The Sheik: A Novel

by E. M. Hull

  Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team

  THE SHEIK

  A Novel

  by E. M. HULL

  1921

  CHAPTER I

  "Are you coming in to watch the dancing, Lady Conway?"

  "I most decidedly am not. I thoroughly disapprove of the expedition ofwhich this dance is the inauguration. I consider that even bycontemplating such a tour alone into the desert with no chaperon orattendant of her own sex, with only native camel drivers and servants,Diana Mayo is behaving with a recklessness and impropriety that iscalculated to cast a slur not only on her own reputation, but also onthe prestige of her country. I blush to think of it. We English cannotbe too careful of our behavior abroad. No opportunity is slight enoughfor our continental neighbours to cast stones, and this opportunity isvery far from being slight. It is the maddest piece of unprincipledfolly I have ever heard of."

  "Oh, come, Lady Conway! It's not quite so bad as all that. It iscertainly unconventional and--er--probably not quite wise, but rememberMiss Mayo's unusual upbringing----"

  "I am not forgetting her unusual upbringing," interrupted Lady Conway."It has been deplorable. But nothing can excuse this scandalousescapade. I knew her mother years ago, and I took it upon myself toexpostulate both with Diana and her brother, but Sir Aubrey is hedgedaround with an egotistical complacency that would defy a pickaxe topenetrate. According to him a Mayo is beyond criticism, and hissister's reputation her own to deal with. The girl herself seemed,frankly, not to understand the seriousness of her position, and wasvery flippant and not a little rude. I wash my hands of the wholeaffair, and will certainly not countenance to-night's entertainment byappearing at it. I have already warned the manager that if the noise iskept up beyond a reasonable hour I shall leave the hotel to-morrow."And, drawing her wrap around her with a little shudder, Lady Conwaystalked majestically across the wide verandah of the Biskra Hotel.

  The two men left standing by the open French window that led into thehotel ballroom looked at each other and smiled.

  "Some peroration," said one with a marked American accent. "That's theway scandal's made, I guess."

  "Scandal be hanged! There's never been a breath of scandal attached toDiana Mayo's name. I've known the child since she was a baby. Rumlittle cuss she was, too. Confound that old woman! She would wreck thereputation of the Archangel Gabriel if he came down to earth, let alonethat of a mere human girl."

  "Not a very human girl," laughed the American. "She was sure meant fora boy and changed at the last moment. She looks like a boy inpetticoats, a damned pretty boy--and a damned haughty one," he added,chuckling. "I overheard her this morning, in the garden, makingmincemeat of a French officer."

  The Englishman laughed.

  "Been making love to her, I expect. A thing she does not understand andwon't tolerate. She's the coldest little fish in the world, without anidea in her head beyond sport and travel. Clever, though, and plucky asthey are made. I don't think she knows the meaning of the word fear."

  "There's a queer streak in the family, isn't there? I heard somebodyyapping about it the other night. Father was mad and blew his brainsout, so I was told."

  The Englishman shrugged his shoulders.

  "You can call it mad, if you like," he said slowly. "I live near theMayos' in England, and happen to know the story. Sir John Mayo waspassionately devoted to his wife; after twenty years of married lifethey were still lovers. Then this girl was born, and the mother died.Two hours afterwards her husband shot himself, leaving the baby in thesole care of her brother, who was just nineteen, and as lazy and asselfish then as he is now. The problem of bringing up a girl child wastoo much trouble to be solved, so he settled the difficulty by treatingher as if she was a boy. The result is what you see."

  They moved nearer to the open window, looking into the brilliantly litballroom, already filled with gaily chattering people. On a slightlyraised platform at one end of the room the host and hostess werereceiving their guests. The brother and sister were singularly unlike.Sir Aubrey Mayo was very tall and thin, the pallor of his faceaccentuated by the blackness of his smoothly brushed hair and heavyblack moustache. His attitude was a mixture of well-bred courtesy andlanguid boredom. He seemed too tired even to keep the single eye-glassthat he wore in position, for it dropped continually. By contrast thegirl at his side appeared vividly alive. She was only of medium heightand very slender, standing erect with the easy, vigorous carriage of anathletic boy, her small head poised proudly. Her scornful mouth andfirm chin showed plainly an obstinate determination, and her deep blueeyes were unusually clear and steady. The long, curling black lashesthat shaded her eyes and the dark eyebrows were a foil to the thickcrop of loose, red-gold curls that she wore short, clubbed about herears.

  "The result is worth seeing," said the American admiringly, referringto his companion's last remark.

  A third and younger man joined them.

  "Hallo, Arbuthnot. You're late. The divinity is ten deep in would-bepartners already."

  A dull red crept into the young man's face, and he jerked his headangrily.

  "I got waylaid by Lady Conway--poisonous old woman! She had a greatdeal to say on the subject of Miss Mayo and her trip. She ought to begagged. I thought she was going on talking all night, so I fairlybolted in the end. All the same, I agree with her on one point. Whycan't that lazy ass Mayo go with his sister?"

  Nobody seemed to be able to give an answer. The band had begun playing,and the floor was covered with laughing, talking couples.

  Sir Aubrey Mayo had moved away, and his sister was left standing withseveral men, who waited, programme in hand, but she waved them awaywith a little smile and a resolute shake of her head.

  "Things seem to be getting a hustle on," said the American.

  "Are you going to try your luck?" asked the elder of the twoEnglishmen.

  The American bit the end off a cigar with a little smile.

  "I sure am not. The haughty young lady turned me down as a dancer veryearly in our acquaintance. I don't blame her," he added, with a ruefullaugh, "but her extreme candour still rankles. She told me quiteplainly that she had no use for an American who could neither ride nordance. I did intimate to her, very gently, that there were a few littleopenings in the States for men beside cattle-punching and cabaretdancing, but she froze me with a look, and I faded away. No, SirEgotistical Complacency will be having some bridge later on, which willsuit me much better. He's not a bad chap underneath if you can swallowhis peculiarities, and he's a sportsman. I like to play with him. Hedoesn't care a durn if he wins or loses."

  "It doesn't matter when you have a banking account the size of his,"said Arbuthnot. "Personally, I find dancing more amusing and lessexpensive. I shall go and take my chance with our hostess."

  His eyes turned rather eagerly towards the end of the room where thegirl was standing alone, straight and slim, the light from anelectrolier gilding the thick bright curls framing her beautiful,haughty little face. She was staring down at the dancers with an absentexpression in her eyes, as if her thoughts were far away from thecrowded ballroom.

  The American pushed Arbuthnot forward with a little laugh.

  "Run along, foolish moth, and get your poor little wings singed. Whenthe cruel fair has done trampling on you I'll come right along and mopup the remains. If, on the other hand, your temerity meets with thesuccess it deserves, we can celebrate suitably later on." And, linkinghis arm in his friend's, he drew him away to the card-room.

  Arbuthnot went through the window and worked slowly round the room,hugging the wall, evading dancers, and threading his way through groupsof chattering men and women of all nationalities. He came at last tothe raised dais on which
Diana Mayo was still standing, and climbed upthe few steps to her side.

  "This is luck, Miss Mayo," he said, with an assurance that he was farfrom feeling. "Am I really fortunate enough to find you without apartner?"

  She turned to him slowly, with a little crease growing between herarched eyebrows, as if his coming were inopportune and she resented theinterruption to her thoughts, and then she smiled quite frankly.

  "I said I would not dance until everybody was started," she said ratherdoubtfully, looking over the crowded floor.

  "They are all dancing. You've done your duty nobly. Don't miss thisripping tune," he urged persuasively.

  She hesitated, tapping her programme-pencil against her teeth.

  "I refused a lot of men," she said, with a grimace. Then she laughedsuddenly. "Come along, then. I am noted for my bad manners. This willonly be one extra sin."

  Arbuthnot danced well, but with the girl in his arms he seemed suddenlytongue-tied. They swung round the room several times, then haltedsimultaneously beside an open window and went out into the garden ofthe hotel, sitting down on a wicker seat under a gaudy Japanese hanginglantern. The band was still playing, and for the moment the garden wasempty, lit faintly by coloured lanterns, festooned from the palm trees,and twinkling lights outlining the winding paths.

  Arbuthnot leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

  "I think you are the most perfect dancer I have ever met," he said alittle breathlessly.

  Miss Mayo looked at him seriously, without a trace ofself-consciousness.

  "It is very easy to dance if you have a musical ear, and if you havebeen in the habit of making your body do what you want. So few peopleseem to be trained to make their limbs obey them. Mine have had to doas they were told since I was a small child," she answered calmly.

  The unexpectedness of the reply acted as a silencer on Arbuthnot for afew minutes, and the girl beside him seemed in no hurry to break thesilence. The dance was over and the empty garden was thronged for alittle time. Then the dancers drifted back into the hotel as the bandstarted again.

  "It's rather jolly here in the garden," Arbuthnot said tentatively. Hisheart was pounding with unusual rapidity, and his eyes, that he keptfixed on his own clasped hands, had a hungry look growing in them.

  "You mean that, you want to sit out this dance with me?" she said witha boyish directness that somewhat nonplussed him.

  "Yes," he stammered rather foolishly.

  She held her programme up to the light of the lantern. "I promised thisone to Arthur Conway. We quarrel every time we meet. I cannot think whyhe asked me; he disapproves of me even more than his mother does--suchan interfering old lady. He will be overjoyed to be let off. And Idon't want to dance to-night. I am looking forward so tremendously toto-morrow. I shall stay and talk to you, but you must give me acigarette to keep me in a good temper."

  His hand shook a little as he held the match for her. "Are you reallydetermined to go through with this tour?"

  She stared at him in surprise. "Why not? My arrangements have been madesome time. Why should I change my mind at the last moment?"

  "Why does your brother let you go alone? Why doesn't he go with you?Oh, I haven't any right to ask, but I do ask," he broke out vehemently.

  She shrugged her shoulders with a little laugh. "We fell out, Aubreyand I. He wanted to go to America. I wanted a trip into the desert. Wequarrelled for two whole days and half one night, and then wecompromised. I should have my desert tour, and Aubrey should go to NewYork; and to mark his brotherly appreciation of my gracious promise tofollow him to the States without fail at the end of a month he hasconsented to grace my caravan for the first stage, and dismiss me on myway with his blessing. It annoyed him so enormously that he could notorder me to go with him, this being the first time in our wanderingsthat our inclinations have not jumped in the same direction. I came ofage a few months ago, and, in future, I can do as I please. Not that Ihave ever done anything else," she conceded, with another laugh,"because Aubrey's ways have been my ways until now."

  "But for the sake of one month! What difference could it make to him?"he asked in astonishment.

  "That's Aubrey," replied Miss Mayo drily.

  "It isn't safe," persisted Arbuthnot.

  She flicked the ash from her cigarette carelessly. "I don't agree withyou. I don't know why everybody is making such a fuss about it. Plentyof other women have travelled in much wilder country than this desert."

  He looked at her curiously. She seemed to be totally unaware that itwas her youth and her beauty that made all the danger of theexpedition. He fell back on the easier excuse.

  "There seems to be unrest amongst some of the tribes. There have been alot of rumours lately," he said seriously.

  She made a little movement of impatience. "Oh, that's what they alwaystell you when they want to put obstacles in your way. The authoritieshave already dangled that bogey in front of me. I asked for facts andthey only gave me generalities. I asked definitely if they had anypower to stop me. They said they had not, but strongly advised me notto make the attempt. I said I should go, unless the French Governmentarrested me.... Why not? I am not afraid. I don't admit that there isanything to be afraid of. I don't believe a word about the tribes beingrestless. Arabs are always moving about, aren't they? I have anexcellent caravan leader, whom even the authorities vouch for, and Ishall be armed. I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I can shootstraight and I am used to camping. Besides, I have given my word toAubrey to be in Oran in a month, and I can't get very far away in thattime."

  There was an obstinate ring in her voice, and when she stopped speakinghe sat silent, consumed with anxiety, obsessed with the loveliness ofher, and tormented with the desire to tell her so. Then he turned toher suddenly, and his face was very white. "Miss Mayo--Diana--put offthis trip only for a little, and give me the right to go with you. Ilove you. I want you for my wife more than anything on earth. I shan'talways be a penniless subaltern. One of these days I shall be able togive you a position that is worthy of you; no, nothing could be that,but one at least that I am not ashamed to offer to you. We've been verygood friends; you know all about me. I'll give my whole life to makeyou happy. The world has been a different place to me since you cameinto it. I can't get away from you. You are in my thoughts night andday. I love you; I want you. My God, Diana! Beauty like yours drives aman mad!"

  "Is beauty all that a man wants in his wife?" she asked, with a kind ofcold wonder in her voice. "Brains and a sound body seem much moresensible requirements to me."

  "But when a woman has all three, as you have, Diana," he whisperedardently, his hands closing over the slim ones lying in her lap.

  But with a strength that seemed impossible for their smallness shedisengaged them from his grasp. "Please stop. I am sorry. We have beengood friends, and it has never occurred to me that there could beanything beyond that. I never thought that you might love me. I neverthought of you in that way at all, I don't understand it. When God mademe He omitted to give me a heart. I have never loved any one in mylife. My brother and I have tolerated each other, but there has neverbeen any affection between us. Would it be likely? Put yourself inAubrey's place. Imagine a young man of nineteen, with a cold, reservednature, being burdened with the care of a baby sister, thrust into hishands unwanted and unexpected. Was it likely that he would have anyaffection for me? I never wanted it. I was born with the same coldnature as his. I was brought up as a boy, my training was hard. Emotionand affection have been barred out of my life. I simply don't know whatthey mean. I don't want to know. I am very content with my life as itis. Marriage for a woman means the end of independence, that is,marriage with a man who is a man, in spite of all that the most modernwoman may say. I have never obeyed any one in my life; I do not wish totry the experiment. I am very sorry to have hurt you. You've been asplendid pal, but that side of life does not exist for me. If I hadthought for one moment that my friendship was going to hurt you I neednot have let y
ou become so intimate, but I did not think, because it isa subject that I never think of. A man to me is just a companion withwhom I ride or shoot or fish; a pal, a comrade, and that's just allthere is to it. God made me a woman. Why, only He knows."

  Her quiet, even voice stopped. There had been a tone of cold sincerityin it that Arbuthnot could not help but recognise. She meant everythingthat she said. She said no more than the truth. Her reputation forcomplete indifference to admiration and her unvarying attitude towardsmen were as well known as her dauntless courage and obstinatedetermination. With Sir Aubrey Mayo she behaved like a younger brother,and as such entertained his friends. She was popular with everybody,even with the mothers of marriageable daughters, for, in spite of herwealth and beauty, her notorious peculiarities made her negligible as arival to plainer and less well-dowered girls.

  Arbuthnot sat in silence. It was hardly likely, he thought bitterly,that he should succeed where other and better men had failed. He hadbeen a fool to succumb to the temptation that had been too hard for himto resist. He knew her well enough to know beforehand what her answerwould be. The very real fear for her safety that the thought of thecoming expedition gave him, her nearness in the mystery of the Easternnight, the lights, the music, had all combined to rush to his lipswords that in a saner moment would never have passed them. He lovedher, he would love her always, but he knew that his love was ashopeless as it was undying. But it was men who were men whom she wantedfor her friends, so he must take his medicine like a man.

  "May I still be the pal, Diana?" he said quietly.

  She looked at him a moment, but in the dim light of the hanginglanterns his eyes were steady under hers, and she held out her handfrankly. "Gladly," she said candidly. "I have hosts of acquaintances,but very few friends. We are always travelling, Aubrey and I, and wenever seem to have time to make friends. We rarely stay as long in oneplace as we have stayed in Biskra. In England they call us very badneighbours, we are so seldom there. We generally go home for threemonths in the winter for the hunting, but the rest of the year wewander on the face of the globe."

  He held her slender fingers gripped in his for a moment, smothering aninsane desire to press them to his lips, which he knew would be fatalto the newly accorded friendship, and then let them go. Miss Mayocontinued sitting quietly beside him. She was in no way disturbed bywhat had happened. She had taken him literally at his word, and wastreating him as the pal he had asked to be. It no more occurred to herthat she might relieve him of her society than it occurred to her thather continued presence might be distressing to him. She was totallyunembarrassed and completely un-self-conscious. And as they sat silent,her thoughts far away in the desert, and his full of vain longings andregrets, a man's low voice rose in the stillness of the night. "_Palehands I loved beside the Shalimar. Where are you now? Who lies beneathyour spell_?" he sang in a passionate, vibrating baritone. He wassinging in English, and yet the almost indefinite slurring from note tonote was strangely un-English. Diana Mayo leaned forward, her headraised, listening intently, with shining eyes. The voice seemed to comefrom the dark shadows at the end of the garden, or it might have beenfurther away out in the road beyond the cactus hedge. The singer sangslowly, his voice lingering caressingly on the words; the last versedying away softly and clearly, almost imperceptibly fading intosilence.

  For a moment there was utter stillness, then Diana lay back with alittle sigh. "The Kashmiri Song. It makes me think of India. I heard aman sing it in Kashmere last year, but not like that. What a wonderfulvoice! I wonder who it is?"

  Arbuthnot looked at her curiously, surprised at the sudden ring ofinterest in her tone, and the sudden animation of her face.

  "You say you have no emotion in your nature, and yet that unknown man'ssinging has stirred you deeply. How do you reconcile the two?" heasked, almost angrily.

  "Is an appreciation of the beautiful emotion?" she challenged, withuplifted eyes. "Surely not. Music, art, nature, everything beautifulappeals to me. But there is nothing emotional in that. It is only thatI prefer beautiful things to ugly ones. For that reason even prettyclothes appeal to me," she added, laughing.

  "You are the best-dressed woman in Biskra," he acceded. "But is notthat a concession to the womanly feelings that you despise?"

  "Not at all. To take an interest in one's clothes is not an exclusivelyfeminine vice. I like pretty dresses. I admit to spending some time inthinking of colour schemes to go with my horrible hair, but I assureyou that my dressmaker has an easier life than Aubrey's tailor."

  She sat silent, hoping that the singer might not have gone, but therewas no sound except a cicada chirping near her. She swung round in herchair, looking in the direction from which it came. "Listen to him.Jolly little chap! They are the first things I listen for when I get toPort Said. They mean the East to me."

  "Maddening little beasts!" said Arbuthnot irritably.

  "They are going to be very friendly little beasts to me during the nextfour weeks.... You don't know what this trip means to me. I like wildplaces. The happiest times of my life have been spent camping inAmerica and India, and I have always wanted the desert more than eitherof them. It is going to be a month of pure joy. I am going to beenormously happy."

  She stood up with a little laugh of intense pleasure, and half turned,waiting for Arbuthnot. He got up reluctantly and stood silent besideher for a few moments. "Diana, I wish you'd let me kiss you, justonce," he broke out miserably.

  She looked up swiftly with a glint of anger in her eyes, and shook herhead. "No. That's not in the compact. I have never been kissed in mylife. It is one of the things that I do not understand." Her voice wasalmost fierce.

  She moved leisurely towards the hotel, and he paced beside herwondering if he had forfeited her friendship by his outburst, but onthe verandah she halted and spoke in the frank tone of camaraderie inwhich she had always addressed him. "Shall I see you in the morning?"

  He understood. There was to be no more reference to what had passedbetween them. The offer of friendship held, but only on her own terms.He pulled himself together.

  "Yes. We have arranged an escort of about a dozen of us to ride thefirst few miles with you, to give you a proper send-off."

  She made a laughing gesture of protest. "It will certainly need fourweeks of solitude to counteract the conceit I shall acquire," she saidlightly, as she passed into the ballroom.

  A few hours later Diana came into her bedroom, and, switching on theelectric lights, tossed her gloves and programme into a chair. The roomwas empty, for her maid had had a _vertige_ at the suggestion thatshe should accompany her mistress into the desert, and had been sentback to Paris to await Diana's return. She had left during the day, totake most of the heavy luggage with her.

  Diana stood in the middle of the room and looked at the preparationsfor the early start next morning with a little smile of satisfaction.Everything was _en train_; the final arrangements had all beenconcluded some days before. The camel caravan with the camp equipmentwas due to leave Biskra a few hours before the time fixed for the Mayosto start with Mustafa Ali, the reputable guide whom the Frenchauthorities had reluctantly recommended. The two big suit-cases thatDiana was taking with her stood open, ready packed, waiting only forthe last few necessaries, and by them the steamer trunk that Sir Aubreywould take charge of and leave in Paris as he passed through. On achaise-longue was laid out her riding kit ready for the morning. Hersmile broadened as she looked at the smart-cut breeches and high brownboots. They were the clothes in which most of her life had been spent,and in which she was far more at home than in the pretty dresses overwhich she had laughed with Arbuthnot.

  She was glad the dance was over; it was not a form of exercise thatappealed to her particularly. She was thinking only of the coming tour.She stretched her arms out with a little happy laugh.

  "It's the life of lives, and it's going to begin all over againto-morrow morning." She crossed over to the dressing-table, and,propping her elbows on it, looked at herself
in the glass, with alittle friendly smile at the reflection. In default of any otherconfidant she had always talked to herself, with no thought for thebeauty of the face staring back at her from the glass. The only commentshe ever made to herself on her own appearance was sometimes to wishthat her hair was not such a tiresome shade. She looked at herself nowwith a tinge of curiosity. "I wonder why I'm so especially happyto-night. It must be because we have been so long in Biskra. It's beenvery jolly, but I was beginning to get very bored." She laughed againand picked up her watch to wind. It was one of her peculiarities thatshe would wear no jewellery of any kind. Even the gold repeater in herhand was on a plain leather strap. She undressed slowly and each momentfelt more wide-awake. Slipping a thin wrap over her pyjamas andlighting a cigarette she went out on to the broad balcony on to whichher bedroom gave. The room was on the first floor, and opposite herwindow rose one of the ornately carved and bracketed pillars thatsupported the balcony, stretching up to the second story above herhead. She looked down into the gardens below. It was an easy climb, shethought, with a boyish grin--far easier than many she had achievedsuccessfully when the need of a solitary ramble became imperative. Butthe East was inconvenient for solitary ramble; native servants had adisconcerting habit of lying down to sleep wherever drowsiness overcamethem, and it was not very long since she had slid down from her balconyand landed plumb on a slumbering bundle of humanity who had roused halfthe hotel with his howls. She leant far over the rail, trying to seeinto the verandah below, and she thought she caught a glimpse of whitedrapery. She looked again, and this time there was nothing, but sheshook her head with a little grimace, and swung herself up on to thebroad ledge of the railing. Settling herself comfortably with her backagainst the column she looked out over the hotel gardens into thenight, humming softly the Kashmiri song she had heard earlier in theevening.

  The risen moon was full, and its cold, brilliant light filled thegarden with strong black shadows. She watched some that seemed even tomove, as if the garden were alive with creeping, hurrying figures, andamused herself tracking them until she traced them to the palm tree orcactus bush that caused them. One in particular gave her a long hunttill she finally ran it to its lair, and it proved to be the shadow ofa grotesque lead statue half hidden by a flowering shrub. Forgettingthe hour and the open windows all around her, she burst into a ripplingpeal of laughter, which was interrupted by the appearance of a figure,imperfectly seen through the lattice-work which divided her balconyfrom the next one, and the sound of an irritable voice.

  "For Heaven's sake, Diana, let other people sleep if you can't."

  "Which, being interpreted, is let Sir Aubrey Mayo sleep," she retorted,with a chuckle. "My dear boy, sleep if you want to, but I don't knowhow you can on a night like this. Did you ever see such a gorgeousmoon?"

  "Oh, damn the moon!"

  "Oh, very well. Don't get cross about it. Go back to bed and put yourhead under the clothes, and then you won't see it. But I'm going to sithere."

  "Diana, don't be an idiot! You'll go to sleep and fall into the gardenand break your neck."

  "_Tant pis pour moi. Tant mieux pour toi,_" she said flippantly."I have left you all that I have in the world, dear brother. Coulddevotion go further?"

  She paid no heed to his exclamation of annoyance, and looked back intothe garden. It was a wonderful night, silent except for the cicadas'monotonous chirping, mysterious with the inexplicable mystery thathangs always in the Oriental night. The smells of the East rose up allaround her; here, as at home, they seemed more perceptible by nightthan by day. Often at home she had stood on the little stone balconyoutside her room, drinking in the smells of the night--the pungent,earthy smell after rain, the aromatic smell of pine trees near thehouse. It was the intoxicating smells of the night that had firstdriven her, as a very small child, to clamber down from her balcony,clinging to the thick ivy roots, to wander with the delightful sense ofwrong-doing through the moonlit park and even into the adjoining gloomywoods. She had always been utterly fearless.

  Her childhood had been a strange one. There had been no near relativesto interest themselves in the motherless girl left to the tendermercies of a brother nearly twenty years her senior, who was franklyand undisguisedly horrified at the charge that had been thrust uponhim. Wrapped up in himself, and free to indulge in the wander hungerthat gripped him, the baby sister was an intolerable burden, and he hadshifted responsibility in the easiest way possible. For the first fewyears of her life she was left undisturbed to nurses and servants whospoiled her indiscriminately. Then, when she was still quite a tinychild, Sir Aubrey Mayo came home from a long tour, and, settling downfor a couple of years, fixed on his sister's future training, modelledrigidly on his own upbringing. Dressed as a boy, treated as a boy, shelearned to ride and to shoot and to fish--not as amusements, butseriously, to enable her to take her place later on as a companion tothe man whose only interests they were. His air of weariness was amannerism. In reality he was as hard as nails, and it was his intentionthat Diana should grow up as hard. With that end in view her upbringinghad been Spartan, no allowances were made for sex or temperament andnothing was spared to gain the desired result. And from the first Dianahad responded gallantly, throwing herself heart and soul into thearduous, strenuous life mapped out for her. The only drawback to aperfect enjoyment of life were the necessary lessons that had to begone through, though even these might have been worse. Every morningshe rode across the park to the rectory for a couple of hours' tuitionwith the rector, whose heart was more in his stable than in his parish,and whose reputation was greater across country than it was in thepulpit. His methods were rough and ready, but she had brains, andacquired an astonishing amount of diverse knowledge. But her educationwas stopped with abrupt suddenness when she was fifteen by the arrivalat the rectory of an overgrown young cub who had been sent by adespairing parent, as a last resource, to the muscular rector, and whoquickly discovered what those amongst whom she had grown up had hardlyrealised, that Diana Mayo, with the clothes and manners of a boy, wasreally an uncommonly beautiful young woman. With the assurancebelonging to his type, he had taken the earliest opportunity of tellingher so, following it with an attempt to secure the kiss that up to nowhis own good looks had always secured for him. But in this case he hadto deal with a girl who was a girl by accident of birth only, who wasquicker with her hands and far finer trained than he was, and whosenatural strength was increased by furious rage. She had blacked hiseyes before he properly understood what was happening, and was dancingaround him like an infuriated young gamecock when the rector had burstin upon them, attracted by the noise.

  What she left he had finished, and then, breathless and angry, hadridden back across the park with her and had briefly announced to SirAubrey, who happened to be at home upon one of his rare visits, thathis pupil was both too old and too pretty to continue her studies atthe rectory, and had taken himself off as hurriedly as he had come,leaving Sir Aubrey to settle for himself the new problem of Diana. And,as before, it was settled in the easiest possible way. Physically shewas perfectly able to take up the role for which he had always intendedher; mentally he presumed that she knew as much as it was necessary forher to know, and, in any case, travelling itself was an education, anda far finer one than could be learned from books. So Diana grew up in aday, and in a fortnight the old life was behind her and she had startedout on the ceaseless travels with her brother that had continued forthe last six years--years of perpetual change, of excitements anddangers.

  She thought of it all, sitting on the broad rail of the balcony, herhead slanted against the column on which she leaned. "It's been asplendid life," she murmured, "and to-morrow--to-day begins the mostperfect part of it." She yawned and realised suddenly that she wasdesperately sleepy. She turned back into her room, leaving the windowswide, and, flinging off her wrap, tumbled into bed and slept almostbefore her head was on the pillow.

  It must have been about an hour later when she awoke, suddenly wideawake. She lay
quite still, looking cautiously under her thick lashes.The room was flooded with moonlight, there was nothing to be seen, butshe had the positive feeling that there was another presence in theroom beside her own; she had had a half-conscious vision in the momentof waking of a shadowy something that had seemed to fade away by thewindow. As the actual reality of this thought pierced through the sleepthat dulled her brain and became a concrete suggestion, she sprang outof the bed and ran on to the balcony. It was empty. She leaned over therailing, listening intently, but she could see nothing and hearnothing. Puzzled, she went back into her room and turned on the lights.Nothing seemed to be missing: her watch lay where she had left it onthe dressing table; and the suit-cases had apparently not been tamperedwith. By the bedside the ivory-mounted revolver that she always carriedwas lying as she had placed it. She looked around the room again,frowning. "It must have been a dream," she said doubtfully, "but itseemed very real. It looked tall and white and solid, and I _felt_it there." She waited a moment or two, then shrugged her shoulders,turned out the lights, and got into bed. Her nerves were admirable, andin five minutes she was asleep again.