by E. M. Hull
CHAPTER IV
"A month! Thirty-one days! Oh, God! Only thirty-one days. It seems alifetime. Only a month since I left Biskra. A month! A month!"
Diana flung herself on to her face, burying her head deeply into thecushions of the divan, shutting out from her sight the barbaric luxuryof her surroundings, shuddering convulsively. She did not cry. Thecomplete breakdown of the first night had never been repeated. Tears ofshame and anger had risen in her eyes often, but she would not let themfall. She would not give her captor the satisfaction of knowing that hecould make her weep. Her pride was dying hard. Her mind travelled backslowly over the days and nights of anguished revolt, the perpetualclash of will against will, the enforced obedience that had made upthis month of horror. A month of experience of such bitterness that shewondered dully how she still had the courage to rebel. For the firsttime in her life she had had to obey. For the first time in her lifeshe was of no account. For the first time she had been made consciousof the inferiority of her sex. The training of years had broken downunder the experience. The hypothetical status in which she had stoodwith regard to Aubrey and his friends was not tolerated here, whereevery moment she was made to feel acutely that she was a woman, forcedto submit to everything to which her womanhood exposed her, forced toendure everything that he might put upon her--a chattel, a slave to dohis bidding, to bear his pleasure and his displeasure, shaken to thevery foundation of her being with the upheaval of her convictions andthe ruthless violence done to her cold, sexless temperament. Thehumiliation of it seared her proud heart. He was pitiless in hisarrogance, pitiless in his Oriental disregard of the woman subjugated.He was an Arab, to whom the feelings of a woman were non-existent. Hehad taken her to please himself and he kept her to please himself, toamuse him in his moments of relaxation.
To Diana before she had come to Africa the life of an Arab Sheik in hisnative desert had been a very visionary affair. The term sheik itselfwas elastic. She had been shown Sheiks in Biskra who drove hardbargains to hire out mangy camels and sore-covered donkeys for tripsinto the interior. Her own faithless caravan-leader had called himself"Sheik." But she had heard also of other and different Sheiks who livedfar away across the shimmering sand, powerful chiefs with largefollowings, who seemed more like the Arabs of her imaginings, and ofwhose lives she had the haziest idea. When not engaged in killing theirneighbours she visualized them drowsing away whole days under theinfluence of narcotics, lethargic with sensual indulgence. The picturesshe had seen had been mostly of fat old men sitting cross-legged in theentrance of their tents, waited on by hordes of retainers, and lookinglanguidly, with an air of utter boredom, at some miserable slave beingbeaten to death.
She had not been prepared for the ceaseless activity of the man whoseprisoner she was. His life was hard, strenuous and occupied. His dayswere full, partly with the magnificent horses that he bred, and partlywith tribal affairs that took him from the camp for hours at a time.Upon one or two occasions he had been away for the whole night and hadcome back at daybreak with all the evidences of hard riding. Some daysshe rode with him, but when he had not the time or the inclination, theFrench valet went with her. A beautiful grey thoroughbred called SilverStar was kept for her use, and sometimes on his back she was able toforget for a little time. So the moments of relaxation were lessfrequent than they might have been, and it was only in the eveningswhen Gaston had come and gone for the last time and she was alone withthe Sheik that an icy hand seemed to close down over her heart. And,according to his mood, he noticed or ignored her. He demanded implicitobedience to his lightest whim with the unconscious tyranny of one whohad always been accustomed to command. He ruled his unruly followersdespotically, and it was obvious that while they loved him they fearedhim equally. She had even seen Yusef, his lieutenant, cringe from theheavy scowl that she had, herself, learned to dread.
"You treat them like dogs," she said to him once. "Are you not afraidthat one day they will rise against you and murder you?"
And he had only shrugged his shoulders and laughed, the same low laughof amusement that never failed to make her shiver.
The only person whose devotion seemed untinged by any conflictingsentiment was the French valet, Gaston.
It was the Sheik's complete indifference to everything beyond his ownwill, his Oriental egoism, that stung her most. He treated hersupplications and invectives with a like unconcern. The paroxysms ofwild rage that filled her periodically made no impression on him. Heaccorded them a shrug of ennui or watched her with cold curiosity, hislips parted in a little cruel smile, as if the dissection of herlacerated feelings amused him, until his patience was exhausted, andthen, with one of the lithe, quick movements that she could neverevade, his hands would grip and hold her and he would look at her. Onlythat, but in the grasp of his lean, brown fingers and under the stareof his dark, fierce eyes her own would drop, and the frantic words diefrom her lips. She was physically afraid of him, and she hated him andloathed herself for the fear he inspired. And her fear was legitimate.His strength was abnormal, and behind it was the lawlessness andabsolutism that allowed free rein to his savage impulses. He held lifeand death in his hand.
A few days after he had taken her she had seen him chastise a servant.She did not know what the man's fault had been, but the punishmentseemed out of all proportion to anything that could be imagined, andshe had watched fascinated with horror, until he had tossed away themurderous whip, and without a second glance at the limp, blood-stainedheap that huddled on the ground with suggestive stillness had strolledback unconcerned to the tent. The sight had sickened her and hauntedher perpetually. His callousness horrified her even more than hiscruelty. She hated him with all the strength of her proud, passionatenature. His personal beauty even was an additional cause of offence.She hated him the more for his handsome face and graceful, muscularbody. His only redeeming virtue in her eyes was his total lack ofvanity, which she grudgingly admitted. He was as unconscious of himselfas was the wild animal with which she compared him.
"He is like a tiger," she murmured deep into the cushions, with ashiver, "a graceful, cruel, merciless beast." She remembered a tigershe had shot the previous winter in India. After hours of weary,cramped waiting in the machan the beautiful creature had slippednoiselessly through the undergrowth and emerged into the clearing. Hehad advanced midway towards the tree where she was perched and hadstopped to listen, and the long, free stride, the haughty poise of thethrown-back head, the cruel curl of the lips and the glint in theferocious eyes flashing in the moonlight, were identical with theexpression and carriage of the man who was her master. Then it had beenadmiration without fear, and she had hesitated at wantonly destroyingso perfect a thing, until the quick pressure of her shikari's fingerson her arm brought her back to facts and reminded her that the "perfectthing" was reported to have eaten a woman the previous week. And now itwas fear with a reluctant admiration that she despised herself foraccording.
A hand on her shoulder made her start up with a cry. Usually her nerveswere in better control, but the thick rugs deadened every sound, andshe had not expected him so soon. He had been out since dawn and hadcome in much past his usual time, and had been having a belated siestain the adjoining room.
Angry with herself she bit her lip and pushed the tumbled hair off herforehead. He dropped on to the divan beside her and lit the inevitablecigarette; he smoked continuously every moment he was not in thesaddle. She glanced at him covertly. He was lying with his head thrownback against the cushions, idly blowing smoke-rings and watching themdrift towards the open door-way. And as she looked he yawned and turnedto her.
"Zilah is careless. Insist that she puts away your boots, and does notleave your clothes lying on the floor. There was a scorpion in thebathroom to-day," he said lazily, stretching out his long legs.
She flushed hotly, as she always did when he made any casual referenceto the intimacy of their life. It was his casualness that frightenedher, the carelessly implied continuance of a state that scorched
herwith shame. His attitude invariably suggested a duration of theirrelations that left her numb with a kind of helpless despair. He was sosure of himself, so sure of his possession of her.
She felt the warm blood pouring over her face now, up to the roots ofher bright hair and dyeing her slender neck, and she put her hands upto her head, her fingers thrust through her loose curls, to shield herface from his eyes.
She gave a sigh of relief when Gaston came in bringing a little traywith two filigree-cased cups of coffee.
"I have brought coffee; Madame's tea is finished," he murmured in tonesof deepest distress, and with a gesture that conveyed a nationalcalamity.
There had been just enough tea taken on the tour to last a month. Itwas another pin-prick, another reminder. She set her teeth, moving herhead angrily, and found herself looking into a pair of mocking eyes,and, as always, her own dropped.
Gaston said a few words in Arabic to his master, and the Sheikswallowed the boiling coffee and went out hastily. The valet movedabout the tent with his usual deft noiselessness, gathering upcigarette ends and spent matches, and tidying the room with anassiduous orderliness that was peculiarly his own. Diana watched himalmost peevishly. Was it the influence of the desert that made allthese men cat-like in their movements, or was the servant consciouslyor unconsciously copying his master? With a sudden fit of childishirritability she longed to smash something, and, with an impetuoushand, sent the little inlaid table with the tray and coffee-cupsflying. She was ashamed of the impulse even before the crash came, andlooked at Gaston clearing up the debris with anxious eyes. What was thematter with her? The even temper on which she prided herself and thenerves that had been her boast had vanished, gone by the board in thelast month. If her nerve failed her utterly what would become of her?What would she do?
Gaston had gone, and she looked around the tent with a huntedexpression. There seemed no escape possible from the misery that wasalmost more than she could bear.
There was a way out that had been in her mind often, and she hadsearched frequently in the hope that she might find the means. But theSheik had also thought and had taken precautions. One day it seemed asif her desperate wish might be fulfilled, and she had had only amoment's hesitation as she stretched out her hand to take the revolverthat had been left lying on a table, but as her fingers closed on thebutt a muscular hand closed over hers. He had come in with his usualsilent step and was close to her without her knowing. He had taken theweapon from her quietly, holding her eyes with his own, and had jerkedit open, showing the empty magazine. "Do you think that I am quite afool?" he had asked without a trace of expression in his voice.
And since then she had been under a ceaseless, unobtrusive surveillancethat had left her no chance of carrying out her terrible resolve. Sheburied her face in her hands. "Oh, my God! Is it never going to end? AmI never going to get away from him?"
She sprang to her feet and walked restlessly round the tent, her handsclasped behind her back, her head thrown up, and her lips pressed closetogether. She panted as if she had been running, and her eyes had afar-away, unseeing look. Gradually she got command of herself again andthe nervous excitement died down, leaving her weary and very desolate.The solitude seemed suddenly horrible. Anything would be better thanthe silent emptiness of the great tent. A noise outside attracted her,and she wandered to the doorway and out under the awning. Near her theSheik with Gaston and Yusef stood watching a mad, ramping colt that wasbeing held with difficulty by two or three men, who clung to himtenaciously in spite of his efforts to break away, and beyond was asemi-circle of Arabs, some mounted and some on foot, leaving a wide,open space between them and the tent. They were intensely excited,talking and gesticulating, the mounted men riding round the outer ringthat they formed. Diana leaned against one of the lances that supportedthe awning and watched the scene with growing interest. This camp wasmany miles to the south of the one to which she had first been brought,and which had been broken up a few days after her capture. The settingwas wonderful, the far-off hills dusky in the afternoon light, theclustering palms behind the tents, the crowd of barbaric figures inpicturesque, white robes, the horsemen moving continuously up and down,and in the midst of everything the beautiful, wild creature, frenziedby the noise, kicking and biting at the men holding him. After a momentthe Sheik held up his hand, and a man detached himself from thechattering crowd and came to him salaaming. The Sheik said a few words,and with another salaam and a gleam of white teeth, the man turned andapproached the struggling group in the centre of the ring.
Diana straightened up with interest. The frantic colt was going to bebroken. It was already saddled. Several additional men ran forward, andbetween them the horse was forcibly held for a moment--only for amoment, but it was long enough for the man who leaped like a flash onto his back. The others fell away, racing from the reach of theterrible lashing heels. Amazed for the moment at the suddenunaccustomed weight, the colt paused, and then reared straight up, tillit seemed to Diana that he must fall backward and crush the man who wasclinging to him. But he came down at last, and for a few moments it wasalmost impossible to follow his spasmodic movements as he strove to ridhimself of his rider. The end came quickly. With a twisting heave ofhis whole body he shot the Arab over his head, who landed with a dullthud and lay still, while the men who had been holding the colt dashedin and secured him before he was aware of his liberty. Diana lookedtowards the fallen man; a little crowd were gathered around him, andher heart beat faster as she thought that he was dead. Dead so quickly,and only a moment before he had been so full of life and strength.Death meant nothing to these savages, she thought bitterly, as shewatched the limp body being carried away by three or four men, whoargued violently over their burden. She glanced at the Sheik. He seemedperfectly unconcerned and did not even look in the direction of the manwho had fallen. On the contrary, he laughed, and, turning to Yusef, puthis hand en his shoulder and nodded towards the colt. Diana gave agasp. He spared no one. He was going to make the young man take hischance as the rough-rider had taken his. She knew that the lieutenantrode well, as did all Ahmed Ben Hassan's followers, and that hislanguid manner was only a pose, but he looked so young and boyish, andthe risk seemed enormous. She had seen colts broken before many times,but never a colt so madly savage as this one. But to Yusef the chancewas evidently welcome. With an answering laugh, he swaggered out intothe arena, where the men greeted him with shouts. There was the sameprocedure as before, and Yusef bounded up lightly into the saddle. Thistime, instead of rearing, the frightened beast dashed forward in a wildeffort to escape, but the mounted men, closing up, headed him into themiddle of the ring again, and he went back to his first tactics with arapidity that was too much for the handsome lad on his back, and in afew moments he was thrown heavily. With a shrill scream the colt turnedon him open-mouthed, and Yusef flung up one arm to save his face. Butthe men reached him in time, dragging the colt from him by main force.He rose to his feet unsteadily and limped to the tents behind. Dianacould not see him easily for the throng around him.
Again she looked at the Sheik and ground her teeth. He was stooping tolight a cigarette from a match that Gaston was holding, and then theywalked together nearer to the colt. The animal was now thoroughlymaddened, and it was increasingly difficult to hold him. They went upclose to the struggling, yelling grooms, and the next minute Diana sawGaston sitting firmly in the empty saddle. The little man rodemagnificently, and put up a longer fight than the others had done, butat last his turn came, and he went flying over the colt's head. He camedown lightly on his hands and knees, and scrambled to his feet in aninstant amidst a storm of shouts and laughter. Laughing himself he cameback to the Sheik with a shrug of the shoulders and outspread, eloquenthands. They spoke together for a moment, too low for Diana to hear, andthen Ahmed Ben Hassan went again into the middle of the ring. Diana'sbreath came more quickly. She guessed his intention before he reachedthe colt, and she moved forward from under the awning and joinedGaston, who was wrapping his
handkerchief round a torn hand.
"Monseigneur will try?" she asked a little breathlessly.
Gaston looked at her quickly. "Try, Madame?" he repeated in a queervoice. "Yes, he will try."
Again the empty saddle was filled, and a curious hush came over thewatching crowd. Diana looked on with bright, hard eyes, her heartbeating heavily. She longed passionately that the colt might kill him,and, at the same time, illogically, she wanted to see him master theinfuriated animal. The sporting instinct in her acknowledged andresponded to the fight that was going on before her eyes. She hated himand she hoped that he might die, but she was forced to admire thewonderful horsemanship that she was watching. The Sheik sat like arock, and every effort made to unseat him was unsuccessful. The coltplunged wildly, making furious blind dashes backward and forward,stopping dead in the hope of dislodging his rider, twirling roundsuddenly until it seemed impossible that he could keep his feet. Thenhe started rearing, straight up, his forelegs beating the air, higherand higher, and then down, to commence again without a moment'sbreathing-space.
Diana heard Gaston's breath whistle through his teeth. "Look, Madame!"he cried sharply, and Diana saw the Sheik give a quick glance behindhim, and, as the colt shot up again, almost perpendicular, with a jerkhe pulled him deliberately over backwards, leaping clear with atremendous effort as the horse crashed to the ground. He was in thesaddle again almost before the dazed creature had struggled to itsfeet. And then began a scene that Diana never forgot. It was the finalstruggle that was to end in defeat for either man or horse, and theSheik had decided that it was not to be for the man. It was apunishment of which the untamed animal was never to lose remembrance.The savagery and determination of the man against the mad determinationof the horse. It was a hideous exhibition of brute strength andmerciless cruelty. Diana was almost sick with horror from thebeginning; she longed to turn away, but her eyes clung fascinated tothe battle that was going on. The hush that had fallen on the crowd hadgiven way to roars of excitement, and the men pressed forward eagerly,to give back precipitately when the still-fighting animal's heelsflashed too near.
Diana was shaking all over and her hands were clenching and unclenchingas she stared at the man, who seemed a part of the horse he was sittingso closely. Would it never end? She did not care now which killed theother so that it would only stop. The man's endurance seemed merebravado. She clutched Gaston's arms with a hand that was wringing wet."It is horrible," she gasped with an accent of loathing.
"It is necessary," he replied quietly.
"Nothing can justify that," she cried passionately.
"Your pardon, Madame. He must learn. He killed a man this morning,threw him, and what you call in English 'savaged' him."
Diana hid her face in her hands. "I can't bear it," she said pitifully.
A few minutes later Gaston clicked his tongue against his teeth. "See,Madame. It is over," he said gently.
She looked up fearfully. The Sheik was standing on the ground besidethe colt, who was swaying slowly from side to side with heaving sidesand head held low to the earth, dripping blood and foam. And as shelooked he tottered and collapsed exhausted. There was a rush from allsides, and Gaston went towards his master, who towered above the crowdaround him.
Diana turned away with an exclamation of disgust. It was enough to haveseen a display of such brutality; it was too much to stand by while hisfellow-savages acclaimed him for his cruelty.
She went slowly back into the tent, shaken with what she had seen, andstood in undecided hesitation beside the divan. The helpless feelingthat she so often experienced swept over her with renewed force. Therewas nowhere that she could get away from him, no privacy, no respite.Day and night she must endure his presence with no hope of escape. Sheclosed her eyes in a sudden agony, and then stiffened at the sound ofhis voice outside.
He came in laughing, a cigarette dangling from one blood-stained hand,while with the other he wiped the perspiration from his forehead,leaving a dull red smear. She shrank from him, looking at him withblazing eyes. "You are a brute, a beast, a devil! I hate you!" shechoked furiously.
For a moment an ugly look crossed his face, and then he laughed again."Hate me by all means, _ma belle_, but let your hatred bethorough. I detest mediocrity," he said lightly, as he passed on intothe other room.
She sank down on to the couch. She had never felt so desperate, sopowerless. She stared straight before her, shivering, as she went overthe scene she had just witnessed, her fingers picking nervously at thejade-green silk of her dress. She longed for some power that woulddeaden her feelings and blunt her capacity for suffering. She looked atGaston with hard eyes when he came in. He had approved of what theSheik had done, would have done it himself if he had been able. Theywere all alike.
"The man who was hurt first," she asked abruptly, with a touch of herold hauteur in her voice, "is he dead?"
"Oh no, Madame. He has concussion but he will be all right. They havehard heads, these Arabs."
"And Yusef?"
Gaston grinned. "_Le petit_ Sheik has a broken collar-bone. It isnothing. A few days' holiday to be petted in his harem, _etvoila_!"
"His harem?" echoed Diana in surprise. "Is he married?"
"_Mais oui_, Madame. He has two wives."
At Diana's exclamation he shrugged deprecatingly. "_Quevoulez-vous?_ It is the custom of the country," he said tolerantly,with the air of conceding a melancholy fact with the best gracepossible.
The customs of the country was dangerous ground, and Diana changed thesubject hastily. "Where did you learn to ride, Gaston?"
"In a racing-stable at Auteuil, Madame, when I was a boy. Then I wasfive years in the French cavalry. After that I came to Monseigneur."
"And you have been with him--how long?"
"Fifteen years, Madame."
"Fifteen years," she repeated wonderingly. "Fifteen years here, in thedesert?"
"Here and elsewhere, Madame," he answered rather more shortly thanusual, and with a murmur of excuse left the tent.
Diana leaned back against the cushions with a little sigh. Gaston neednot have been afraid that she was trying to learn his master's secretsfrom him. She had not fallen as low as that. The mystery of the manwhose path had crossed hers so terribly seemed to augment instead oflessen as the time went on. What was the power in him that compelledthe devotion of his wild followers and the little French ex-cavalryman?She knit her forehead in perplexity and was still puzzling over it whenhe came back. Immaculate and well-groomed he was very different fromthe dishevelled, bloodstained savage of half-an-hour before. She shot anervous glance at him, remembering her outburst, but he was not angry.He looked grave, but his gravity seemed centred in himself as he passedhis lean fingers tenderly over his smooth chin. She had seen Aubrey dosimilarly hundreds of times. Occidental or Oriental, men seemed veryalike. She waited for him to speak and waited vainly. One of thetaciturn fits to which she had grown accustomed had come overhim--hours sometimes in which he simply ignored her altogether. Theevening meal was silent. He spoke once to Gaston, but he spoke inArabic, and the servant replied only with a nod of compliance. Andafter Gaston was gone he did not speak for a long time, but sat on thedivan, apparently absorbed in his thoughts.
Restless, Diana moved about the tent, listlessly examining objects thatshe knew by heart, and flirting over the pages of the French magazinesshe had read a dozen times. Usually she was thankful for his silentmoods. To-night with a woman's perversity she wanted him to speak. Shewas unstrung, and the utter silence oppressed her. She glanced over hershoulder at him once or twice, but his back looked unapproachable. Yetwhen he called her, with a swift revulsion of feeling, she wished hehad kept silent. She went to him slowly. She was too unnerved to-nightto struggle against him. What would be the use? she thought wearily; itwould only end in defeat as it always did. He pulled her down on thedivan beside him, and before she realised what he was doing slipped along jade necklace over her head. For a moment she looked stupidly atthe wonderful thi
ng, almost unique in the purity of its colour and themarvellous carving on the uniform square pieces of which it wascomposed, and then with a low cry she tore it off and flung it on theground.
"How dare you?" she gasped.
"You don't like it?" he asked in his low, unruffled voice, his eyebrowsraised in real or assumed surprise. "Yet it matches your dress," andlightly his long fingers touched the folds of green silk swathed acrossthe youthful curve of her breast. He glanced at an open box filled withshimmering stones on a low stool beside him.
"Pearls are too cold and diamonds too banal for you," he said slowly."You should wear nothing but jade. It is the colour of the evening skyagainst the sunset of your hair."
He had never spoken like that to her before, or used that tone ofvoice. His methods had been more fierce than tender. She glanced upswiftly at his face, but it baffled her. There was no love in his eyesor even desire, nothing but an unusual gentleness. "Perhaps you wouldprefer the diamonds and the pearls," he went on, pointing disdainfullyat the box.
"No, no. I hate them! I hate them all! I will not wear your jewels. Youhave no right to think that I am that kind of woman," she criedhysterically.
"You do not like them? _Bon Dieu!_ None of the other women everrefused them. On the contrary, they could never get enough," he saidwith a laugh.
Diana looked up with a startled glance, a look of horror dawning in hereyes. "Other women?" she repeated blankly.
"You didn't suppose you were the first, did you?" he asked with brutalcandour. "Don't look at me like that. They were not like you, they cameto me willingly enough--too willingly. Allah! How they bored me! Itired of them before they tired of me."
She flung her arm across her eyes with a dry sob, straining away fromhim. She had never thought of that. In the purity of her mind it hadnever occurred to her. She was only one of many, one of a succession ofmistresses, taken and discarded at his whim. She writhed with the shamethat filled her. "Oh, you hurt me!" she whispered very low, and thenanger killed all other feeling. He had loosened his arm about her andshe wrenched herself free and sprang to her feet. "I hate you, do youunderstand? I hate you! I hate you!"
He lit a cigarette leisurely before answering and moved into a morecomfortable position on the divan. "So you have already told me thisafternoon," he said at length coolly, "and with reiteration your remarkbecomes less convincing, _ma cherie_."
Her anger ebbed away. She was too tired to be angry. She was humiliatedand hurt, and the man before her had it in his power to hurt her more,but she was at his mercy and to-night she could not fight. She pushedthe hair off her forehead with a heavy sigh and looked at the Sheik'slong length stretched out on the couch, the steely strength of hislimbs patent even in the indolent attitude in which he was lying, athis brown handsome face, inscrutable as it always was to her, and thefeeling of helplessness came back with renewed force and with it thesense of her own pitiful weakness against his force, compelling her tospeak. "Have you never felt pity for a thing that was weaker thanyourself? Have you never spared anything or any one in all your life?Have you nothing in your nature but cruelty? Are all Arabs hard likeyou?" she said shakily. "Has love never even made you merciful?"
He glanced up at her with a harsh laugh, and shook his head. "Love?_Connais pas!_ Yes, I do," he added with swift mockery, "I love myhorses."
"When you don't kill them," she retorted.
"I am corrected. When I don't kill them."
There was something in his voice that made her reckless, that made herwant to hurt him. "If you give no love to the--the women whom you bringhere, do you give love to the women of your harem? You have a harem, Isuppose, somewhere?" she braved him with curling lip and scornfulvoice, but as she spoke she knew that she had only hurt herself and hervoice faltered.
His hand reached out suddenly and he dragged her down into his armsagain with a laugh. "And if I have, are you jealous? What if the nightsI spent away from you were passed in my harem--what then?"
"Then may Allah put it into the heart of one of your wives to poisonyou so that you never come back," she said fiercely.
"Allah! So beautiful and so bloodthirsty," he said in banteringreproof. Then he turned her face up to his, smiling into her angry eyeswith amusement. "I have no harem and, thanks be to Allah, no wives,_cherie._ Does that please you?"
"Why should I care? It is nothing to me," she replied sharply, with avivid blush.
He held her closer, looking deeply into her eyes, holding them as hecould when he liked, in spite of her efforts to turn them away--amesmerism she could not resist.
"Shall I make you care? Shall I make you love me? I can make women loveme when I choose."
She went very white and her eyes flickered. She knew that he was onlyamusing himself, that he was utterly indifferent to her feelings, thathe did not care if she hated or loved him, but it was a new form oftorture that was more detestable than anything that had gone before it.It infuriated her that he could even suggest that she could come tocare for him, that she could ever look on him as anything but a brutalsavage who had committed a hideous outrage, that she could ever haveany feeling for him except hatred and loathing. That he should classher with the other women he spoke of revolted her, she felt degraded,soiled as she had never done before, and she had thought that she hadfelt the utmost humiliation of her position.
The colour rushed back into her face. "I would rather you killed me,"she cried passionately.
"So would I," he said drily, "for if you loved me you would bore me andI should have to let you go. While as it is"--he laughed softly--"as itis I do not regret the chance that took me into Biskra that day."
He let her go and got up with a yawn, watching her approvingly as shecrossed the tent. The easy swing of her boyish figure and the defiantcarriage of her head reminded him of one of his own thoroughbredhorses. She was as beautiful and as wild as they were. And as he brokethem so would he break her. She was nearly tamed now, but not quite,and by Allah! it should be quite! As he turned his foot struck againstthe jade necklace lying on the rug where she had thrown it. He pickedit up and called her back. She came reluctantly, slowly, with mutinouseyes.
He held out the necklace silently, and silently she stared not at itbut at him. Her heart began to beat faster, and the colour slowly lefther face. "Take it. I wish it," he said quietly.
"No." It was little more than a gasp.
"You will wear it to please me," he went on in the same soft voice, andthe old hateful mockery crept into his eyes, "to please my artisticsoul. I have an artistic soul even though I am only an Arab."
"I will not!"
The mockery was wiped out of his eyes in a flash, giving place to theusual ferocity, and his forehead knit in the dreaded heavy scowl."Diane, obey me!"
She clenched her teeth on her lower lip until a rim of blood stainedtheir whiteness. If he would only shout or bluster like the averageangry man she felt that she could brave him longer, but the cold quietrage that characterised him always was infinitely more sinister, andparalysed her with its silent force. She had never heard him raise hisvoice in anger or quicken his usual slow, soft tone, but there was aninflection that came into his voice and a look that came into his eyesthat was more terrible than any outburst. She had seen his men shrinkwhen, standing near him, she had barely been able to hear what he hadsaid. She had seen a look from him silence a clamorous quarrel that hadbroken out among his followers too close to his own tent for hispleasure. And that inflection was in his voice and that look was in hiseyes now. It was no longer use to resist. The fear of him was an agony.She would have to obey, as in the end he always forced her to obey. Shewrenched her eyes away from his compelling stare, her bosom heavingunder the soft silk, her chin quivering, and reached out blindly andtook it from him. But the sudden chill of it against her bare breastseemed to revive the courage that was not yet dead in her. She flung upher head, the transient colour flaming into her cheeks, and her lipssprang open, but he drew her to him swiftly, and laid his hand
over hermouth. "I know, I know," he said coldly. "I am a brute and a beast anda devil. You need not tell me again. It commences to grow tedious." Hishand slipped to her shoulder, his fingers gripping the delicate,rounded arm. "How much longer are you going to fight? Would it not bewiser after what you have seen to-day to recognise that I am master?"
"You mean that you will treat me as you treated the colt thisafternoon?" she whispered, her eyes drawn back irresistibly to his inspite of all her efforts.
"I mean that you must realise that my will is law."
"And if I do not?" He guessed rather than heard the words.
"Then I will teach you, and I think that you will learn--soon."
She quivered in his hands. It was a threat, but how much of it he meantto be taken literally she did not know. Again every ghastly detail ofthe afternoon passed with lightning speed through her mind. When hepunished he punished mercilessly. To what lengths would he go? The Arabstandards were not those of the men amongst whom she had lived. Theposition of a woman in the desert was a very precarious one. There weretimes when she forgot altogether that he was an Arab until some chance,as now, drove the hard fact home indisputably. He was an Arab, and as awoman she need expect no mercy at his hands. His hands! She looked downfor a second sideways at the fingers gripping her shoulder and she sawthem again stained with blood, saw them clenched round the drippingthong. She knew already by bitter experience the iron grip of his leanfingers and the compelling strength of his arms. Her quick imaginationleaped ahead. What she had already suffered would be nothing comparedwith what would be. The remembrance of the stained, huddled figure ofthe servant he had chastised rose before her. And as she battled withherself, still torn in her passionate desire to make her strong willand courageous spirit triumph over her coward woman's body that shrankinstinctively from physical torture, his arm tightened around her andshe felt the hard muscles pressing against her shoulders and soft, bareneck, a suggestion of the force lying dormant beside her. She looked upat him slowly.
His expression was unchanged, his forehead was still drawn together inthe heavy frown and there was no softening in his eyes. The cruel linesabout his mouth were accentuated and the tiger-look in his face wasmore marked than ever. He was not threatening idly; he meant what hesaid.
"You had better kill me," she said drearily.
"That would be to admit my own defeat," he replied coolly. "I do notkill a horse until I have proved beyond all possible doubt that Icannot tame it. With you I have no such proof. I can tame you and Iwill. But it is for you to choose and to choose to-night if you willobey me willingly or if I must make you. I have been very patient--forme," he added, with an odd smile flitting across his face, "but mypatience is exhausted. Choose quickly." Insensibly he drew her closerto him till his arm felt like an inflexible steel band about her, andshe thought with a shudder of the coils of a great serpent closinground its victim. She made a final effort to conquer herself, butbetween her and the broad chest so close to her she seemed to see ahorse's head held low in agony, blood and foam dripping from hislacerated mouth, and a horse's flanks heaving piteously, torn with thecruel punishment he had undergone. A sudden nausea came over her,everything seemed to swim before her eyes, and she swayed against theman who was holding her. Her bodily fear overruled her mind. She couldnot bear any more.
"I will obey you," she whispered heavily.
He took her chin in his fingers and jerked her head up sharply, staringat her intently until she felt he was looking into her very soul. Theheavy scowl smoothed away but the fierceness lingered in his eyes."Good!" he said at length briefly. "You are wise," he addedsignificantly. He tilted her head further back, bending his own downuntil his lips were nearly touching hers. She shivered involuntarily,an anguished appeal leaping into her eyes. He smiled ironically. "Doyou hate them so much, my kisses?"
She swallowed convulsively.
"You are at least candid if you are not complimentary;" and with thathe released her and turned away.
She reached the curtain that divided the two rooms, her heart beatingwildly, giddy with the strain that she had gone through. She paused amoment and looked back at him, amazed at her own temerity. He hadunbuttoned the flap of the tent and was standing in the entrancelooking out into the night. The scent of the peculiar tobacco he useddrifted to her with the draught from the open door. Her eyes grewpuzzled. Would she ever understand him? To-night he had given her achoice instead of simply enforcing his will, he had made her choose tosave herself, he had proved his determination and his mastery over her.And with his last words the unexpected gentleness had come into hisvoice again and the cruel lines about his mouth had relaxed in a smileof amusement. It was the swift transition from ferocity to gentlenessthat she could never fathom. His complex nature was beyond herunderstanding. She would not try to understand him; she could neverknow the depths of his baffling personality. She only knew that forsome reason of his own he had spared her, and she feared him more thanever.