She and Allan | Page 2

here. Still, many of these
remarkable events did more or less fade from my mind, as the image
does from an unfixed photograph, till only their outlines remained, faint
if distinguishable.
To tell the truth, I was rather ashamed of the whole story in which I cut
so poor a figure. On reflection it was obvious to me, although honesty
had compelled me to set out all that is essential exactly as it occurred,
adding nothing and taking nothing away, that I had been the victim of
very gross deceit. This strange woman, whom I had met in the ruins of
a place called Kôr, without any doubt had thrown a glamour over my
senses and at the moment almost caused me to believe much that is
quite unbelievable.
For instance, she had told me ridiculous stories as to interviews
between herself and certain heathen goddesses, though it is true that,
almost with her next breath, these she qualified or contradicted. Also,
she had suggested that her life had been prolonged far beyond our
mortal span, for hundreds and hundreds of years, indeed; which, as
Euclid says, is absurd, and had pretended to supernatural powers, which
is still more absurd. Moreover, by a clever use of some hypnotic or
mesmeric power, she had feigned to transport me to some place beyond
the earth and in the Halls of Hades to show me what is veiled from the
eyes of man, and not only me, but the savage warrior Umhlopekazi,
commonly called Umslopogaas of the Axe, who, with Hans, a
Hottentot, was my companion upon that adventure. There were like
things equally incredible, such as her appearance, when all seemed lost,
in the battle with the troll-like Rezu. To omit these, the sum of it was
that I had been shamefully duped, and if anyone finds himself in that
position, as most people have at one time or another in their lives,
Wisdom suggests that he had better keep the circumstances to himself.
Well, so the matter stood, or rather lay in the recesses of my mind-- and
in the cupboard where I hide my papers--when one evening someone,
as a matter of fact it was Captain Good, an individual of romantic
tendencies who is fond, sometimes I think too fond, of fiction, brought

a book to this house which he insisted over and over again really I must
peruse.
Ascertaining that it was a novel I declined, for to tell the truth I am not
fond of romance in any shape, being a person who has found the hard
facts of life of sufficient interest as they stand.
Reading I admit I like, but in this matter, as in everything else, my
range is limited. I study the Bible, especially the Old Testament, both
because of its sacred lessons and of the majesty of the language of its
inspired translators; whereof that of Ayesha, which I render so poorly
from her flowing and melodious Arabic, reminded me. For poetry I
turn to Shakespeare, and, at the other end of the scale, to the Ingoldsby
Legends, many of which I know almost by heart, while for current
affairs I content myself with the newspapers.
For the rest I peruse anything to do with ancient Egypt that I happen to
come across, because this land and its history have a queer fascination
for me, that perhaps has its roots in occurrences or dreams of which this
is not the place to speak. Lastly now and again I read one of the Latin
or Greek authors in a translation, since I regret to say that my lack of
education does not enable me to do so in the original. But for modern
fiction I have no taste, although from time to time I sample it in a
railway train and occasionally am amused by such excursions into the
poetic and unreal.
So it came about that the more Good bothered me to read this particular
romance, the more I determined that I would do nothing of the sort.
Being a persistent person, however, when he went away about ten
o'clock at night, he deposited it by my side, under my nose indeed, so
that it might not be overlooked. Thus it came about that I could not
help seeing some Egyptian hieroglyphics in an oval on the cover, also
the title, and underneath it your own name, my friend, all of which
excited my curiosity, especially the title, which was brief and enigmatic,
consisting indeed of one word, "/She/."
I took up the work and on opening it the first thing my eye fell upon
was a picture of a veiled woman, the sight of which made my heart

stand still, so painfully did it remind me of a certain veiled woman
whom once it