Kāra beckoned her to approach. Then, pointing a finger at Nephthys, he said:
“Remove those jewels and ornaments.”
As the old woman eagerly attempted to obey, Nephthys stood up and asked in a low, horrified voice:
“What are you going to do?”
Kāra did not reply. He watched Tilga’s nervous fingers rapidly removing the diadem, earrings, brooches and bracelets, which she cast in a heap upon a table. Nephthys submitted quietly until the hag seized her string of pearls; then she shrank away and clutched at her throat to save her treasure, loving the pearls better than all else.
Kāra grasped her wrists firmly and drew her hands down to her side, while Tilga unwound the triple row of priceless pearls from the girl’s neck aiid added it to the heap upon the table. He continued to hold her fast until the housekeeper had stripped from her fingers the rings of diamond, ruby and emerald. Then he let her go, and Nephthys moaned and covered her face with her hands.
“Take off her robes,” commanded Kāra, sternly.
Tilga rushed to do his bidding, and, when Nephthys resisted, the hag struck her across the face with her open hand. She literally tore away the exquisite gown, as well as the silken hose and satin slippers, until the girl stood shorn of all her finery except the fleecy underclothing.
“Leave her that,” said Kāra. “And now, where is her black cotton dress?”
Tilga hurriedly fetched it from a closet in the robing chamber. She brought the head-shawl and the coarse shoes also.
Nephthys was sobbing now as miserably as a child that has been robbed of its toys.
“I won’t wear them! I won’t have them! Take them away!” she wailed, as the old Fedah garments were produced.
But the woman shook her angrily and slapped her again, covering her with the crude, soiled gown, and then pushing her back upon the divan while she placed the flat shoes upon the girl’s bare feet. Tears were still standing in Nephthys’ great eyes, but she submitted to the inevitable with a resumption of her old obedient manner.
“Call Ebbek,” said the master; and Tilga displayed such activity that she quickly returned, dragging the Arab after her.
“You will take this woman back to Fedah, whence you brought her, and deliver her over to her mother again. There is a train at sundown, and you will be able to catch it if you are prompt. Drive to the station in a carriage.”
Ebbek bowed without betraying surprise at his master’s unexpected command. Perhaps he had been observant, and knew the reason for the girl’s dismissal.
“Must old Sĕra return your money?” he asked.
“No; tell her she may keep it. Here is gold for your expenses. Feed Nephthys at the railway station, if you have time, and buy her some cigarettes. Now hasten.”
Ebbek took the girl’s arm to lead her away. As she passed Kāra she halted to say, with despairing intensity:
“I hate you! Some day I will kill you.”
Kāra laughed. He was in a pleased mood.
“Good-by, Nephthys,” he rejoined, complacently. “Tell Sĕra I present you to her with my compliments.”
Then he left the room and found Tadros standing stiffly outside the door.
“Follow me,” he said, and the dragoman obeyed.
He led the way to his own room and sat down facing the dragoman.
Tadros remained standing. He held in his hand the stump of a half-burned cigarette, which he eyed critically and with an air of absorbing interest.
Kāra, being amused, remained silent.
After a time the dragoman coughed to dear his throat.
“You see, Kāra,” he began, “I bought the girl first, and paid good money for her when I was desperately poor — a fact that deserves some consideration; yet you forced me to sell her.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, for an insignificant roll of papyrus. I don’t complain, having accepted the bargain; but you mustn’t blame me for all that has happened. By the beard of Osiris! is a man’s heart to be bought and sold like a woman’s body? It is absurd.”
He paused, shifting from one foot to the other. Then he lifted his eyes, and was pained to find Kāra staring at him fixedly.
“There should be no quarrel between us,” he continued, striving to speak confidently. “I have been your jackal, and did your dirty work for a fair amount of pay. What then? To ruin me will cause your own downfall. You dare not do it. But I am honest with you, and a good servant. You need not fear me in the future, for I will promise you on my word to avoid your harem — the word of Tadros the dragoman!” As he spoke, a shrill scream reached their ears. Tadros bounded to the window, and through the lattice saw Ebbek pushing the unhappy Nephthys into a carriage. He turned a frowning face toward his master.
“What are you doing to the girl?” he demanded, fiercely.
“Sending her back to Sĕra.”
The dragoman uttered a curse and made for the door.
“Come here!” cried Kāra, sternly.
Tadros stopped, hesitated, and then returned. He realized that he could do nothing.
“Very well,” said he, sullenly. “She will be safer in Fedah than in Cairo. But you have been cruel, Kāra. A man who is really a man would not treat a beast as you have treated Nephthys. To teach her the splendid luxury of a palace and then thrust her back into a mud hut on the forsaken Nile bank is a positive crime! I suppose you have also taken away her fine clothes and her pretty ornaments?”
“Yes.”
“Poor child! But there — one does not argue with a snake for fear of its venom. I am likewise in your power,” said the dragoman, gloomily.
Kāra actually laughed at his rueful expression.
“You were born a fool, my Tadros,” said he, “and a fool you will die. Look you! there is no excuse in all your chatter to me of your own treachery — the crime that our customs declare merits death. You simply accuse me of harshness in sending away a faithless woman. Tell me, then, some plausible reason why I should not kill you.”
Tadros grew pale.
“There are two reasons,” he replied, seriously. “One is that murdering me would cause you to get into trouble with the police. The other is that you have need of me.”
“Very good. The first argument does not count, because you could be killed secretly, with no personal danger to me; and that, without doubt, is the manner in which I shall kill you some day. But your present safety, my Tadros, lies in your second reason. I still need your services, and will permit you to remain alive until I am quite sure to have no further use for you.”
The dragoman drew a long breath.
“Let us forget it, Kāra,” said he. “I admit that I have been somewhat indiscreet; but what then? All men are indiscreet at times, and you will cease to blame me when you discover how faithful I am to your interests.”
Kāra did not reply. The carriage had long since driven away. The dragoman again shifted his position uneasily.
“May I go?” he asked.
“Yes.”
And Tadros withdrew, his heart filled with fear and hatred; but the hatred remained long after the fear had subsided.
CHAPTER XVI.
KARA THREATENS.
Those two days were uneasy ones to Kāra. He felt no dread of Aneth’s final answer, but the waiting for it was wearisome. Their arrangements might easily have been concluded at the last interview had he not been weak enough to defer to the girl’s foolish desire to postpone the inevitable. Since he had come from Fedah, the world had been his plaything, and he found it in no way difficult to accomplish those things he determined upon. He had, therefore, acquired unbounded confidence in the powers of Ahtka-Rā’s remarkable Stone of Fortune, which he believed to have a strong influence over all his undertakings. So the Egyptian merely sought to occupy his time to good advantage until he could bring his bride — willing or unwilling mattered little — home to his handsome villa.
He sent Tadros to summon the most famous merchants of Cairo to wait upon
him, and arranged to have the women’s quarters redecorated in regal fashion. He selected many rich silks and embroideries for Aneth’s use when she should need them, and secured an increased corps of Arab servants, well trained in their duties, to attend the slightest wish of their new mistress. He realized that the establishment must hereafter be conducted more upon the plan of a modem European household, and that the apartments of the harem must be transformed into parlors, reception-halls and drawing-rooms.
In marrying Aneth he determined to abandon all Oriental customs and adopt the manners of the newer and broader civilization. He would exhibit his wife in society, and, through her, gain added distinction. His villa would become renowned for its fêtes and magnificent hospitality. Such a life appealed to his imagination, and a marriage with the English girl rendered it possible.
Hatatcha had educated and trained Kāra for a purpose; but now her mission and his oath to fulfil it were alike disregarded. He had given the matter considerable thought recently, and decided that his love for Aneth Consinor canceled all obligations to persecute her or her people further. Hatatcha was dead and forgotten by the world, and her wrongs could never be righted by any vengeance that he might inflict upon her enemies. She could not appreciate the justice of retribution, since her spirit was far away in the nether world with Anubis, and her body in the tombs of Fedah. He had, at first, been conscientious in his determination to accomplish his grandmother’s will, but a girl’s eyes had thwarted him, and Hatatcha had herself proved weak when love assailed her. Even as all his schemes were approaching fruition and his grandmother’s revenge was nearing accomplishment, the compelling power of his love arrested his hand and induced him to cast aside everything that might interfere with his prospective happiness.
On the afternoon of the second day he dressed himself carefully and ordered his chauffeur to be ready to drive him to the Savoy; but as he was about to leave his room, a note was brought to him from Aneth. He tore it open and eagerly read the message —
Dear Prince Kāra: —
I am not going to risk another unpleasant interview, because I am anxious we should remain in the future, as in the past, good friends and comrades. But please do not again ask me to marry you, for such a thing is utterly impossible. While I am glad lo enjoy your friendship, I can never return the love you profess to bear me, and without love a true woman will not marry. So I beg you will forget that such a thing has ever been discussed between us, and forbear to refer to it again.
Your friend,
ANETH CONSINOR.
As he read the note Kāra’s face grew set and stem and his dark eyes flashed ominously. He read it a second time, with more care, trying to find some word of hope or compromise in the frankly written epistle. But there was none.
He experienced a sensation of disappointment and chagrin, tinged with considerable astonishment. Strange as it may seem, he had never for a moment anticipated such a positive refusal. But his nature was impetuous and capricious, and presently anger drove all other feelings from his heart; and the anger grew and expanded until it was hot and furious and took full possession of him.
Perhaps it was the blow to his self-esteem that was most effective in destroying the passion he had mistaken for love. Anyway, the love dissolved with startling rapidity, and in a half hour there was little tenderness remaining for the English girl who had repulsed him. He accepted her answer as conclusive, and began at once to revive his former plans of vengeance. One transport was liable to prove as sweet and exciting as another to him, and he began to revel in the consciousness that he was the supreme master of the fate of all the Consinors. Hatatcha was right after all. These English were cold and faithless, and unworthy the consideration of one of his noble race. He had been incautious and weak for a time, but now he resolved to fulfil his oath to the dead woman to the very letter.
He tore the offending paper into fragments, and left the room with a resumption of his old inscrutable demeanor. It was the look that Tadros had learned to fear.
“Drive me to the Savoy,” he said to his chauffeur.
Lord Roane had reserved one small room on the first floor of the hotel as an office, and here he transacted such business matters as came under his jurisdiction. Kāra found him unoccupied, and Roane, who knew his visitor but slightly, greeted the man with cordial politeness.
“Pray be seated, Prince,” said he, offering a chair; “I am entirely at your service.”
The other bowed coldly.
“I fear my mission may prove somewhat disagreeable to you, my lord,” he began, in quiet, even tones.
Roane gave him a shrewd glance.
“Ah, I hear that my son is largely indebted to you for losses in gambling,” he returned, thinking that he understood Kāra’s errand. “So far, it is merely a rumor that has reached me; but if you come to me to plead that case, I beg to assure you that I am in no way responsible for Consinor’s debts of honor.”
The Egyptian shrugged his shoulders as a Frenchman might have done.
“That is another matter, sir, which I do not care to discuss at this time,” he answered. “My present business is to obtain your consent to marry your granddaughter.”
Roane was startled with amazement.
“Aneth! You wish to marry Aneth?” he asked, as if he could not have heard aright.
“Yes, my lord.”
So confident was the prince’s tone that Lord Roane, although much unnerved by its suddenness, began involuntarily to consider the proposition. The fellow was handsome and dignified and reputed to be as rich as Croesus; but the Englishman had a natural antipathy to foreigners, especially the dark-skinned ones. The idea of giving Aneth to an Egyptian was revolting.
“Ahem! This is indeed a surprise, Prince,” he said, haltingly. “The child is hardly old enough yet to think of marriage.”
Kāra did not reply to this observation.
“Have you — ah — approached her with this proposal as yet?” inquired Roane, after a few moments’ reflection.
“I have, sir.”
“And what did she say?”
“She refused to marry me, giving as her reason the fact that she does not love me,” was the calm reply.
Roane stared at him.
“Then why the devil do you come to me?” he demanded, angrily.
“Because the girl must not be allowed to choose for herself,” said Kāra.
“Must not, sir?”
“Decidedly not, Lord Roane. Too much depends upon her refusal. At present your granddaughter stands disgraced in the eyes of all the world, because of that dishonest father, who, as you remarked a moment ago, owes me ten thousand pounds.”
“Aneth disgraced!” cried Roane, indignantly; “by no means, sir! Even your vile insinuations cannot injure that pure and innocent girl. But Consinor has gone away, and his daughter is now under my personal protection. I will see that she is accorded the respect and consideration to which she is entitled, despite her father’s misdeeds.”
“Such an assertion, my lord, is, under the circumstances, ridiculous,” replied Kāra, with a composure equal to the other’s irritation. “In the near future, when you are yourself disgraced and imprisoned, who will then be left to protect your granddaughter’s good name?”
Roane uttered a roar of exasperation.
“You infernal scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “how dare you come here to browbeat and insult me! Leave my presence, sir!”
“I think you will be glad to hear more,” remarked Kāra, without changing his position. “Perhaps you are not aware that your robbery of the Government through the contractor, McFarland, is fully known to me.”
Roane fell back in his chair, white and trembling.
“It’s a he!” he muttered.
“It is not a lie,” said the imperturbable Egyptian. “The proofs are all in my hands. I hold your receipt to McFarland for the stolen money.”
Roane glared at him, but had not a word to reply. He felt like a rat in a trap. From
the most unexpected source this blow had fallen upon him when least expected, and already he bitterly regretted his lapse from honesty.
“The Egyptian Government, when it learns the facts,” continued Kāra, “will show you no mercy. Even Lord Cromer will insist upon your punishment, for he will resent any embezzlement in office that would bring the English colony here into disrepute. You must be aware of your danger without the necessity of my calling your attention to the fact; so that you have, absolutely, no hope of escape except through my clemency.”
“What do you mean?” asked the old nobleman, hoarsely.
“That at present the secret is in my sole possession. It need never be disclosed. Give me Aneth in marriage, and you will not only secure your safety, but I will sec that you want for nothing in the future. I am wealthy enough to promise this.”
“The girl has refused you.”
“Never mind. You will force her to accept me.”
“No, by God, I will not!” cried Roane, springing to his feet. “Hell and all its imps shall not induce me to drag that innocent child to my own level. I am a felon because I am an ass, and an ass because I have no moral stamina; but even then, my heart is not as black as yours, Prince Kāra!”
The Egyptian listened unmoved.
“The matter deserves more careful consideration,” said he. “Sentiment is very pretty when it does not conflict with personal safety. An examination of your case reveals comfort and prosperity on the one hand, disgrace and prison on the other.”
“They weigh nothing against Aneth’s happiness,” returned the old man, promptly. “Expose me as soon as you like, sir, for nothing will ever induce me to save myself from the fruits of my folly at the expense of that poor girl. And now, go!”
Kāra smiled with quiet scorn.
“It is quite refreshing to witness your indignation,” said he. “If it were equaled by your honesty, you would have no reason to fear me.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 790