roused long enough to insist on riding with Emerson, and promptly fell asleep in his strong embrace. We went slowly, to spare the donkeys and their riders. Shadows lengthened across the sand as the sun sank westward.

"The others must have returned," I said, as we drew near the house. "Is that Nefret on the veranda?"

"Go on in," David said, quickly dismounting and a.s.sisting Evelyn to do so. "I'll take the animals round to the stable."

I had seen a glimmer of golden hair, but I had been mistaken as to the ident.i.ty of the individual in question. Seated, perfectly at ease, he greeted us as coolly as if he had been an invited guest. "There you are at last! I have been waiting quite some time."

"Justin," I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

There could be no doubt of her ident.i.ty, despite the smeared lines of makeup and the unattractive garments. Her hazel eyes overflowed. "I didn't mean you-any of you-to see me. Let me go. I'm all right."

"You can't just walk off into the sunset," Ramses said. He had never seen anyone cry so much; the tears were not a trickle but a flood. Fearing she would go into hysterics if he said the wrong thing, he ventured, "How did you get here? Not on foot, surely."

She gave him a blank, wet stare. He drew his knife and she shrank back with a little cry. "I'm just going to cut your sleeve away," he said. "It's too tight to roll up, and I need to see how deep that cut is. For G.o.d's sake, Molly, you aren't afraid of me, are you?"

"I had a donkey," she whispered. "It ran away when that man . . ."

"It's all right, he's gone." He slit the tight sleeve and pushed it up. The cut was long and shallow, across the back of her forearm. "Not bad," he said, with a rea.s.suring smile. "You had better come with me to the house and let Mother bandage it properly."

"No, I can't! Don't make me go there. If you could take me back-to the dock-I can get a boat . . ."

She was trembling violently. "Don't argue, you're not in fit condition to think straight," he said. "Small wonder, after an experience like that. Mother loves tending to people. She will be happy to see you."

He picked her up and put her onto Risha's back. She looked very small and frightened, perched there with her feet dangling. He mounted behind her and supported her with one arm. She sat stiff as a statue, her face turned away, and took a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt.

"I didn't want any of you to see me," she repeated in a small quavering voice.

Made up like a middle-aged woman, a paid dependent? She had certainly come down in the world since they'd last heard of her. She had been only fourteen at the time of that hideously embarra.s.sing encounter in his room, when she told him she loved him and wanted to stay with him. The memory still made him cringe; she had been so pa.s.sionate and so pathetic, and so young! That had been four years ago-or was it five? She didn't look much older now, but they had heard from mutual acquaintances that she was married. What had happened to the rich doting American husband? What was she doing alone on the West Bank, and who was the man who had attacked her? Ramses decided to leave the questions to his mother. He didn't want to interrogate the child when she was in such a nervous state. One more question might be risked, though.

"What were you doing on the West Bank?" he asked casually.

"Justin." Carefully she wiped her face, removing the last traces of makeup and tears. "He got away from Francois this afternoon. I thought he might have come across the river. He kept talking about watching you excavate, and about the other temple ruins. I went to the Ramesseum and I was going to Deir el Bahri when-"

"It's over now," Ramses said quickly. "I'm sorry about the boy. We'll get you straightened out and then I'll take you across the river. If he hasn't turned up we'll help you look for him."

"She'll be angry." The words were m.u.f.fled; she had relaxed and turned her face against his breast.

"Mrs. Fitzroyce? It wasn't your fault. We'll find him, I promise." He went on talking, since his matter-of-fact manner seemed to have put her more at ease. "Do you suppose he went to our house? He said something the other day about visiting us."

There was no answer. He wondered uneasily if she had fainted. She was as limp as a rag doll, her face hidden against his breast. He tightened his grasp.

THEY WERE ALL ON THE veranda, adults, children, cats-and a slim figure in brown tweeds whose fair head glowed like a nimbus. "There, what did I tell you?" Ramses said cheerfully. "He's here. Unhurt and perfectly happy."

Accustomed as the family was to unexpected appearances, the sight of him with an unconscious female in his arms was startling enough to capture everyone's attention. Nefret had been watching for him. She was the first to reach the door, but his parents weren't far behind her.

"What happened?" Nefret demanded. "Who is she?"

His mother, of course, had the answer. "Mrs. Fitzroyce's companion, I believe. I remember that-er-garment quite well. Is she hurt?"

"Not seriously, Mother. Can someone take her? I think she's fainted."

"No." The slender figure stiffened. She turned her head to look up at him. Except for the piebald hair, she looked no older than the girl of fourteen he remembered so well. Her eyes were dry and her expression was wary but resigned. "You can put me down, please."

His father held up his arms. "Let me help you, Miss-er."

"You're in for a surprise, Father," Ramses warned.

"Good Gad," Emerson exclaimed. He lowered the girl gently to the ground and stared at her. "That isn't Miss-er. She looks familiar, though. Now where . . ."

"Molly," said his wife. Only a slight catch of breath betrayed her surprise. Imperturbably she went on, "And, I believe, Miss-er-as well. Might one ask . . . But perhaps not now. You appear to have suffered a slight accident. Come with me, if you please."

Head bowed, Molly allowed herself to be led into the house. Ramses looked at his wife. "What the h.e.l.l-" she began.

"Language," Ramses said. "Come in and close that door. Davy, no!"

He captured the little boy before he had got far, and carried him back.

"Well, well," said Emerson. "This is a surprise. What's she doing here?"

"She is Mrs. Fitzroyce's companion," Ramses replied. "She came to the West Bank looking for Justin."

The boy's smile was sunny and untroubled. "She didn't find me, though. I'm glad. I have had a nice time with my friends and the pretty Mrs. Emerson."

Ramses began, "You shouldn't have . . ." Then he stopped himself. It wasn't his job to scold the boy.

"I would like another cup of tea, please," Justin said politely. "And Evvie would like another biscuit."

He directed his charming smile at Evvie, who was standing next to him, with obvious designs on the platter of cakes. Justin patted her cheek. "I like her," he announced. "I like all the children."

I HAD QUITE A LONG conversation with Molly-or Maryam, as she said she preferred to be called-while I cleaned and bandaged the cut on her arm. The conversation was, however, somewhat one-sided. Her answers to my questions were brief and uninformative, her manner withdrawn. If I had not known better, I would have thought she was afraid of me. Only once did she respond with her old energy, when I told her that her father had been searching for her and would be extremely relieved to know she was safe and well.

"You mustn't tell him!" she cried. "Promise you won't."

"I cannot promise that. He certainly would not like to hear that you have been reduced to working as a paid companion. You must tell Mrs. Fitzroyce that you are leaving her employ."

"I can't," Maryam said in a low voice. "You've seen what Justin is like. He trusts me. He has difficulty getting used to new people, and Francois, though utterly devoted, has his failings."

"He certainly does," I said. "Well, Maryam, your sense of duty does you credit. However, your father-"

"I will not be dependent on him or anyone else." Her chin lifted. "He doesn't care about me. He used me when he needed me for his own purposes."

"You are mistaken about that," I a.s.sured her.

"Perhaps. May I go now? Mrs. Fitzroyce will be worried about Justin."

"I cannot detain you if you choose to leave. Please think about what I have said. There is no shame in honest labor of any kind, but your position is onerous, and as a member of our family you are ent.i.tled to our a.s.sistance."

"Thank you." Her remote expression did not change. She got to her feet, pulling her torn sleeve down.

Despite the artificially grayed locks she looked little older than she had when I last saw her, though she must now be eighteen or nineteen. Her long-lashed hazel eyes were shaped like those of her father. The dreadful frock did not entirely hide a trim little figure.

I said, "May I give you a hat?"

It was quite a nice hat, of natural straw with quant.i.ties of veiling and several artificial flowers. Justin, who was nothing if not candid, remarked that she looked almost pretty. He added, "She would like a cup of tea, I expect."

"No," Maryam said quickly. "We must be getting back, Justin. Your grandmother will be worried."