We were silent on the terrace, and I wondered how many of those people were praying to Allah not to let the waters rise and flood the land. I believed then that although they prayed to Allah and his prophet Mohammed, many of them believed that the wrath of the gods must be placated and that when the symbol of a virgin was thrown into those seething waters the angry god who made the waters rise would be gratified and bid the river be calm and not wreak its vengeance on the poor people of the land.

We watched the procession wend its way to the river's edge. Banners were held aloft; there were inscriptions on them, whether from the Koran I did not know. Perhaps not, I thought, as this was a ceremony which had been handed down from the years before the birth of Mohammed.

In the midst of the procession was a carriage and in this sat the life-size doll which was to represent the virgin. At the river's edge, the doll would be taken from its place and thrown into the river.

I stared at the doll. It was exactly like a young girl—a yasmak hiding the lower part of the face. About the doll's wrists were silver bracelets and she was dressed in a magnificent white robe.

As the procession passed close to us for a few seconds I saw the doll clearly. I could not believe that it was not a real girl; and there was something familiar about her too.

She was lying back in her carriage seat, her eyes closed.

The procession passed on.

"What a life-like doll," said Hadrian.

"Why did they make the doll with eyes shut?" asked Evan.

"I suppose," I put in, "because she knows of her coming ordeal. It's possible that if one was going to be thrown into the river one wouldn't want to see the crowd ... all come to witness the spectacle."

"But it's a doll," protested Hadrian.

"It has to be as realistic as possible, I suppose," I said. "It reminds me of someone. I know. Little Yasmin, the girl who made my slippers."

"Of course," said Theodosia. "That's who I was trying to think of!"

"An acquaintance of yours?" asked Hadrian.

"A girl we buy things from in the souk. She's a sweet creature and speaks a little English."

"Of course," said Hadrian, "lots of people here look alike to us. As we must to them."

"You and Tybalt, for instance, don't look a bit alike and Evan is quite different from either of you and so is Terence and other people too."

"Don't be argumentative at the crucial moment. Look."

We watched. The doll was lifted high and thrown into the seething waters of the Nile.

We watched its being tossed about and finally sinking.

There was a long-drawn-out sigh. The angry god had accepted the virgin. Now we could expect the river to keep within its banks. There would be no flooding of the land. Strangely enough, there was not.

Gifts arrived at the palace—a tribute from the Pasha and an indication of his good will. For me there was an ornament—I supposed it could be made into a brooch. It was in the shape of a lotus flower in pearls and lapis lazuli and very beautiful to look at. Both Theodosia and Tabitha had received similar ornaments but mine was the most elaborate.

Tybalt laughed when he saw them. "You are obviously the favored one," he said. "That's the sacred flower of Egypt and symbolizes the awakening of the soul."

"I must write a fulsome letter of appreciation," I replied.

Theodosia showed me hers, it was feldspar and chalcedony. "I wish he hadn't sent it," she said. "I fancy there is something evil about it."

Poor Theodosia, she was having a miserable time. She felt ill every morning, but it was the ever-growing homesickness that was most alarming. Evan must have been most unhappy. He did tell me that when this expedition was over he thought he would try to remain at home. He thought the quiet university life would suit Theodosia. It seemed that she was indeed getting into a state of melancholy when an unusual gift appeared evil to her.

As we took our walk to the souk she explained to me that Mustapha had been horrified when he saw the ornament.

"Mustapha!" I said. "Oh dear, they are not going to start that 'Go home, lady' talk again I hope."

"He was afraid to touch it. He said it means something about your soul waking up as it can only do when you're dead."

"What nonsense! The fact is that those two want to go back to Giza House. So they're trying to frighten us into persuading Tybalt to go home. Really they must be halfwitted to imagine we can do that."

"Tybalt would rather see us all dead as long as he could go on looking for his tomb."

"That's an unfair, absurd, and ridiculous thing to say."

"Is it? He drives everyone hard. He hates all the festivals and holidays. He just wants to go on and on ... he's like a man who's sold his soul to the devil."

"What nonsense are you talking!"

"Everybody is saying that there is nothing here. It's wasting money to stay. But Tybalt won't accept that. He's got to go on. Sir Edward died, didn't he? And before he died he knew that he had failed to find what he was looking for. Tybalt has failed too. But he won't admit it."

"I don't know where you get your information."

"If you weren't so besotted about him you would see it too."

"Listen! They're following a clue inside the tomb. There's a possibility that they are going to make the greatest discovery of all time."

"Oh, I want to go home." She turned her pale face towards me and so touched with pity for her was I, that I ceased to be angry because of her attack on Tybalt.

"It won't be long now," I said soothingly. "Then you and Evan can go back to the university. You will have a dear little baby and live in peace forever after. Try not to complain too much, Theodosia. It worries Evan. And you know you could go back to Keverall Court. Your mother would be pleased to have you."

She shivered. "It's the last thing I want. Imagine what it would be like! She would order everything. No, I escaped from Mamma when I married. I don't want to go back to that."

"Well, bear up. Stop brooding and seeing evil in everything. Enjoy the strangeness here; you must admit it's very exciting."

"I hated that river ceremony. I couldn't get it out of my mind that it was Yasmin they were throwing into the river."

"How could it have been? It was a doll."

"A life-size doll!"

"Of course. Why not? They wanted it to look as human as possible. We'll go and see her now and you can tell her how the doll reminded you of her."

We had reached the narrow streets, and wended our way through the crowds and there was the shop with the leather goods laid out on show. A man was seated in the chair usually occupied by Yasmin. We paused and he rose from his chair, seeing us as prospective customers.

I guessed that he was Yasmin's father.

"Allah be with you," he said.

"And with you," I replied. "We were looking for Yasmin."

I can only describe the look which passed across his face as terror.

"Please?" he said.

"Yasmin. She is your daughter?"

"No understand."

"We used to talk to her almost every day. We have not seen her lately."

He shook his head. He was trying to look puzzled but I felt sure that he understood every word we said.

"Where is she? Why is she not here any more?"

But he would only shake his head.

I took Theodosia's arm and we walked away. I was unaware of crowds, the chattering voices, the tray of unleavened bread, the sizzling meat, the colorful lemonade seller. I could only think of the doll which had been flung into the seething waters of the Nile and which had reminded us of Yasmin. And she had now disappeared.

When we returned to the palace it was to find that letters had come for us. This was always a great occasion. I took mine to the bedchamber so that I could be quite alone to read them.

First from Dorcas and Alison. How I loved their letters! They usually took weeks to write them and there was a little added each day so that it read like a diary. I could imagine the "letter to Judith" lying on the desk in the sitting room and whenever anything worth recording happened either Dorcas or Alison would take up her pen.

Such weather. There's going to be a good harvest this year. We're all hoping the rain keeps off. Jack Polgrey is hiring men from as far afield as Devon for he anticipates a bumper crop.

The apples are going well and so are the pears. It's to be hoped the wasps don't get at the plums. You know full well what they are!

Sabina looks very well. She's in and out a good deal and Dorcas is helping her make the layette—though it's months off yet. My word, I never saw such a cobble. And her knitting. Dorcas unravels what she does every day and then sets it right and I say why not let Dorcas do the whole thing except that Sabina likes to feel she's preparing for the baby.

Dorcas wrote:

It seems so long since we saw you. Do you know this is the first time in our lives that we've been separated like this. We're wondering when you're coming home. We do miss you.

Old Mr. Pegger died last week. A happy release for Mrs. Pegger, I think. He has been a hard husband and father although we mustn't speak ill of the dead. They had a fine funeral and Matthew's the new sexton. He dug his own father's grave and some think that's not right. They should have got someone else to do it.

Oliver is thinking of getting a curate. There's so much work, and of course in Father's day he had Oliver. He never seems to stop and it's a pleasure to see him holding the parish together.