"Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo!"
He would come back and see the face that went with that changed voice, that voice which he had hardly recognized.
"Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul! Go from this world!"
He moved to go away to those far-off lights which showed where the Fatma lay, by Edfou.
"Go forth ... go from this world!"
Was it the voice of a priest? Or was it the irreparable voice of a woman?
Suddenly Isaacson breathed quietly. He unclenched his hands. A wave--it was like that--a wave of strong self-possession seemed to inundate him. Now, in the darkness on the bank, a great doctor stood. And this doctor had nothing to do with the far-off lights by Edfou. His mission lay elsewhere.
"Go forth--go forth from this world!"
He walked along the bank, down the bank to the gangway which connected the deck of the Loulia forward with the shore. He pushed aside the dropped canvas, and he stepped upon the deck. A number of dark eyes gravely regarded him. Then Hamza detached himself from the hooded crowd and came up to where Isaacson was standing.
"Give that card to your master, and ask if I can see him."
"Yes!" said Hamza.
He went away with the card. There was a pause.
Then abruptly, the sound of the piano ceased.