A dress rustled. He thought of the sanctuary in the temple of Edfou. Then a faint and strangely toneless voice, that he did not recognize, said: "That's ever so much better. I do hate that strong light."
"But who is that in the chair, then?" Isaacson asked himself, astonished. "Have they got some one on board with them?"
"Electric light tries a great many people."
Isaacson knew the voice which said that. It was Mrs. Armine's voice, gentle, melodious, and seductive. And he thought of the hoarse and hideous sound which that morning he had heard in the temple.
"Do sit down by me," said the first voice.
Could it really be Nigel's? This time there was in it a sound that was faintly familiar to Isaacson--a sound to which he listened almost as a man may regard a shadow and say to himself, "Is that shadow cast by my friend?"
A dress rustled. And the tiny noise was followed by the creak of a basket chair.
"Don't you think you're a little better to-night?" said Mrs. Armine.
The other sighed.
"No."
"Doctor Baring Hartley said you would recover rapidly."
"Ruby, he doesn't understand my case. He can't understand it."
"But he seemed so certain. And he's got a great reputation in America."
"But he doesn't understand. To-night I feel--when you were playing 'Gerontius' I felt that--that I must soon go. 'Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo'--I felt as if somewhere that was being said to me."
"Nigel!"
"It's strange that I, who've always loved the sun, should be knocked over by the sun, isn't it? Strange that what one loves should destroy one!"
"But--but that's not true, Nigel. You are getting better, although you don't think so."
"Ruby"--the voice was almost stern, and now it was more like the voice that Isaacson knew--"Ruby, I'm getting worse. To-day I feel that I'm going to die."
"Let me telegraph for Doctor Hartley. At dawn to-morrow I shall send the boat to Edfou--"
"If only Isaacson were here!"
There was a silence. Then Mrs. Armine said: "What could Doctor Isaacson do more than has been done?"
"He's a wonderful man. He sees what others don't see. I feel that he might find out what's the matter."
"Find out! But, Nigel, we know it's the sun. You yourself--"
"Yes, yes!"
"To-morrow I'll wire for Doctor Hartley to come down at once from Assouan."
"It's this awful insomnia that's doing for me. All my life I've slept so well--till now. And the rheumatic pains; how can the sun--Ruby, sometimes I think it's nothing to do with the sun."
"But, then, what can it be? You know you would expose yourself, though I begged and implored--"