took the matter quietly, did as he was bid, and allowed the guides nearly to carry him to the top of the edifice.

“Ha! so this is the top of the Pyramid, is it?” said Mr. Damer, bringing out his words one by one, being terribly out of breath.  “Very wonderful, very wonderful, indeed!”

“It is wonderful,” said Miss Dawkins, whose breath had not failed her in the least, “very wonderful, indeed!  Only think, Mr. Damer, you might travel on for days and days, till days became months, through those interminable sands, and yet you would never come to the end of them.  Is it not quite stupendous?”

“Ah, yes, quite,—puff, puff”—said Mr. Damer striving to regain his breath.

Mr. Damer was now at her disposal; weak and worn with toil and travel, out of breath, and with half his manhood gone; if ever she might prevail over him so as to procure from his mouth an assent to that Nile proposition, it would be now.  And after all, that Nile proposition was the best one now before her.  She did not quite like the idea of starting off across the Great Desert without any lady, and was not sure that she was prepared to be fallen in love with by M. Delabordeau, even if there should ultimately be any readiness on the part of that gentleman to perform the rôle of lover.  With Mr. Ingram the matter was different, nor was she so diffident of her own charms as to think it altogether impossible that she might succeed, in the teeth of that little chit, Fanny Damer.  That Mr. Ingram would join the party up the Nile she had very little doubt; and then there would be one place left for her.  She would thus, at any rate, become commingled with a most respectable family, who might be of material service to her.

Thus actuated she commenced an earnest attack upon Mr. Damer.

“Stupendous!” she said again, for she was fond of repeating favourite words.  “What a wondrous race must have been those Egyptian kings of old!”

“I dare say they were,” said Mr. Damer, wiping his brow as he sat upon a large loose stone, a fragment lying on the flat top of the Pyramid, one of those stones with which the complete apex was once made, or was once about to be made.

“A magnificent race! so gigantic in their conceptions!  Their ideas altogether overwhelm us poor, insignificant, latter-day mortals.  They built these vast Pyramids; but for us, it is task enough to climb to their top.”

“Quite enough,” ejaculated Mr. Damer.

But Mr. Damer would not always remain weak and out of breath, and it was absolutely necessary for Miss Dawkins to hurry away from Cheops and his tomb, to Thebes and Karnac.

“After seeing this it is impossible for any one with a spark of imagination to leave Egypt without going farther a-field.”

Mr. Damer merely wiped his brow and grunted.  This Miss Dawkins took as a signal of weakness, and went on with her task perseveringly.

“For myself, I have resolved to go up, at any rate, as far as Asouan and the first cataract.  I had thought of acceding to the wishes of a party who are going across the Great Desert by Mount Sinai to Jerusalem; but the kindness of yourself and Mrs. Damer is so great, and the prospect of joining in your boat is so pleasurable, that I have made up my mind to accept your very kind offer.”

This, it will be acknowledged, was bold on the part of Miss Dawkins; but what will not audacity effect?  To use the slang of modern language, cheek carries everything nowadays.  And whatever may have been Miss Dawkins’s deficiencies, in this virtue she was not deficient.

“I have made up my mind to accept your very kind offer,” she said, shining on Mr. Damer with her blandest smile.

What was a stout, breathless, perspiring, middle-aged gentleman to do under such circumstances?  Mr. Damer was a man who, in most matters, had his own way.  That his wife should have given such an invitation without consulting him, was, he knew, quite impossible.  She would as soon have thought of asking all those Arab guides to accompany them.  Nor was it to be thought of that he should allow himself to be kidnapped into such an arrangement by the impudence of any Miss Dawkins.  But there was, he felt, a difficulty in answering such a proposition from a young lady with a direct negative, especially while he was so scant of breath.  So he wiped his brow again, and looked at her.

“But I can only agree to this on one understanding,” continued Miss Dawkins, “and that is, that I am allowed to defray my own full share of the expense of the journey.”

Upon hearing this Mr. Damer thought that he saw his way out of the wood.  “Wherever I go, Miss Dawkins, I am always the paymaster myself,” and this he contrived to say with some sternness, palpitating though he still was; and the sternness which was deficient in his voice he endeavoured to put into his countenance.

But he did not know Miss Dawkins.  “Oh, Mr. Damer,” she said, and as she spoke her smile became almost blander than it was before; “oh, Mr. Damer, I could not think of suffering you to be so liberal; I could not, indeed.  But I shall be quite content that you should pay everything, and let me settle with you in one sum afterwards.”

Mr. Damer’s breath was now rather more under his own command.  “I am afraid, Miss Dawkins,” he said, “that Mrs. Damer’s weak state of health will not admit of such an arrangement.”

“What, about the paying?”

“Not only as to that, but we are a family party, Miss Dawkins; and great as would be the benefit of your society to all of us, in Mrs. Damer’s present state of health, I am afraid—in short, you would not find it agreeable.—And therefore—” this he added, seeing that she was still about to persevere—“I fear that we must forego the advantage you offer.”

And then, looking into his face, Miss Dawkins did perceive that even her audacity would not prevail.

“Oh, very well,” she said, and moving from the stone on which she had been sitting, she walked off, carrying her head very high, to a corner of the Pyramid from which she could look forth alone towards the sands of Libya.

In the mean time another little overture was being made on the top of the same Pyramid,—an overture which was not received quite in the same spirit.  While Mr. Damer was recovering his breath for the sake of answering Miss Dawkins, Miss Damer had walked to the further corner of the square platform on which they were placed, and there sat herself down with her face turned towards Cairo.  Perhaps it was not singular that Mr. Ingram should have followed her.

This would have been very well if a dozen Arabs had not also followed them.  But as this was the case, Mr. Ingram had to play his game under some difficulty.  He had no sooner seated himself beside her than they came and stood directly in front of the seat, shutting out the view, and by no means improving the fragrance of the air around them.

“And this, then, Miss Damer, will be our last excursion together,” he said, in his tenderest, softest tone.

“De good Englishman will gib de poor Arab one little backsheish,” said an Arab, putting out his hand and shaking Mr. Ingram’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes; him gib backsheish,” said another.

“Him berry good man,” said a third, putting up his filthy hand, and touching Mr. Ingram’s face.

“And young lady berry good, too; she give backsheish to poor Arab.”

“Yes,” said a fourth, preparing to take a similar liberty with Miss Damer.

This was too much for Mr. Ingram.  He had already used very positive language in his endeavour to assure his tormentors that they would not get a piastre from him.  But this only changed their soft persuasions into threats.  Upon hearing which, and upon seeing what the man attempted to do in his endeavour to get money from Miss Damer, he raised his stick, and struck first one and then the other as violently as he could upon their