Page:H. D. Traill - From Cairo to the Soudan Frontier.djvu/255

no signs of arriving the dinner-hour does. He was due at six, we had been told. Why tarry the wheels—or the screw—of his steam dahabiyeh? What if he should have changed his plans and determined not to arrive tonight at all? He is Oriental, in itself an element of uncertainty; he is believed to be something froward and self-willed, and he has probably no English adviser on board to remonstrate with him. Above all, he is young, and has perhaps not yet learnt that punctuality is the cardinal virtue of princes. It is with no little relief that we at last see the lights of His Highness's approaching dahabiyeh. Steaming past us amid the weird, barbaric chant of a body of Egyptian schoolchildren greeting him from a brilliantly illuminated vessel moored amid-stream, it makes for the decorated landing-place. Guns salute, a band strikes up the somewhat Salvation-Army-like strains of the Khedivial Hymn; the boat is brought alongside. His Highness has arrived. We pull out our