“I cannot think, Fanny, how you get on so quick,” said Mrs. Damer. “I’m always last; but then my donkey is such a very nasty one. Look there, now; he’s always trying to get me off.”
“We shall soon be at the Pyramids now, mamma.”
“How on earth I am ever to get back again I cannot think. I am so tired now that I can hardly sit.”
“How on earth we are to eat and drink with those nasty Arab people around us, I can’t conceive. They tell me we shall be eaten up by them. But, Fanny, what has Mr. Ingram been saying to you all the day?”
“What has he been saying, mamma? Oh! I don’t know;—a hundred things, I dare say. But he has not been talking to me all the time.”
“I think he has, Fanny, nearly, since we crossed the river. Oh, dear! oh, dear! this animal does hurt me so! Every time he moves he flings his head about, and that gives me such a bump.” And then Fanny commiserated2 her mother’s sufferings, and in her commiseration3 contrived4 to elude5 any further questionings as to Mr. Ingram’s conversation.
“Majestic piles, are they not?” said Miss Dawkins, who, having changed her companion, allowed her mind to revert6 from Mount Sinai to the Pyramids. They were now riding through cultivated ground, with the vast extent of the sands of Libya before them. The two Pyramids were standing7 on the margin8 of the sand, with the head of the recumbent sphynx plainly visible between them. But no idea can be formed of the size of this immense figure till it is visited much more closely. The body is covered with sand, and the head and neck alone stand above the surface of the ground. They were still two miles distant, and the sphynx as yet was but an obscure mount between the two vast Pyramids.
“Immense piles!” said Miss Dawkins, repeating her own words.
“Yes, they are large,” said Mr. Ingram, who did not choose to indulge in enthusiasm in the presence of Miss Dawkins.
“Enormous! What a grand idea!—eh, Mr. Ingram? The human race does not create such things as those nowadays!”
“No, indeed,” he answered; “but perhaps we create better things.”
“Better! You do not mean to say, Mr. Ingram, that you are an utilitarian9. I do, in truth, hope better things of you than that. Yes! steam mills are better, no doubt, and mechanics’ institutes and penny newspapers. But is nothing to be valued but what is useful?” And Miss Dawkins, in the height of her enthusiasm, switched her donkey severely10 over the shoulder.
“I might, perhaps, have said also that we create more beautiful things,” said Mr. Ingram.
“But we cannot create older things.”
“No, certainly; we cannot do that.”
“Nor can we imbue11 what we do create with the grand associations which environ those piles with so intense an interest. Think of the mighty12 dead, Mr. Ingram, and of their great homes when living. Think of the hands which it took to raise those huge blocks—”
“And of the lives which it cost.”
“Doubtless. The tyranny and invincible13 power of the royal architects add to the grandeur14 of the idea. One would not wish to have back the kings of Egypt.”
“Well, no; they would be neither useful nor beautiful.”
“Perhaps not; and I do not wish to be picturesque15 at the expense of my fellow-creatures.”
“I doubt, even, whether they would be picturesque.”
“You know what I mean, Mr. Ingram. But the associations of such names, and the presence of the stupendous works with which they are connected, fill the soul with awe16. Such, at least, is the effect with mine.”
“I fear that my tendencies, Miss Dawkins, are more realistic than your own.”
“You belong to a young country, Mr. Ingram, and are naturally prone17 to think of material life. The necessity of living looms18 large before you.”
“Very large, indeed, Miss Dawkins.”
“Whereas with us, with some of us at least, the material aspect has given place to one in which poetry and enthusiasm prevail. To such among us the associations of past times are very dear. Cheops, to me, is more than Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“That is more than most of your countrymen can say, at any rate, just at present.”
“I am a woman,” continued Miss Dawkins.
Mr. Ingram took off his hat in acknowledgment both of the announcement and of the fact.
“And to us it is not given—not given as yet—to share in the great deeds of the present. The envy of your sex has driven us from the paths which lead to honour. But the deeds of the past are as much ours as yours.”
“Oh, quite as much.”
“’Tis to your country that we look for enfranchisement19 from this thraldom20. Yes, Mr. Ingram, the women of America have that strength of mind which has been wanting to those of Europe. In the United States woman will at last learn to exercise her proper mission.”
Mr. Ingram expressed a sincere wish that such might be the case; and then wondering at the ingenuity21 with which Miss Dawkins had travelled round from Cheops and his Pyramid to the rights of women in America, he contrived to fall back, under the pretence22 of asking after the ailments23 of Mrs. Damer.
And now at last they were on the sand, in the absolute desert, making their way up to the very foot of the most northern of the two Pyramids. They were by this time surrounded by a crowd of Arab guides, or Arabs professing24 to be guides, who had already ascertained25 that Mr. Damer was the chief of the party, and were accordingly driving him almost to madness by the offers of their services, and their assurance that he could not possibly see the outside or the inside of either structure, or even remain alive upon the ground, unless he at once accepted their offers made at their own prices.
“Get away, will you?” said he. “I don’t want any of you, and I won’t have you! If you take hold of me I’ll shoot you!” This was said to one specially26 energetic Arab, who, in his efforts to secure his prey27, had caught hold of Mr. Damer by the leg.
“Yes, yes, I say! Englishmen always take me;—me—me, and then no break him leg. Yes—yes—yes;—I go. Master, say yes. Only one leetle ten shillings!”
“Abdallah!” shouted Mr. Damer, “why don’t you take this man away? Why don’t you make him understand that if all the Pyramids depended on it, I would not give him sixpence!”
And then Abdallah, thus invoked28, came up, and explained to the man in Arabic that he would gain his object more surely if he would behave himself a little more quietly; a hint which the man took for one minute, and for one minute only.
And then poor Mrs. Damer replied to an application for backsheish by the gift of a sixpence. Unfortunate woman! The word backsheish means, I believe, a gift; but it has come in Egypt to signify money, and is eternally dinned29 into the ears of strangers by Arab suppliants30. Mrs. Damer ought to have known better, as, during the last six weeks she had never shown her face out of Shepheard’s Hotel without being pestered31 for backsheish; but she was tired and weak, and foolishly thought to rid herself of the man who was annoying her.
No sooner had the coin dropped from her hand into that of the Arab, than she was surrounded by a cluster of beggars, who loudly made their petitions as though they would, each of them, individually be injured if treated with less liberality than that first comer. They took hold of her donkey, her bridle32, her saddle, her legs, and at last her arms and hands, screaming for backsheish in voices that were neither sweet nor mild.
In her dismay she did give away sundry33 small coins—all, probably, that she had about her; but this only made the matter worse. Money was going, and each man, by sufficient energy, might hope to get some of it. They were very energetic, and so frightened the poor lady that she would certainly have fallen, had she not been kept on her seat by the pressure around her.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! get away,” she cried. “I haven’t got any more; indeed I haven’t. Go away, I tell you! Mr. Damer! oh, Mr. Damer!” and then, in the excess of her agony, she uttered one loud, long, and continuous shriek34.
Up came Mr. Damer; up came Abdallah; up came M. Delabordeau; up came Mr. Ingram, and at last she was rescued. “You shouldn’t go away and leave me to the mercy of these nasty people. As to that Abdallah, he is of no use to anybody.”
“Why you bodder de good lady, you dem blackguard?” said Abdallah, raising his stick, as though he were going to lay them all low with a blow. “Now you get noting, you tief!”
The Arabs for a moment retired35 to a little distance, like flies driven from a sugar-bowl; but it was easy to see that, like the flies, they would return at the first vacant moment.
And now they had reached the very foot of the Pyramids and proceeded to dismount from their donkeys. Their intention was first to ascend36 to the top, then to come down to their banquet, and after that to penetrate37 into the interior. And all this would seem to be easy of performance. The Pyramid is undoubtedly38 high, but it is so constructed as to admit of climbing without difficulty. A lady mounting it would undoubtedly need some assistance, but any man possessed39 of moderate activity would require no aid at all.
But our friends were at once imbued40 with the tremendous nature of the task before them. A sheikh of the Arabs came forth41, who communicated with them through Abdallah. The work could be done, no doubt, he said; but a great many men would be wanted to assist. Each lady must have four Arabs, and each gentlemen three; and then, seeing that the work would be peculiarly severe on this special day, each of these numerous Arabs must be remunerated by some very large number of piastres.
Mr. Damer, who was by no means a close man in his money dealings, opened his eyes with surprise, and mildly expostulated; M. Delabordeau, who was rather a close man in his reckonings, immediately buttoned up his breeches pocket and declared that he should decline to mount the Pyramid at all at that price; and then Mr. Ingram descended44 to the combat.
The protestations of the men were fearful. They declared, with loud voices, eager actions, and manifold English oaths, that an attempt was being made to rob them. They had a right to demand the sums which they were charging, and it was a shame that English gentlemen should come and take the bread out of their mouths. And so they screeched45, gesticulated, and swore, and frightened poor Mrs. Damer almost into fits.
But at last it was settled and away they started, the sheikh declaring that the bargain had been made at so low a rate as to leave him not one piastre for himself. Each man had an Arab on each side of him, and Miss Dawkins and Miss Damer had each, in addition, one behind. Mrs. Damer was so frightened as altogether to have lost all ambition to ascend. She sat below on a fragment of stone, with the three dragomans standing around her as guards; but even with the three dragomans the attacks on her were so frequent, and as she declared afterwards she was so bewildered, that she never had time to remember that she had come there from England to see the Pyramids, and that she was now immediately under them.
The boys, utterly46 ignoring their guides, scrambled47 up quicker than the Arabs could follow them. Mr. Damer started off at a pace which soon brought him to the end of his tether, and from that point was dragged up by the sheer strength of his assistants; thereby48 accomplishing the wishes of the men, who induce their victims to start as rapidly as possible, in order that they may soon find themselves helpless from want of wind. Mr. Ingram endeavoured to attach himself to Fanny, and she would have been nothing loth to have him at her right hand instead of the hideous49 brown, shrieking50, one-eyed Arab who took hold of her. But it was soon found that any such arrangement was impossible. Each guide felt that if he lost his own peculiar42 hold he would lose his prey, and held on, therefore, with invincible tenacity51. Miss Dawkins looked, too, as though she had thought to be attended to by some Christian52 cavalier, but no Christian cavalier was forthcoming. M. Delabordeau was the wisest, for he took the matter quietly, did as he was bid, and allowed the guides nearly to carry him to the top of the edifice53.
“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?”
Mr. Damer was now at her disposal; weak and worn with toil55 and travel, out of breath, and with half his manhood gone; if ever she might prevail over him so as to procure56 from his mouth an assent57 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 r?le 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 commingled58 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 wondrous59 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 apex60 was once made, or was once about to be made.
“A magnificent race! so gigantic in their conceptions! Their ideas altogether overwhelm us poor, insignificant61, 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 grunted62. This Miss Dawkins took as a signal of weakness, and went on with her task perseveringly63.
“For myself, I have resolved to go up, at any rate, as far as Asouan and the first cataract65. I had thought of acceding66 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 prospect67 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 audacity68 effect? To use the slang of modern language, cheek carries everything nowadays. And whatever may have been Miss Dawkins’s deficiencies, in this virtue69 she was not deficient70.
“I have made up my mind to accept your very kind offer,” she said, shining on Mr. Damer with her blandest71 smile.
What was a stout72, breathless, perspiring73, middle-aged74 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 impudence75 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 scant76 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 countenance77.
But he did not know Miss Dawkins. “Oh, Mr. Damer,” she said, and as she spoke78 her smile became almost blander79 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 overture80 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 fragrance81 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.
“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 persuasions84 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 heads.
Any ordinary civilised men would have been stunned85 by such blows, for they fell on the bare foreheads of the Arabs; but the objects of the American’s wrath86 merely skulked87 away; and the others, convinced by the only arguments which they understood, followed in pursuit of victims who might be less pugnacious88.
It is hard for a man to be at once tender and pugnacious—to be sentimental89, while he is putting forth his physical strength with all the violence in his power. It is difficult, also, for him to be gentle instantly after having been in a rage. So he changed his tactics at the moment, and came to the point at once in a manner befitting his present state of mind.
“Those vile90 wretches91 have put me in such a heat,” he said, “that I hardly know what I am saying. But the fact is this, Miss Damer, I cannot leave Cairo without knowing—. You understand what I mean, Miss Damer.”
“Indeed I do not, Mr. Ingram; except that I am afraid you mean nonsense.”
“Yes, you do; you know that I love you. I am sure you must know it. At any rate you know it now.”
“Mr. Ingram, you should not talk in such a way.”
“Why should I not? But the truth is, Fanny, I can talk in no other way. I do love you dearly. Can you love me well enough to go and be my wife in a country far away from your own?”
Before she left the top of the Pyramid Fanny Damer had said that she would try.
Mr. Ingram was now a proud and happy man, and seemed to think the steps of the Pyramid too small for his elastic92 energy. But Fanny feared that her troubles were to come. There was papa—that terrible bugbear on all such occasions. What would papa say? She was sure her papa would not allow her to marry and go so far away from her own family and country. For herself, she liked the Americans—always had liked them; so she said;—would desire nothing better than to live among them. But papa! And Fanny sighed as she felt that all the recognised miseries93 of a young lady in love were about to fall upon her.
Nevertheless, at her lover’s instance, she promised, and declared, in twenty different loving phrases, that nothing on earth should ever make her false to her love or to her lover.
“Fanny, where are you? Why are you not ready to come down?” shouted Mr. Damer, not in the best of tempers. He felt that he had almost been unkind to an unprotected female, and his heart misgave94 him. And yet it would have misgiven95 him more had he allowed himself to be entrapped96 by Miss Dawkins.
“I am quite ready, papa,” said Fanny, running up to him—for it may be understood that there is quite room enough for a young lady to run on the top of the Pyramid.
“I am sure I don’t know where you have been all the time,” said Mr. Damer; “and where are those two boys?”
Fanny pointed97 to the top of the other Pyramid, and there they were, conspicuous98 with their red caps.
“And M. Delabordeau?”
“Oh! he has gone down, I think;—no, he is there with Miss Dawkins.” And in truth Miss Dawkins was leaning on his arm most affectionately, as she stooped over and looked down upon the ruins below her.
“And where is that fellow, Ingram?” said Mr. Damer, looking about him. “He is always out of the way when he’s wanted.”
To this Fanny said nothing. Why should she? She was not Mr. Ingram’s keeper.
And then they all descended, each again with his proper number of Arabs to hurry and embarrass him; and they found Mr. Damer at the bottom, like a piece of sugar covered with flies. She was heard to declare afterwards that she would not go to the Pyramids again, not if they were to be given to her for herself, as ornaments99 for her garden.
The picnic lunch among the big stones at the foot of the Pyramid was not a very gay affair. Miss Dawkins talked more than any one else, being determined100 to show that she bore her defeat gallantly102. Her conversation, however, was chiefly addressed to M. Delabordeau, and he seemed to think more of his cold chicken and ham than he did of her wit and attention.
Fanny hardly spoke a word. There was her father before her and she could not eat, much less talk, as she thought of all that she would have to go through. What would he say to the idea of having an American for a son-in-law?
Nor was Mr. Ingram very lively. A young man when he has been just accepted, never is so. His happiness under the present circumstances was, no doubt, intense, but it was of a silent nature.
And then the interior of the building had to be visited. To tell the truth none of the party would have cared to perform this feat101 had it not been for the honour of the thing. To have come from Paris, New York, or London, to the Pyramids, and then not to have visited the very tomb of Cheops, would have shown on the part of all of them an indifference103 to subjects of interest which would have been altogether fatal to their character as travellers. And so a party for the interior was made up.
Miss Damer when she saw the aperture104 through which it was expected that she should descend43, at once declared for staying with her mother. Miss Dawkins, however, was enthusiastic for the journey. “Persons with so very little command over their nerves might really as well stay at home,” she said to Mr. Ingram, who glowered105 at her dreadfully for expressing such an opinion about his Fanny.
This entrance into the Pyramids is a terrible task, which should be undertaken by no lady. Those who perform it have to creep down, and then to be dragged up, through infinite dirt, foul106 smells, and bad air; and when they have done it, they see nothing. But they do earn the gratification of saying that they have been inside a Pyramid.
“Well, I’ve done that once,” said Mr. Damer, coming out, “and I do not think that any one will catch me doing it again. I never was in such a filthy place in my life.”
“Oh, Fanny! I am so glad you did not go; I am sure it is not fit for ladies,” said poor Mrs. Damer, forgetful of her friend Miss Dawkins.
“I should have been ashamed of myself,” said Miss Dawkins, bristling107 up, and throwing back her head as she stood, “if I had allowed any consideration to have prevented my visiting such a spot. If it be not improper108 for men to go there, how can it be improper for women?”
“I did not say improper, my dear,” said Mrs. Damer, apologetically.
“And as for the fatigue109, what can a woman be worth who is afraid to encounter as much as I have now gone through for the sake of visiting the last resting-place of such a king as Cheops?” And Miss Dawkins, as she pronounced the last words, looked round her with disdain110 upon poor Fanny Damer.
“But I meant the dirt,” said Mrs. Damer.
“Dirt!” ejaculated Miss Dawkins, and then walked away. Why should she now submit her high tone of feeling to the Damers, or why care longer for their good opinion? Therefore she scattered111 contempt around her as she ejaculated the last word, “dirt.”
And then the return home! “I know I shall never get there,” said Mrs. Damer, looking piteously up into her husband’s face.
“Nonsense, my dear; nonsense; you must get there.” Mrs. Damer groaned112, and acknowledged in her heart that she must,—either dead or alive.
“And, Jefferson,” said Fanny, whispering—for there had been a moment since their descent in which she had been instructed to call him by his Christian name—“never mind talking to me going home. I will ride by mamma. Do you go with papa and put him in good humour; and it he says anything about the lords and the bishops113, don’t you contradict him, you know.”
What will not a man do for love? Mr. Ingram promised.
And in this way they started; the two boys led the van; then came Mr. Damer and Mr. Ingram, unusually and unpatriotically acquiescent114 as to England’s aristocratic propensities115; then Miss Dawkins riding, alas116! alone; after her, M. Delabordeau, also alone,—the ungallant Frenchman! And the rear was brought up by Mrs. Damer and her daughter, flanked on each side by a dragoman, with a third dragoman behind them.
And in this order they went back to Cairo, riding their donkeys, and crossing the ferry solemnly, and, for the most part, silently. Mr. Ingram did talk, as he had an important object in view,—that of putting Mr. Damer into a good humour.
In this he succeeded so well that by the time they had remounted, after crossing the Nile, Mr. Damer opened his heart to his companion on the subject that was troubling him, and told him all about Miss Dawkins.
“I don’t see why we should have a companion that we don’t like for eight or ten weeks, merely because it seems rude to refuse a lady.”
“Indeed, I agree with you,” said Mr. Ingram; “I should call it weak-minded to give way in such a case.”
“My daughter does not like her at all,” continued Mr. Damer.
“Nor would she be a nice companion for Miss Damer; not according to my way of thinking,” said Mr. Ingram.
“And as to my having asked her, or Mrs. Damer having asked her! Why, God bless my soul, it is pure invention on the woman’s part!”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Ingram; “I must say she plays her game well; but then she is an old soldier, and has the benefit of experience.” What would Miss Dawkins have said had she known that Mr. Ingram called her an old soldier?
“I don’t like the kind of thing at all,” said Mr. Damer, who was very serious upon the subject. “You see the position in which I am placed. I am forced to be very rude, or—”
“I don’t call it rude at all.”
“Disobliging, then; or else I must have all my comfort invaded and pleasure destroyed by, by, by—” And Mr. Damer paused, being at a loss for an appropriate name for Miss Dawkins.
“By an unprotected female,” suggested Mr. Ingram.
“Yes, just so. I am as fond of pleasant company as anybody; but then I like to choose it myself.”
“So do I,” said Mr. Ingram, thinking of his own choice.
“Now, Ingram, if you would join us, we should be delighted.”
“Upon my word, sir, the offer is too flattering,” said Ingram, hesitatingly; for he felt that he could not undertake such a journey until Mr. Damer knew on what terms he stood with Fanny.
“You are a terrible democrat,” said Mr. Damer, laughing; “but then, on that matter, you know, we could agree to differ.”
“Exactly so,” said Mr. Ingram, who had not collected his thoughts or made up his mind as to what he had better say and do, on the spur of the moment.
“Well, what do you say to it?” said Mr. Damer, encouragingly. But Ingram paused before he answered.
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow, don’t have the slightest hesitation117 in refusing, if you don’t like the plan.”
“The fact is, Mr. Damer, I should like it too well.”
“Like it too well?”
“Yes, sir, and I may as well tell you now as later. I had intended this evening to have asked for your permission to address your daughter.”
“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Damer, looking as though a totally new idea had now been opened to him.
“And under these circumstances, I will now wait and see whether or no you will renew your offer.”
“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Damer, again. It often does strike an old gentleman as very odd that any man should fall in love with his daughter, whom he has not ceased to look upon as a child. The case is generally quite different with mothers. They seem to think that every young man must fall in love with their girls.
“And have you said anything to Fanny about this?” asked Mr. Damer.
“Yes, sir, I have her permission to speak to you.”
“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Damer; and by this time they had arrived at Shepheard’s Hotel.
“Oh, mamma,” said Fanny, as soon as she found herself alone with her mother that evening, “I have something that I must tell you.”
“Oh, Fanny, don’t tell me anything to-night, for I am a great deal too tired to listen.”
“But oh, mamma, pray;—you must listen to this; indeed you must.” And Fanny knelt down at her mother’s knee, and looked beseechingly118 up into her face.
“What is it, Fanny? You know that all my bones are sore, and I am so tired that I am almost dead.”
“Mamma, Mr. Ingram has—”
“Has what, my dear? has he done anything wrong?”
“No, mamma: but he has;—he has proposed to me.” And Fanny, bursting into tears, hid her face in her mother’s lap.
And thus the story was told on both sides of the house. On the next day, as a matter of course, all the difficulties and dangers of such a marriage as that which was now projected were insisted on by both father and mother. It was improper; it would cause a severing64 of the family not to be thought of; it would be an alliance of a dangerous nature, and not at all calculated to insure happiness; and, in short, it was impossible. On that day, therefore, they all went to bed very unhappy. But on the next day, as was also a matter of course, seeing that there were no pecuniary119 difficulties, the mother and father were talked over, and Mr. Ingram was accepted as a son-in-law. It need hardly be said that the offer of a place in Mr. Damer’s boat was again made, and that on this occasion it was accepted without hesitation.
There was an American Protestant clergyman resident in Cairo, with whom, among other persons, Miss Dawkins had become acquainted. Upon this gentleman or upon his wife Miss Dawkins called a few days after the journey to the Pyramid, and finding him in his study, thus performed her duty to her neighbour,—
“You know your countryman Mr. Ingram, I think?” said she.
“Oh, yes; very intimately.”
“If you have any regard for him, Mr. Burton,” such was the gentleman’s name, “I think you should put him on his guard.”
“On his guard against what?” said Mr. Burton with a serious air, for there was something serious in the threat of impending120 misfortune as conveyed by Miss Dawkins.
“Why,” said she, “those Damers, I fear, are dangerous people.”
“Do you mean that they will borrow money of him?”
“Oh, no; not that, exactly; but they are clearly setting their cap at him.”
“Setting their cap at him?”
“Yes; there is a daughter, you know; a little chit of a thing; and I fear Mr. Ingram may be caught before he knows where he is. It would be such a pity, you know. He is going up the river with them, I hear. That, in his place, is very foolish. They asked me, but I positively121 refused.”
Mr. Burton remarked that “In such a matter as that Mr. Ingram would be perfectly122 able to take care of himself.”
“Well, perhaps so; but seeing what was going on, I thought it my duty to tell you.” And so Miss Dawkins took her leave.
Mr. Ingram did go up the Nile with the Damers, as did an old friend of the Damers who arrived from England. And a very pleasant trip they had of it. And, as far as the present historian knows, the two lovers were shortly afterwards married in England.
Poor Miss Dawkins was left in Cairo for some time on her beam ends. But she was one of those who are not easily vanquished123. After an interval124 of ten days she made acquaintance with an Irish family—having utterly failed in moving the hard heart of M. Delabordeau—and with these she proceeded to Constantinople. They consisted of two brothers and a sister, and were, therefore, very convenient for matrimonial purposes. But nevertheless, when I last heard of Miss Dawkins, she was still an unprotected female.
The End
The End
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1
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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commiserated
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| v.怜悯，同情( commiserate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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imbue
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| v.灌输(某种强烈的情感或意见)，感染 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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enfranchisement
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| 选举权 | |
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thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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dinned
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| vt.喧闹（din的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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suppliants
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| n.恳求者，哀求者( suppliant的名词复数 ) | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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37
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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40
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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42
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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43
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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44
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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45
screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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46
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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47
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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48
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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49
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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50
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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51
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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52
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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53
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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54
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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55
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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56
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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57
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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58
commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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60
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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61
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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62
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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63
perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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64
severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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65
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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66
acceding
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的现在分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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67
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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68
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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69
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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70
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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71
blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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73
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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74
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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75
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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76
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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78
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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blander
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的比较级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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81
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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82
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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83
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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85
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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87
skulked
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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92
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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94
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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misgiven
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去分词 ) | |
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entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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99
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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102
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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104
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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105
glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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107
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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108
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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111
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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112
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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113
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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114
acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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115
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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116
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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117
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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118
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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119
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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120
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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121
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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122
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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123
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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124
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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