"And what did she say to that?" asked Ann.
"What did she say? What didn't she say, that's the question. It was just as though all the furniture in the room got up and went for them Smiths. Well, having heard enough, and more than I wanted, I stepped off with the tray and next minute out they all come and grab the bedroom candlesticks. That's all and there's her Ladyship's bell. Alfred, don't stand gaping there but go and light the hot–plates."
So they melted away and I descended from the landing, indignant but laughing. No wonder that Lady Ragnall lost her temper!
Ten minutes later she arrived in the dining–room, waving a lighted ribbon that disseminated perfume.
"What on earth are you doing?" I asked.
"Fumigating the house," she said. "It is unnecessary as I don't think they were infectious, but the ceremony has a moral significance—like incense. Anyway it relieves my feelings."
Then she laughed and threw the remains of the ribbon into the fire, adding,
"If you say a word about those people I'll leave the room."
I think we had one of the jolliest breakfasts I ever remember. To begin with we were both hungry since our miseries of the night before had prevented us from eating any dinner. Indeed she swore that she had scarcely tasted food since Saturday. Then we had such a lot to talk about. With short intervals we talked all that day, either in the house or while walking through the gardens and grounds. Passing through the latter I came to the spot on the back drive where once I had saved her from being abducted by Harût and Marût, and as I recognized it, uttered an exclamation. She asked me why and the end of it was that I told her all that story which to this moment she had never heard, for Ragnall had thought well to keep it from her.
She listened intently, then said,
"So I owe you more than I knew. Yet, I'm not sure, for you see I was abducted after all. Also if I had been taken there, probably George would never have married me or seen me again, and that might have been better for him."
"Why?" I asked. "You were all the world to him."
"Is any woman ever all the world to a man, Mr. Quatermain?"
I hesitated, expecting some attack.
"Don't answer," she went on, "it would be too long and you wouldn't convince me who have been in the East. However, he was all the world to me. Therefore his welfare was what I wished and wish, and I think he would have had more of it if he had never married me."
"Why?" I asked again.
"Because I brought him no good luck, did I? I needn't go through all the story as you know it. And in the end it was through me that he was killed in Egypt."
"Or through the goddess Isis," I broke in rather nervously.
"Yes, the goddess Isis, a part I have played in my time, or something like it. And he was killed in the temple of the goddess Isis. And those papyri of which you read the translations in the museum, which were given to me in Kendah Land, seem to have come from that same temple. And—how about the Ivory Child? Isis in the temple evidently held a child in her arms, but when we found her it had gone. Supposing this child was the same as that of which I was guardian! It might have been, since the papyri came from that temple. What do you think?"
"I don't think anything," I answered, "except that it is all very odd. I don't even understand what Isis and the child Horus represent. They were not mere images either in Egypt or Kendah Land. There must be an idea behind them somewhere."
"Oh! there was. Isis was the universal Mother, Nature herself with all the powers, seen and unseen, that are hidden in Nature; Love personified also, although not actually the queen of Love like Hathor, her sister goddess. The Horus child, whom the old Egyptians called Heru–Hennu, signified eternal regeneration, eternal youth, eternal strength and beauty. Also he was the Avenger who overthrew Set, the Prince of Darkness, and thus in a way opened the Door of Life to men."
"It seems to me that all religions have much in common," I said.
"Yes, a great deal. It was easy for the old Egyptians to become Christian, since for many of them it only meant worshipping Isis and Horus under new and holier names. But come in, it grows cold."
We had tea in Lady Ragnall's boudoir and after it had been taken away our conversation died. She sat there on the other side of the fire with a cigarette between her lips, looking at me through the perfumed smoke till I began to grow uncomfortable and to feel that a crisis of some sort was at hand. This proved perfectly correct, for it was. Presently she said,
"We took a long journey once together, Mr. Quatermain, did we not?"
"Undoubtedly," I answered, and began to talk of it until she cut me short with a wave of her hand, and went on,
"Well, we are going to take a longer one together after dinner to–night."
"What! Where! How!" I exclaimed much alarmed.
"I don't know where, but as for how—look in that box," and she pointed to a little carved Eastern chest made of rose or sandal wood, that stood upon a table between us.
With a groan I rose and opened it. Inside was another box made of silver. This I opened also and perceived that within lay bundles of dried leaves that looked like tobacco, from which floated an enervating and well–remembered scent that clouded my brain for a moment. Then I shut down the lids and returned to my seat.
"Taduki," I murmured.
"Yes, Taduki, and I believe in perfect order with all its virtue intact."
"Virtue!" I exclaimed. "I don't think there is any virtue about that hateful and magical herb which I believe grew in the devil's garden. Moreover, Lady Ragnall, although there are few things in the world that I would refuse you, I tell you at once that nothing will induce me to have anything more to do with it."
She laughed softly and asked why not.
"Because I find life so full of perplexities and memories that I have no wish to make acquaintance with any more, such as I am sure lie hid by the thousand in that box."
"If so, don't you think that they might clear up some of those which surround you to–day?"
"No, for in such things there is no finality, since whatever one saw would also require explanation."
"Don't let us argue," she replied. "It is tiring and I daresay we shall need all our strength to–night."
I looked at her speechless. Why could she not take No for an answer? As usual she read my thought and replied to it.
"Why did not Adam refuse the apple that Eve offered him?" she inquired musingly. "Or rather why did he eat it after many refusals and learn the secret of good and evil, to the great gain of the world which thenceforward became acquainted with the dignity of labour?"
"Because the woman tempted him," I snapped.
"Quite so. It has always been her business in life and always will be. Well, I am tempting you now, and not in vain."
"Do you remember who was tempting the woman?"
"Certainly. Also that he was a good school–master since he caused the thirst for knowledge to overcome fear and thus laid the foundation–stone of all human progress. That allegory may be read two ways, as one of a rise from ignorance instead of a fall from innocence."
"You are too clever for me with your perverted notions. Also, you said we were not to argue. I have therefore only to repeat that I will not eat your apple, or rather, breathe your Taduki."
"Adam over again," she replied, shaking her head. "The same old beginning and the same old end, because you see at last you will do exactly what Adam did."
Here she rose and standing over me, looked me straight in the eyes with the curious result that all my will power seemed to evaporate. Then she sat down again, laughing softly, and remarked as though to herself,
"Who would have thought that Allan Quatermain was a moral coward!"