by E. M. Hull
CHAPTER III
The warm sunshine was flooding the tent when Diana awoke from the deepsleep of exhaustion that had been almost insensibility, awoke toimmediate and complete remembrance. One quick, fearful glance aroundthe big room assured her that she was alone. She sat up slowly, hereyes shadowy with pain, looking listlessly at the luxuriousappointments of the tent. She looked dry-eyed, she had no tears left.They had all been expended when she had grovelled at his feet imploringthe mercy he had not accorded her. She had fought until the unequalstruggle had left her exhausted and helpless in his arms, until herwhole body was one agonised ache from the brutal hands that forced herto compliance, until her courageous spirit was crushed by therealisation of her own powerlessness, and by the strange fear that theman himself had awakened in her, which had driven her at last moaningto her knees. And the recollection of her abject prayers and weepingsupplications filled her with a burning shame. She loathed herself withbitter contempt. Her courage had broken down; even her pride had failedher.
She wound her arms about her knees and hid her face against them."Coward! Coward!" she whispered fiercely. Why had she not scorned him?Or why had she not suffered all that he had done to her in silence? Itwould have pleased him less than the frenzied entreaties that had onlyprovoked the soft laugh that made her shiver each time she heard it.She shivered now. "I thought I was brave," she murmured brokenly. "I amonly a coward, a craven."
She lifted her head at last and looked around her. The room was acurious mixture of Oriental luxury and European comfort. The lavishsumptuousness of the furnishings suggested subtly an unrestrainedindulgence, the whole atmosphere was voluptuous, and Diana shrank fromthe impression it conveyed without exactly understanding the reason.There was nothing that jarred artistically, the rich hangings allharmonised, there were no glaring incongruities such as she had seen innative palaces in India. And everything on which her eyes rested drovehome relentlessly the hideous fact of her position. His things wereeverywhere. On a low, brass-topped table by the bed was the half-smokedcigarette he had had between his lips when he came to her. The pillowbeside her still bore the impress of his head. She looked at it with agrowing horror in her eyes until an uncontrollable shuddering seizedher and she cowered down, smothering the cry that burst from her in thesoft pillows and dragging the silken coverings up around her as iftheir thin shelter were a protection. She lived again through everymoment of the past night until thought was unendurable, until she feltthat she would go mad, until at last, worn out, she fell asleep.
It was midday when she awoke again. This time she was not alone. Ayoung Arab girl was sitting on the rug beside her looking at her withsoft brown eyes of absorbed interest As Diana sat up she rose to herfeet, salaaming, with a timid smile.
"I am Zilah, to wait on Madame," she said shyly in stumbling French,holding out a wrap that Diana recognised with wonder as her own. Shelooked behind her. Her suit-cases were lying near her, open, partiallyunpacked. The missing baggage camels had been captured first, then. Shewas at least to be allowed the use of her own belongings. A gleam ofanger shot into her tired eyes and she swung round with a sharpquestion but the Arab girl shook her head uncomprehendingly, drawingback with frightened eyes; and to all further questions she remainedsilent, with down-drooping mouth like a scared child. She was littlemore. She evidently only half understood what was said to her and couldgive no answer to what she did understand, and turned away with obviousrelief when Diana stopped speaking. She went across the tent and pulledaside a curtain leading into a bathroom that was as big and far betterequipped than the one that Diana had had in the Indian tent, and which,up to now, had seemed the last word in comfort and luxury. Though thegirl's knowledge of French was limited her hands were deft enough, buther ignorance of the intricacies of a European woman's toilette wasvery apparent, and constantly provoked in her a girlish giggle thatchanged hurriedly to a startled gravity when Diana looked at her.Laughter was very far from Diana, but she could not help smiling nowand again at her funny mistakes.
The girl, with her big, wondering eyes, her shy, hesitating French andchildish curiosity, in some indefinable way gave back to Diana theself-control that had slipped from her. Her pride reasserted itself,rigidly suppressing any sign of feeling or emotion that could benoticed by the gentle, inquisitive eyes fixed on her.
The hot bath that took the soreness out of her limbs brought back thecolour to her face and lips. She even tubbed her head, rubbing theglistening curls dry with fierce vigour, striving to rid herself of thecontamination that seemed to have saturated her. Yet the robes againstwhich they had been pressed were spotless, and the hands that had heldher were fastidiously clean, even to the well-kept nails.
She came back into the bedroom to find Zilah on her knees poring overher scanty but diverse wardrobe with bewilderment, fingering theevening dresses with shy hands, and finally submitting tentatively toDiana the tweed skirt that had been packed with her other things forthe journey when Oran should be reached. But Diana put it aside, andpointed to the riding clothes she had worn the previous day. In themshe felt more able to face what might be before her, the associationsconnected with them seemed to give her moral strength, in them shewould feel herself again--Diana the boy, not the shivering piece ofwomanhood that had been born with tears and agony last night. She bither lip as she stamped her foot down into the long boot.
She sent the girl away at last, and noticed that she avoided passinginto the adjoining room, but vanished instead through the curtainsleading into the bathroom. Did that mean that in the outer room theArab Sheik was waiting? The thought banished the self-control she hadregained and sent her weakly on to the side of the bed with her facehidden in her hands. Was he there? Her questions to the littlewaiting-girl had only been concerned with the whereabouts of the campto which she had been brought and also of the fate of the caravan; ofthe man himself she had not been able to bring herself to speak. Thestrange fear that he had inspired in her filled her with rage andhumiliation. The thought of seeing him again brought a shame that wasunspeakable. But she conquered the agitation that threatened to growbeyond restraint, pride helping her again. It was better to face theinevitable of her own free will than be fetched whether she would ornot. For she knew now the strength of the man who had abducted her,knew that physically she was helpless against him. She raised her headand listened. It was very silent in the next room. Perhaps she was tobe allowed a further respite. She jerked her head impatiently at herown hesitation. "Coward!" she whispered again contemptuously, and flungacross the room. But at the curtains she halted for a moment, then withset face drew them aside and went through.
The respite had been granted, the room appeared to be empty. But as shecrossed the thick rugs her heart leapt suddenly into her throat, forshe became aware of a man standing in the open doorway. His back wasturned to her, but in a moment she saw that the short, slim figure inwhite linen European clothes bore no resemblance to the tall Arab shehad expected to see. She thought her footsteps were noiseless, but heturned with a little quick bow. A typical Frenchman with narrow, alert,clean-shaven face, sleek black hair and dark restless eyes. His legswere slightly bowed and he stooped a little; his appearance was that ofa jockey with the manners of a well-trained servant. Diana colouredhotly under his glance, but his eyes were lowered instantly.
"Madame is doubtless ready for lunch." He spoke rapidly, but his voicewas low and pleasant. His movements were as quick and as quiet as hisvoice, and in a dream Diana found herself in a few moments before alunch that was perfectly cooked and daintily served. The man hoveredabout her solicitously, attending to her wants with dexterous hands andwatchful eyes that anticipated every need. She was bewildered, faintfrom want of food, everything seemed unreal. For the moment she couldjust sit still and be waited on by the soft-footed, soft-spokenmanservant who seemed such a curious adjunct to the household of anArab chief.
"Monseigneur begs that you will excuse him until this evening. He willreturn in time for dinner," he mur
mured as he handed her a cous-cous.
Diana looked up blankly. "Monseigneur?"
"My master. The Sheik."
She flushed scarlet and her face hardened. Hypocritical, Oriental beastwho "begged to be excused"! She refused the last dish curtly, and asthe servant carried it away she propped her elbows on the table andrested her aching head on her hands. A headache was among the newexperiences that had overwhelmed her since the day before. Suffering inany form was new to her, and her hatred of the man who had made hersuffer grew with every breath she drew.
The Frenchman came back with coffee and cigarettes. He held a match forher, coaxing the reluctant flame with patience that denoted longexperience with inferior sulphur.
"Monseigneur dines at eight. At what hour will Madame have tea?" heasked, as he cleared away and folded up the table.
Diana choked back the sarcastic retort that sprang to her lips. Theman's quiet, deferential manner, that refused to see anythingextraordinary in her presence in his master's camp, was almost harderto bear than flagrant impertinence would have been. That she could havedealt with; this left her tingling with a feeling of impotence, as if anet were gradually closing round her in whose entangling meshes hervaunted liberty was not only threatened, but which seemed destined evento stifle her very existence. She pulled her racing thoughts up with ajerk. She must not think if she was going to keep any hold over herselfat all. She gave him an answer indifferently and turned her back onhim. When she looked again he was gone, and she heaved a sigh ofrelief. She had chafed under his watchful eyes until the feeling ofrestraint had grown unbearable.
She breathed more freely now that he was gone, flinging up her head andjerking her shoulders back with an angry determination to conquer thefear that made her ashamed. Natural curiosity had been struggling withher other emotions, and she gave way to it now to try and turn thechannel of her thoughts from the fixed direction in which they tended,and wandered round the big room. The night before she had taken innothing of her surroundings, her eyes had been held only by the man whohad dominated everything. Here, also, were the same luxuriousappointments as in the sleeping-room. She had knowledge enough toappreciate that the rugs and hangings were exquisite, the former werePersian and the latter of a thick black material, heavily embroideredin silver. The main feature of the room was a big black divan heapedwith huge cushions covered with dull black silk. Beside the divan,spread over the Persian rugs, were two unusually large black bearskins,the mounted heads converging. At one end of the tent was a smalldoorway, a little portable writing-table. There were one or two Moorishstools heaped with a motley collection of ivories and gold and silvercigarette cases and knick-knacks, and against the partition thatseparated the two rooms stood a quaintly carved old wooden chest.Though the furniture was scanty and made the tent seem even morespacious than it really was, the whole room had an air of barbaricsplendour. The somber hangings gleaming with thick silver threadsseemed to Diana like a studied theatrical effect, a setting againstwhich the Arab's own white robes should contrast more vividly; sheremembered the black and silver waistcloth she had seen swathed roundhim, with curling scornful lip. There was a strain of vanity in allnatives, she generalised contemptuously. Doubtless it pleased thisnative's conceit to carry out the colour scheme of his tent even in hisclothes, and pose among the sable cushions of the luxurious divan tothe admiration of his retainers. She made a little exclamation ofdisgust, and turned from the soft seductiveness of the big couch withdisdain.
She crossed the tent to the little bookcase and knelt beside itcuriously. What did a Francophile-Arab read? Novels, probably, thatwould harmonise with the atmosphere that she dimly sensed in hersurroundings. But it was not novels that filled the bookcase. They werebooks of sport and travel with several volumes on veterinary surgery.They were all in French, and had all been frequently handled, many ofthem had pencilled notes in the margins written in Arabic. One shelfwas filled entirely with the works of one man, a certain Vicomte Raoulde Saint Hubert. With the exception of one novel, which Diana onlyglanced at hastily; they were all books of travel. From the fewscribbled words in the front of each Diana could see that they had allbeen sent to the Arab by the author himself--one even was dedicated to"My friend, Ahmed Ben Hassan, Sheik of the Desert." She put the booksback with a puzzled frown. She wished, with a feeling that she couldnot fathom, that they had been rather what she had imagined. Theevidence of education and unlooked-for tastes in the man they belongedto troubled her. It was an unexpected glimpse into the personality ofthe Arab that had captured her was vaguely disquieting, for itsuggested possibilities that would not have existed in a raw native, orone only superficially coated with a veneer of civilisation. He seemedto become infinitely more sinister, infinitely more horrible. Shelooked at her watch with sudden apprehension. The day was wearing awayquickly. Soon he would come. Her breath came quick and short and thetears welled up in her eyes.
"I mustn't! I mustn't!" she whispered in a kind of desperation. "If Icry again I shall go mad." She forced them back, and crossing to thebig black divan that she had scorned before dropped down among the softcushions. She was so tired, and her head throbbed persistently.
She was asleep when the servant brought tea, but she started up as heput the tray on a stool beside her.
"It is Madame's own tea. If she will be good enough to say if it ismade to her taste," he said anxiously, as if his whole happiness wascontained in the tiny teapot at which he was frowning deprecatingly.
His assiduity jarred on Diana's new-found jangling nerves. Sherecognised that he was sincere in his efforts to please her, but justnow they only seemed an added humiliation. She longed to shout "Goaway!" like an angry schoolboy, but she managed to give him theinformation he wanted, and putting cigarettes and matches by her hewent out with a little smile of satisfaction. The longing for fresh airand the desire to see what place she had been brought to grewirresistible as the evening came nearer. She went to the open doorway.A big awning stretched before it, supported on lances. She stepped outfrom under its shade and looked about her wonderingly. It was a bigoasis--bigger than any she had seen. In front of the tent there was anopen space with a thick belt of palm trees beyond. The rest of the camplay behind the Chief's tent. The place was alive with men and horses.There were some camels in the distance, but it was the horses thatstruck Diana principally. They were everywhere, some tethered; somewandering loose, some exercising in the hands of grooms. Mounted Arabson the outskirts of the oasis crossed her view occasionally. There weregroups of men engaged on various duties all around her. Those who wentby near her salaamed as they passed, but took no further notice of her.A strange look came into Diana's eyes. This was the desert indeed, thedesert as she had never expected to see it, the desert as few couldexpect to see it. But the cost! She shuddered, then turned at a suddennoise near her. A biting, screaming chestnut fury was coming past closeto the tent, taking complete charge of the two men who clung, yelling,to his head. He was stripped, but Diana recognised him at once. The onebrief view she had had of his small, vicious head as he shot past herelbow the evening before was written on her brain for all time. He cameto a halt opposite Diana, refusing to move, his ears laid close to hishead, quivering all over, snatching continually at his grooms, whoseemed unable to cope with him. Once he swung up on his hind legs andhis cruel teeth flashed almost into the face of one of the men, who wastaken off his guard, and who dropped on to the ground, rolling out ofthe way with a howl that provoked a shout of laughter from a knot ofArabs who had gathered to watch the usual evening eccentricities of thechestnut. The French servant, coming from behind the tent, stopped tospeak to the man as he picked himself up and made a grab at the horse'shead, and then turned to Diana with his pleasant smile.
"He is rightly named Shaitan, Madame, for he is assuredly possessed ofa devil," he said, indicating the chestnut, who, at that moment, with aviolent plunge, broke away from the men who were holding him and headedfor the edge of the oasis with the Arabs streaming after him. "T
hemounted men will catch him," he added with a little laugh, in responseto Diana's exclamation.
"Is he amusing himself, or is it really vice?" she asked.
"Pure vice, Madame. He has killed three men."
Diana looked at him incredulously, for his tone was casual and hismanner did not indicate any undue feeling.
"He ought to be shot," she said indignantly.
The man shrugged. "Monseigneur is fond of him," he said quietly.
And so because Monseigneur was fond of him the vicious animal wassurrounded with every care that his master's pleasure might not beinterfered with. Evidently the lives of his wretched people were ofless value to him than that of a favourite horse. It sounded compatiblewith the mercilessness she had herself experienced. What she would nothave believed yesterday to-day seemed terribly credible. The couragethat the relief of his absence brought back was sinking fast, as fastas the red ball glowing in the heavens was sinking down towards thehorizon. She turned from her own fearful thoughts to look at some morehorses that were being led away to the lines on the other side of thecamp.
"The horses are magnificent, but they are bigger than any Arabs I haveseen before."
"They are a special breed, Madame," replied the Frenchman. "The tribehas been famous for them for generations. Monseigneur's horses areknown through all the Barbary States, and as far as France," he added,with a little accent of pride creeping into his voice.
Diana looked at him speculatively. There was an inflection in his voiceeach time he mentioned his master that indicated a devotion that shewas unable to accredit to the brute for whose treatment she was stillsuffering. But her thoughts were broken into abruptly.
"There is Monseigneur," said the servant suddenly. He spoke as if she,too, must be glad of his coming. Did the valet imagine for one momentthat she was here of her own free will? Or was it all a part of thehypocrisy in which she seemed to be enveloped? She flashed one glanceat the horseman riding through the belt of trees that fringed the oasisand an icy perspiration chilled her from head to foot. She shrank backunder the awning and into the coolness of the tent, raging against themastering fear that she could not overcome. But just inside the opendoorway she stood firm; even her fear could make her go no further. Shewould meet him here, not cowering into the inner room like a tremblingcreature skulking in the furthest corner of its cage. That much prideat least was left.
From the shelter of the tent she watched the troop arrive at the openspace before her. The horse the Sheik was riding was jet black, andDiana looked from the beautiful creature's satiny coat to the man'swhite robes with angry contempt.
"Black and white! Black and white! Mountebank!" she muttered throughher clenched teeth. Then as he swung to the ground every thought fellfrom her but the terror he inspired. She waited, breathless, the swiftracing of her heart an actual physical pain.
He lingered, fondling the great black horse, and even after it had beenled away he stood looking after it, talking to a tall young Arab whohad ridden in with him. At last he turned and came leisurely towardsthe tent. He paused at the door to speak to the Frenchman, apicturesque, barbaric figure, with flowing robes and great white cloak,the profile of his lean face clean cut against the evening sky, thehaughty poise of his head emphasised by the attitude in which he wasstanding, arrogant, dominating. He moved his hands when he spoke withquick, expressive gestures, but his voice was slow and soft, pitched ina deep musical key, but with all its softness unmistakablyauthoritative. He pointed with outstretched, steady hand to somethingbeyond her line of vision, and as he turned to enter the tent helaughed softly, and she shivered involuntarily. Then he swept in, andshe drew back from him with lowered eyes. She would not look at him;she would not meet his look. His presence was an offence, she wasscorched with shame. Every fibre of her being cried out in protest athis proximity. She wished with passionate fierceness that she coulddie. She shook feverishly and caught her quivering lip between herteeth to keep it still, and the red-gold curls lay wet against herforehead. Her breast heaved stormily with the rapid beating of herheart, but she held herself proudly erect. He crossed the tent with along noiseless stride.
"I hope that Gaston took care of you properly and gave you everythingthat you wanted?" he said easily, stooping to a little table to light acigarette. The coolness of his words and manner were like a dash ofcold water. She had been prepared for anything but this calmnonchalance in a situation that was intolerable. His tone conveyed theperfunctory regret of a host for an unavoidable absence. Her fear gaveway to rage, her body stiffened, her hands clenched.
"Is it not time that this ended? Haven't you done enough?" she burstout passionately. "Why have you committed this outrage?"
A thin thread of smoke drifted towards her, as if the hand holding thecigarette had moved in her direction in one of the gestures that shehad noticed outside, but there was no answer. His silence infuriatedher and she grew utterly reckless.
"Do you think that you can keep me here, you fool? That I can vanishinto the desert and no notice be taken of my disappearance--that noinquiries will be made?"
"There will be no inquiries," he answered calmly.
She ground the heel of her boot into the soft carpet. "There_will_ be inquiries," she choked furiously. "I am not such anonentity that nothing will be done when I am missed. The Englishauthorities will make the French Government find out who isresponsible, and you will have to pay for what you have done."
He laughed--the little amused laugh that sent the same cold feeling ofdread through her that she had felt the day before.
"The French Government has no jurisdiction over me. I am not subject toit. I am an independent chief, my own master. I recognise nogovernment. My tribe obey me and only me."
Her shaking fingers found the handkerchief for which they were groping,and she wiped the moisture that had gathered on the palms of her hands.
"When I am missed----" she began desperately, trying to keep a boldfront, but her assurance was leaving her.
"You will not be missed for so long that it will be too late," hereplied drily.
"Too late! What do you mean?" she gasped.
"Your own plans will stop any possibility of inquiry for some time tocome." He paused, and behind her, Diana heard him strike another match.The banal little incident nearly snapped her nerves that were stretchedto breaking-point. She put her hands to her head to try and stop thethrobbing in her temples.
"You engaged a caravan in charge of Mustafa Ali," he went on evenly,"to travel in the desert for a month. You set out from Biskra, but yourintention was at the end of the time to travel northward to Oran andthere dismiss the caravan. From there you were to cross to Marseilles,then to Cherbourg, where you would embark for America to follow yourbrother, who has already started."
She listened breathlessly with an ever-increasing fear growing in hereyes. The slow, casual voice detailing her itinerary with the quietcertainty of perfect knowledge filled her with a terror that made herwant to scream. She swayed a little as she stood, her eyes fixed on theendless strip of desert and gold-flecked sky visible through theopening of the tent, but she saw nothing of the undulating sand, northe red glory of the setting sun.
"How do you know--all--this?" she whispered with dry lips thattrembled.
"I wished to know. It was quite simple." The answer was givencarelessly, and again the thin thread of smoke drifted across her face.
Her anger flamed up again. "Is it money that you want? Are you holdingme for ransom?" But her scornful voice faltered and died away on thelast word, and it did not need his silence to convince her that it wasno question of ransom. She had only spoken to try and stifle the innerconviction that grew despite her efforts to crush it. Her hands werelocked together tightly, her eyes still staring out unseeing at thewonderful sunset. She felt dazed, hopeless, like a fugitive who hasturned into a cul-de-sac, hemmed in on every side; there seemed no wayout, no loophole of escape. She wrung her hands convulsively and agreat shudder shook her. Then in
her despair a faint ray of hope came.
"Mustafa Ali, or one of the caravan men may have given the alarmalready in Biskra--if you have not--murdered them all," she whisperedjerkily.
"I have not murdered them all," he rejoined shortly, "but Mustafa Aliwill not give any alarm in Biskra."
"Why?" She tried to keep silent, but the question was forced from her,and she waited tense for his answer. Tales of ruthless Arab crueltysurged through her mind. What had been the fate of the unfortunatecaravan leader? Her eyes closed and her throat grew dry.
"There was no need for any murder," he continued sarcastically. "Whenyou come to know me better you will realise that I do not leave toomuch to chance. 'All things are with Allah, blessed be his name.' Good!But it is well to remember that Allah does not always concern himselfwith the affairs of men, and arrange accordingly. If I had left thisaffair to chance there might very easily have been, as you suggest,murder done--though we do not call it murder in the desert. It was verysimple. _Voyons_! You paid Mustafa Ali well to guide you in thedesert. I paid him better to lead you to me. I paid him well enough tomake him content to remove himself from Biskra, where awkward questionsmight be asked, to another sphere of usefulness where he is not known,and where he can build up for himself a new reputation as a caravanleader."
There was another silence and her hands went groping to her throat. Ithad been no chance affair then--no accidental meeting that the Arabchief had turned to his own account, but an organised outrage that hadbeen carefully planned from the beginning. From the very outset she hadbeen a dupe. She ground her teeth with rage. Her suave, subservientguide had been leading her the whole time, not in the direction thathad been mapped out in Biskra, but towards the man who had bought himto betray his trust. Mustafa Ali's shifting eyes, his desire to hurryher from the oasis where they had rested at mid-day, his tone were allexplained. He had acted well. The last touch--the imaginary wound thathad toppled him slowly out of his saddle had been a masterpiece, shereflected bitterly. Nothing had been omitted to make the attempt asuccess. The horse that had been given her to ride was the Sheik'sbeyond all doubt, trained to his whistle. Even her revolver had beentampered with. She had not missed, as she had thought. She rememberedthe noise, the fleeting vision she had had in the hotel at Biskra. Ithad been some one in her room, Mustafa Ali himself, or one of his men,who had stolen in and substituted the blank cartridges. The possibilityof Aubrey changing his mind and accompanying her must also have beenthought of, for the Sheik had provided against the resistance thatwould certainly have then been made by the number of followers he hadbrought with him--a large enough force to frustrate easily anyattempted opposition to the attack.
The net that she had felt closing round her earlier in the afternoonseemed wrapped round her now inextricably, drawing tighter and tighter,smothering her. She gasped for breath. The sinking sun seemed suddenlyto leap up wildly into the heavens; then she pulled herself togetherwith a tremendous effort. "Why have you done this?" she murmuredfaintly.
Then for a moment her heart stood still, her eyes dilating. He had comeclose behind her, and she waited in an agony, until he caught her tohim, crushing her against him, forcing her head back on his arm.
"Because I wanted you. Because one day in Biskra, four weeks ago, I sawyou for a few moments, long enough to know that I wanted you. And whatI want I take. You played into my hands. You arranged a tour in thedesert. The rest was easy."
Her eyes were shut, the long dark lashes quivering on her pale cheeksso that she could not see his face, but she felt him draw her closer tohim and then his fierce kisses on her mouth. She struggled frantically,but she was helpless, and he laughed softly as he kissed her lips, herhair, her eyes passionately. He stood quite still, but she felt theheavy beating of his heart under her cheek, and understood dimly thepassion that she had aroused in him. She had experienced his tremendousstrength. She realised from what he had told her that he recognised nolaw beyond his own wishes, and was prepared to go to any lengths tofulfil them. She knew that her life was in his hands, that he couldbreak her with his lean brown fingers like a toy is broken, and all atonce she felt pitifully weak and frightened. She was utterly in hispower and at his mercy--the mercy of an Arab who was merciless.
She gave in suddenly, lying quiet in his arms. She had touched thelowest depths of degradation he could do nothing more to her than hehad done. For the moment she could fight no further, she was worn outand utterly weary. A numb feeling of despair came over her and with ita sense of unreality, as if it were a hideous nightmare from which shewould wake, for the truth seemed too impossible, the setting tootheatrical. The man himself was a mystery. She could not reconcile himand the barbaric display in which he lived with the evidences ofrefinement and education that the well-worn books in the tent evinced.The fastidious ordering of his appointments puzzled her; it was strangeto find in such a place. A dozen incongruities that she had noticedduring the day crowded into her recollection until her head reeled. Sheturned from them wearily; she was too tired to think, too spent in mindand body. And with the despair a kind of indifference stole over her.She had suffered so much that nothing more mattered.
The strong arms around her tightened slowly. "Look at me," he said inthe soft slow voice that seemed habitual to him, and which contrastedoddly with the neat, clipping French that he spoke. She shivered andher dark lashes flickered for a moment. "Look at me." His voice wasjust as slow, just as soft, but into it had crept an inflection thatwas unmistakable.
Twenty-four hours ago Diana Mayo had not known the meaning of the wordfear, and had never in all her life obeyed any one against herinclination, but in twenty-four hours she had lived through years ofemotions. For the first time she had pitted her will against a willthat was stronger than her own, for the first time she had met anarrogance that was greater and a determination that was firmer thanhers. For the first time she had met a man who had failed to bow to herwishes, whom a look had been powerless to transform into a willingslave. In a few hours that had elapsed she had learned fear, a terriblefear that left her sick with apprehension, and she was learningobedience. Obedient now, she forced herself to lift her eyes to his,and the shamed blood surged slowly into her cheeks. His dark,passionate eyes burnt into her like a hot flame. His encircling armswere like bands of fire, scorching her. His touch was torture.Helpless, like a trapped wild thing, she lay against him, panting,trembling, her wide eyes fixed on him, held against their will.Fascinated she could not turn them away, and the image of the brown,handsome face with its flashing eyes, straight, cruel mouth and strongchin seemed searing into her brain. The faint indefinite scent of anuncommon Turkish tobacco clung about him, enveloping her. She had beenconscious of the same scent the previous day when he had held her inhis arms during the wild ride across the desert.
He smiled down at her suddenly. "_Bon Dieu_! Do you know howbeautiful you are?" he murmured. But the sound of his voice seemed tobreak a spell that had kept her dumb. She struggled again to freeherself.
"Let me go!" she cried piteously, and it was her complete immunity fromhim that she prayed for, but he chose wilfully to misunderstand her.The passion faded from his eyes, giving place to a gleam of mockery.
"There is plenty of time. Gaston is the most discreet servant. We shallhear him when he comes," he said with a low laugh.
But she persisted with the courage of desperation. "When will you letme go?"
With an exclamation of impatience he put her from him roughly, andgoing to the divan flung himself down on the cushions, lit anothercigarette and picked up a magazine that was lying on an inlaid stoolbeside him.
She bit her lips to keep back the hysterical sobs that rose in herthroat, nerving herself with clenched hands, and followed him. "You_must_ tell me. I _must_ know. When will you let me go?"
He turned a page with deliberation, and flicked the ash from hiscigarette before looking up. A heavy scowl gathered on his face, andhis eyes swept her from head to foot with a slow scrutiny that made hershr
ink. "When I am tired of you," he said coldly.
She shuddered violently and turned away with a little moan, stumblingblindly towards the inner room, but as she reached the curtains hisvoice arrested her. He had thrown aside the magazine and was lying backon the divan, his long limbs stretched out indolently, his handsclasped behind his head.
"You make a very charming boy," he said lightly, with a faint smile,"but it was not a boy that I saw in Biskra. You understand?"
Beyond the curtains she stood a moment, shaking all over, her facehidden in her hands, able to relax a little the hold she was keeping onherself. Yes! She understood, plainly enough. The understanding hadalready been forced upon her. It was an order from one who was preparedto compel his commands, to make herself more attractive with all thatit implied in the eyes of the man who held her in his power and wholooked at her as no other man had ever dared to look, with appraisingcriticism that made her acutely conscious of her sex, that made herfeel like a slave exposed for sale in a public market.
She must take off the boyish clothes that somehow seemed to lend hercourage and substitute, to gratify the whim of the savage in the nextroom, the womanly dress that revealed more intimately the slender linesof her figure and intensified the uncommon beauty of her face.
She went to the dressing table with lagging feet and stared resentfullyat the white face and haggard eyes that looked back at her from themirror. It was like the face of a stranger. Aubrey's words came back toher with an irony that was horrible. To-night she did not dress toplease herself. Her face was set, her eyes almost black with rage, butbehind the rage there was lurking apprehension. She started at everysound that came from the adjoining room. Her fingers, wet withperspiration, seemed almost unable to fulfil their task. She hated him,she hated herself, she hated her beauty that had brought this horrorupon her. She would have rebelled if she had dared, but instinctivelyshe hurried--fear had already driven her so far. But when she was readyshe did not move from the table beside which she stood. Fear had forcedher to haste, but her still struggling pride would not permit her toobey her fear any further. She raised her eyes to the glass again,glowering angrily at the pale reflection, and the old obstinacy mingledwith the new pain that filled them. Must she endure his mocking glancewith chalk-like cheeks and eyes like a beaten hound? Had she not evencourage enough left to hide the fear that filled her withself-contempt? The wave of anger that went through her rushed thecolour into her face and she leaned nearer the glass with a littlemurmur of satisfaction that stopped abruptly as her fingers gripped theedge of the table, and she continued staring into the mirror not at herown face, but at the white robes that appeared behind her head,blotting out the limited view she had had of the room.
The Sheik was standing behind her. He had come with the peculiarnoiseless tread that she had noticed before. He swung her round to lookat her and she writhed under his eyes of admiration, straining from himas far as his grip allowed. Holding her with one hand he took her chinin the other and tilted her face up to his with a little smile. "Don'tlook so frightened. I don't want anything more deadly than some soapand water. Surely even an Arab may be allowed to wash his hands?"
His mocking voice and his taunt of fear stung her, but she would notanswer and, with a laugh and a shrug, he lot her go, picking up a razorfrom the table and lounging into the bathroom.
With crimson cheeks Diana fled into the outer room, His manner couldnot have been more casual if she had been his wife a dozen years. Shewaited for him in a tumult of emotions, but with the advent of Gastonand dinner he returned to the attitude of dispassionate, courteous hostthat he had assumed when he first came in. He was a few minutes late,and apologised gravely as he sat down opposite her. He maintained theattitude throughout dinner, and conscious of the watching manservantDiana made herself reply to his easy conversation.
He talked mainly of the desert and the sport that it offered, as if hehad studied her tastes and chosen the topic to please her. He spokewell; what he said was interesting, and showed complete knowledge ofthe subject, and at any other time Diana would have listened fascinatedand absorbed, but now the soft, slow, cultured voice only seemed to addto the incongruity of the situation. The role of willing guest that hewas forcing upon her was almost more than she could play, and thenecessity of sitting still and responding was taxing her endurance tothe utmost. And all the time she was aware acutely of his constantsurveillance. Reluctantly her own furtive glance was drawn frequentlyto his face, and always his dark fierce eyes were watching her with asteadiness that racked her nerves, till she was reminded irresistiblyof an exhibition that she had seen in a circus in Vienna, where a liontamer had concluded an unusually daring performance by dining in thelions' cage, surrounded by savage snarling brutes very different fromthe sleepy half-drugged creatures ordinarily shown. Interested in theanimals, she had gone behind with Aubrey after the performance, andwhile fondling some tiny lion cubs that had been brought for her to seehad chatted with the tamer, a girl little older than herself. She hadbeen somewhat unapproachable until she had realised from Diana'sfriendly manner that her questions were prompted by real interest andnot mere curiosity, and had unbent with surprising swiftness, acceptingDiana's proffered cigarettes and taking her to see her special lions,who were boxed for the night. Diana had wandered up and down before thenarrow cages, looking at the big brutes still restless from the show,rubbing her cheek on the soft little round head of the cub she washolding in her arms, smiling at its sleepy rasping purr.
"Are you ever afraid?" she had asked suddenly--"not of the ordinaryperformance, but of that last act, when you dine all alone with them?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders, blowing a little cloud of smoke intothe cub's face, and her eyes had met Diana's slowly over his littleyellow body. "One does not taste very much," she had said drily.
And it was so with Diana. She had eaten mechanically everything thathad been put before her, but she had tasted nothing. She had onethought in her mind that excluded everything else--to hide from theprobing eyes that watched her ceaselessly the overmastering fear thataugmented every moment. One thing she had noticed during the meal. Forher only the servant poured out the light French wine that he hadbrought. Her eyes wandered to the Sheik's empty glass, and meeting herglance he smiled, with a little inclination.
"Excuse me. I do not drink wine. It is my only virtue," he added, witha sudden gleam leaping into his eyes that drove the blood into hercheeks and her own eyes on to her plate.
She had forgotten that he was an Arab.
The dinner seemed interminable, and yet she wished that it would neverend. While the servant was in the room she was safe; the thought of hisgoing sent a cold shudder through her. With the coffee came a hugePersian hound, almost upsetting the Frenchman in the entrance in hisfrantic endeavour to precede him through the doorway. He flung his longgrey body across the Sheik's knees with a whine of pleasure and thenturned his head to growl at Diana. But the growl died away quickly, andhe lumbered down and came to her side curiously, eyeing her for amoment and then thrusting his big head against her.
The Sheik laughed. "You are honoured. Kopec makes few friends."
She did not answer. The natural reply was almost certain to provoke aretort that she did not desire, so she remained silent, smoothing thehound's rough coat. With her heart turning slowly to lead she lingeredover her coffee until there was no further possible pretext forremaining at the table, then rose with a short, sharp sigh.
For some minutes the Sheik had sat silent, his own coffee long sincefinished. He made no comment when she got up, and went himself to thebig divan, followed by the hound, who had gone back to him as soon ashe moved.
Diana turned to the little bookcase, snatching at the opportunity itoffered for further silence, and took a book at random. She did notknow what she was looking at, she did not care. She only prayedfervently that she might be left alone, that the sudden silent fit thathad come over him might continue.
Near her Gaston was cleari
ng away the table and as he finished hepaused to speak to his master. Diana heard the words "le petit Sheik,"but the rest was in Arabic and unintelligible to her. The Sheik frownedwith a gesture of annoyance, then nodded, and the servant left thetent.
A few moments after a voice that she had not heard before made her lookup.
The young Arab who had ridden in with the Sheik was standing beside thedivan. The fierce eyes that were watching her every movement met hers,and his cigarette was waved towards the young man. "My lieutenant,Yusef, a son of the desert with the soul of a _flaneur._ His bodyis here with me, but his heart is on the _trottoirs_ of Algiers."
The tall lad laughed and salaamed profoundly, then straightenedhimself, posing magnificently until a curt word from the Sheik recalledhim to his errand and his swagger changed swiftly to a deference ofwhich the significance was not lost on Diana. The Arab might unbend tohis people if it so pleased him, but he kept them well in hand. Shelooked at the lieutenant as he stood before his chief. He was tall andslender as a girl, with an air of languid indolence that was obviouslya pose, for it was slipping from him now fast as he talked. His facewas strikingly handsome, only saved from effeminacy by a firm chin. Hewas patently aware of his good looks. But he was also patently in aweof his chief, and the news that he brought was apparently not welcome.
Through her thick lashes Diana watched them intently. The younger manvoluble, gesticulating, at times almost cringing. The Sheik silent,except for an occasional word, the heavy scowl back on his face,growing blacker every moment. At last with a shrug of impatience he gotup and they went out together, the hound following them. Diana subsidedon to the thick rug beside the bookcase. For a moment again she wasalone, free of the watching eyes that seemed to be burning into her allthe time, free of the hated proximity. She dropped her head on herknees with a little whimper of weariness. For a moment she need notcheck the tide of misery that rushed over her. She was tired in mindand body, exhausted with the emotion that had shaken her until she knewthat no matter what happened in the future the Diana of yesterday wasdead, and her new self was strange and unfamiliar. She did not trustit; she feared its capacity for maintaining the struggle she hadresolved upon. The old courageous self had never failed her, this newshrinking fearful personality filled her with distrust. Her confidencein herself was gone. Her contempt of herself was unutterable. Thestrength that remained was not sufficient to conquer the fear that hadtaken so strong a hold upon her. She could only hope to hide it, todeny him at least that much satisfaction. She had grovelled at his feetonce and it had amused him. He had laughed! She would die rather thanafford him a similar amusement. She could never wipe out therecollection of her cowardice; he would remember always, and so wouldshe; but she could atone for it if her strength held. And she prayedthat it might hold, until a sob broke from her and her hands crampedaround her knees. She pushed her hair off her forehead with a heavysigh, and she looked back over her shoulder at the empty room. It hadchanged since this morning in the indefinable way a strange room doeschange after a few hours' association. If she could leave it now andnever see it again in all her life no single detail of it would ever beforgotten. Its characteristics had been stamped upon her as familiarlyas if the hours passed in it had been years. And yesterday was yearsago, when the poor silly fool that had been Diana Mayo had riddenblindly into the trap from which her boasted independence had not beenable to save her. She had paid heavily for the determination to ignorethe restrictions of her sex laid upon her and the payment was not yetover. Her tired body shrank from the struggle that must recommence sosoon. If he would only spare her until this numbing weariness that madeher so powerless should lessen. She heard his voice at the door and hericy fingers grasped at the book that had slipped to the ground. Thethick rugs deadened the sound of his movements, but she knewinstinctively that he had come in and gone back to the divan where hehad been sitting before. She knew that he was looking at her. She couldfeel his eyes fixed on her and she quivered with the consciousness ofhis stare. She waited, shivering, for him to speak or move. His methodsof torture were diverse, she thought with dreary bitterness. Behind thetent in the men's lines a tom-tom was beating, and the irregular rhythmseemed hammering inside her own head. She could have shrieked with theagony of it.
"Come here--Diane."
She started, for a moment hardly recognising the Gallic rendering ofher name, and then flushed angrily without answering or moving. It wasa very little thing to stir her after all that had been done, but theuse of her name flamed the anger that had been almost swamped in fear.The proprietory tone in his voice roused all her inherent obstinacy.She was not his to go at his call. What he wanted he must take--shewould never give voluntarily. She sat with her hands gripped tightly inher lap, breathing rapidly, her eyes dark with apprehension.
"Come here," he repeated sharply.
Still she took no notice, but the face that he could not see wasgrowing very white.
"I am not accustomed to having my orders disobeyed," he said at last,very slowly.
"And I am not accustomed to obeying orders," she retorted fiercely,though her lips were trembling.
"You will learn." The sinister accent of his voice almost shattered herremaining courage.
She crouched, gasping, on the ground, the same horrible terror that hadcome to her last night stealing over her irresistibly, paralysing her.Waiting, listening, agonising, the tom-tom growing louder andlouder--or was it only the throbbing in her own head? With a chokingcry she leaped to her feet suddenly and fled from him, back till theside of the tent stopped her and she stood, with wide-flung arms,gripping the black and silver hangings until he reached her.
Stooping he disengaged her clinging fingers from the heavy drapery anddrew her hands slowly together up to his breast with a little smile."Come," he whispered, his passionate eyes devouring her.
She fought against the fascination with which they dominated her,resisting him dumbly with tight-locked lips till he held herpalpitating in his arms.
"Little fool," he said with a deepening smile. "Better me than my men."
The gibe broke her silence.
"Oh, you brute! You brute!" she wailed, until his kisses silenced her.