“Women never understand such things, but let us go on; perhaps we shall see some more of them.”
With those words he took the little girl by the hand, and they went along the first canal path behind Port Said, followed by Dinah, a negress, who was formerly little Nell’s nurse. They went along the embankment that confines the waters of Lake Menzaleh, through which a pilot had just taken an English steamer.
[Illustration: The sun soon set below the lake, whose salt water began to glimmer like gold. ]
Evening was approaching. The sun was still rather high, but it soon set below the lake, whose salt water began to glimmer like gold and assume the shimmering hues of a peacock’s plume. On the Arabian shore, as far as eye could see, stretched the gloomy, menacing, dead desert. Between the glassy and motionless sky and the shoreless, furrowed stretch of sand there was not a sign of any living creature. While the canal presented a scene of great commercial activity—boats gliding past, steamers whistling, and over the surface of Lake Menzaleh flocks of sea-gulls and wild ducks glistening in the moonlight—on the Arabian shore it was as desolate as a city of the dead. But the lower the sun sank, the redder the west became; even the sand-dunes were tinted with lilac color, resembling the heather found in the autumn woods of Poland.
Walking toward the landing, the children saw several more flamingoes, and their eyes fairly danced with joy. Then Dinah said that Nell must go home. In Egypt the days, which even in winter are very warm, are followed by cold nights, and as Nell’s health required great care, Mr. Rawlison, her father, did not allow the child to remain near the water after sundown; so they returned to the Rawlison villa, at the extreme end of the town, near the canal. Mr. Tarkowski, the father of Stasch, had been invited to dine; he came in soon after, and then the whole company, including the French woman, Mrs. Olivier, Nell’s governess, sat down to dinner.
Mr. Rawlison, a director of the Suez Canal Company, and Vladislaw Tarkowski, chief engineer of the same company, had been very intimate for many years. Both were widowers. Mrs. Tarkowski, a French lady, had died giving birth to Stasch thirteen years before. Nell’s mother had died of consumption in Heluan when her little girl was three years old. The two widowers lived close by each other, and their business in Port Said brought them in daily contact. Their mutual sorrows also cemented their old friendship. Mr. Rawlison loved Stasch as though he had been his own son, and Mr. Tarkowski would have gone through fire and water for little Nell. After their day’s work was done their greatest pleasure was to talk about the education and the future of their children. While they were conversing thus Mr. Rawlison would praise the capability, energy, and precocity of Stasch, and Mr. Tarkowski express himself enthusiastically about Nell’s charm and her little angel face.