by E. M. Hull
CHAPTER VII
Diana came into the living-room one morning about a week after thearrival of the Vicomte de Saint Hubert. She had expected to find theroom empty, for the Sheik had risen at dawn and ridden away on one ofthe distant expeditions that had become so frequent, and she thoughthis friend had accompanied him, but as she parted the curtains betweenthe two rooms she saw the Frenchman sitting at the little writing-tablesurrounded by papers and writing quickly, loose sheets of manuscriptlittering the floor around him. It was the first time that they hadchanced to be alone, and she hesitated with a sudden shyness. But SaintHubert had heard the rustle of the curtain, and he sprang to his feetwith the courteous bow that proclaimed his nationality.
"Your pardon, Madame. Do I disturb you? Tell me if I am in the way. Iam afraid I have been very untidy," he added, laughing apologetically,and looking at the heap of closely-written sheets strewing the rug.
Diana came forward slowly, a faint colour rising in her face. "Ithought you had gone with Monseigneur."
"I had some work to do--some notes that I wanted to transcribe before Iforgot myself what they meant; I write vilely. I have had a hard week,too, so I begged a day off. I may stay? You are sure I do not disturbyou?"
His sympathetic eyes and the deference in his voice brought anunexpected lump into her throat. She signed to him to resume his workand passed out under the awning. Behind the tent the usual camp hubbubfilled the air. A knot of Arabs at a little distance were watching oneof the rough-riders schooling a young horse, noisily critical andoffering advice freely, undeterred by the indifference with which itwas received. Others lounged past engaged on the various dutiesconnected with the camp, with the Eastern disregard for time thatrelegated till to-morrow everything that could possibly be neglectedto-day. Near her one of the older men, more rigid in his observancesthan the generality of Ahmed Ben Hassan's followers, was placidlyabsorbed in his devotions, prostrating himself and fulfilling hisritual with the sublime lack of self-consciousness of the Mohammedandevotee.
Outside his own tent the valet and Henri were sitting in the sun,Gaston on an upturned bucket, cleaning a rifle, and his brotherstretched full length on the ground, idly flapping at the flies withthe duster with which he had been polishing the Vicomte's riding-boots.Both men were talking rapidly with frequent little bursts of gaylaughter. The Persian hound was lying at their feet. He raised his headas Diana appeared, and, rising, went to her slowly, rearing up againsther with a paw on each shoulder, making clumsy efforts to lick herface, and she pushed him down with difficulty, stooping to kiss hisshaggy head.
She looked away across the desert beyond the last palms of the oasis. Ahaze hung round about, shimmering in the heat and blurring the outlineof the distant hills. A tiny breeze brought the acrid smell of camelscloser to her, and the creaking whine of the tackling over the wellsounded not very far away. Diana gave a little sigh. It had all grownso familiar. She seemed to have lived no other life beside this nomadexistence. The years that had gone before faded into a kind of dimremembrance, the time when she had travelled ceaselessly round theworld with her brother seemed very remote. She had existed then,filling her life with sport, unconscious of the something that waslacking in her nature, and now she was alive at last, and the heartwhose existence she had doubted was burning and throbbing with apassion that was consuming her. Her eyes swept lingeringly around thecamp with a very tender light in them. Everything she saw was connectedwith and bound up in the man who was lord of it all. She was very proudof him, proud of his magnificent physical abilities, proud of his holdover his wild turbulent followers, proud with the pride of primevalwoman in the dominant man ruling his fellow-men by force and fear.
The old Arab had finished his prayers and rose leisurely from hisknees, salaaming with a broad smile. All the tribesmen smiled on her,and would go out of their way to win a nod of recognition from her. Shefaltered a few words in stumbling Arabic in reply to his long, floweryspeech, and with a little laugh beat a hasty retreat into the tent.
She paused beside the Vicomte. "Is it another novel?" she asked shyly,indicating the steadily increasing pile of manuscript.
He turned on his chair, resting his arms on the rail, twirling afountain pen between his fingers, and smiled at her as she curled up onthe divan with Kopec, who had followed her into the tent. "No, Madame,Something more serious this time. It is a history of this very curioustribe of Ahmed's. They are different in so many ways from ordinaryArabs. They have been a race apart for generations. They have beliefsand customs peculiarly their own. You may, for instance, have noticedthe singular absence among them of the strict religious practices thathold among other Mohammedans. Ahmed Ben Hassan's tribe worship firstand foremost their Sheik, then the famous horses for which they arerenowned, and then and then only--Allah."
"Is Monseigneur a Mohammedan?"
Saint Hubert shrugged. "He believes in a God," he said evasively,turning back to his writing.
Diana studied him curiously as he bent over his work. She smiledwhen she thought of the mental picture she had drawn of Saint Hubertbefore he came, and contrasted it with the real man under her eyes.During the week that he had been in the camp he had forced herliking and compelled her confidence by the sympathetic charm of hismanner. He had carried off a difficult position with a delicacy and_savoir-faire_ that had earned him her gratitude. He had saved hera hundred humiliations with a tact that had been as spontaneous as ithad been unobtrusive. And they had the bond between them of the commonlove they had for this strange leader of a strange tribe. What had beenthe origin of the friendship between these utterly dissimilar men--afriendship that seemed to go back to the days of their boyhood? Thequestion intrigued her and she pondered over it, lying quietly on thedivan, smoothing the hound's huge head resting on her knee.
The Vicomte wrote rapidly for some time and then flung down his penwith an exclamation of relief, gathered up the loose sheets from thefloor and, stacking them in an orderly heap on the table, swung roundon his chair again. He looked at the girl's slender little figure lyingwith the unconsciously graceful attitude of a child against theheaped-up cushions, her face bent over the dog's rough, grey head, andhe felt an unwonted emotion stirring in him. The quick sympathy thatshe had aroused from the first moment of seeing her had given place toa deeper feeling that moved him profoundly, and with it a chivalrousdesire to protect, a longing to stand between her and the irremediabledisaster that loomed inevitably ahead of her.
She felt his concentrated gaze and looked up. "You have done yourwork?"
"All I can do at the moment. Henri must unravel the rest; he has apassion for hieroglyphics. He is an invaluable person I could neverget on without him. He bullied me when we were boys together--at leastthat is what I called it. He called it 'amusing Monsieur le Vicomte,'and for the last fifteen years he has tyrannised over mewholeheartedly." He laughed and snapped his fingers at Kopec, whowhined and rolled his eyes in his direction, but did not lift his headfrom Diana's knee.
There was a pause, and Diana continued fondling the hound absently. "Ihave read your books, Monsieur--all that Monseigneur has here," shesaid at last, looking up gravely.
He gave a little bow with a few murmured words that she did not catch.
"Your novel interested me," she went on, still stroking the hound, asif the nearness of the great beast helped her.
"As a rule novels bore me, the subjects they deal with have been of nointerest to me, but this one gripped me. It is unusual, it iswonderful, but--is it real?" She had spoken dispassionately with theboyish candour that was characteristic, not complimenting an author ona masterpiece, but stating a fact simply, as it appeared to her.
Saint Hubert leaned forward over the back of his chair. "In whatway--real?" he asked.
She looked at him squarely. "Do you think there really exists such aman as you have drawn--a man who could be as tender, as unselfish, asfaithful as your hero?"
Saint Hubert looked away, and, picking up his pen, stabbed idly at t
heblotting-pad, drawing meaningless circles and dots, with a slow shrug.The scorn in her voice and the sudden pain in her eyes hurt him.
"Do you know such a man, Monsieur, or is he wholly a creature of yourimagination?" she persisted.
He completed a complicated diagram on the sheet of blotting-paperbefore answering. "I do know a man who, given certain circumstances,has the ability to develop into such a character," he said eventuallyin a low voice.
She laughed bitterly. "Then you are luckier than I. I am not very old,but during the last five years I have met many men of manynationalities, and I have never known one who in any degree resemblesthe _preux chevalier_ of your book. The men who have mostintimately touched my life have not known the meaning of the wordtenderness, and have never had a thought for any one beyond themselves.You have been more fortunate in your acquaintances, Monsieur."
A dull red crept into the Vicomte's face, and he continued looking atthe pen in his fingers. "Beautiful women, Madame," he said slowly,"unfortunately provoke in some men all that is basest and vilest intheir natures. No man knows to what depths of infamy he may stoop underthe stress of a sudden temptation."
"And the woman pays," cried Diana vehemently. "Pays for the beauty Godcurses her with--the beauty she may hate herself; pays until the beautyfades. How much----" She pulled herself up short, biting her lips.Moved by the sense of the sympathy that had unconsciously beeninfluencing her during the past week and which had shaken theself-suppression that she had imposed upon herself, her tongue had runaway with her. She was afraid of the confidence that his manner wasalmost demanding of her. Her pride restrained her from the compassionthat her loneliness had nearly yielded to.
"Excuse me," she said coldly, "my ideas cannot possibly interest you."
"On the contrary, you interest me profoundly," he corrected quickly.
She noticed the slight difference in his words and laughed morebitterly than before. "As what?--a subject for vivisection? Get on youroperating coat and bring your instruments without delay. The victim isall ready for you. It will be 'copy' for your next book!"
"Madame!"
He had sprung to his feet, and she looked up at him miserably, her handheld out in swift contrition. "Oh, forgive me! I shouldn't have saidthat. You haven't deserved it. You have been--kind. I am grateful.Forgive me and my rudeness. It must be the heat, it makes one veryirritable, don't you think?"
He ignored her pitiful little subterfuge and raised her outstretched,quivering fingers to his lips. "If you will honour me with yourfriendship," he said, with a touch of the old-world chivalry that wasoften noticeable in him, "my life is at your service."
But as he spoke his voice changed. The touch of her cold fingers sent arush of feeling through him that for an instant overpowered him.
She let her hand lie in his, and for a few moments she avoided his eyesand looked down at the rough head in her lap. Then she met his gazefrankly. "Your offer is too rare a thing to put on one side. If youwill be my friend, as you are Monseigneur's friend----" she faltered,turning her head away, and her fingers lying in his trembled slightly.
He started and crushed the hand he was holding unknowingly, as thethought was forced on him. Monseigneur's friend! He realized that inthe last few moments he had forgotten the Sheik, had forgotteneverything, swept off his feet by an intense emotion that staggered himwith its unexpectedness, except the loveliness and helplessness of thegirl beside him. His head was reeling; his calmness, his loyalty, hisearlier feelings of dispassionate pity had given way to an extremeagitation that was rushing him headlong and threatening to overwhelmhim. His heart beat furiously and he clenched his teeth, fighting toregain his usual _sang-froid_. The emotional temperament thatDiana had divined from his novel had sprung uppermost with a bound,overthrowing the rigid repression of years. The blood beat in his earsas he strove to master himself, to crush the madness that had come uponhim.
He had closed his eyes with the shock of self-revelation, he openedthem now and looked down at her hesitatingly, almost fearfully,clasping her hand closer in his and leaning nearer to her, drawnirresistibly by the intoxication of her nearness. He saw her through amist that cleared gradually, saw that she was ignorant of the emotionshe had awakened in him, and, conscious only of his sympathy, had lefther hand in his as she would have left it in her brother's. She wasbent low over the hound, her face almost touching his big head, and asSaint Hubert looked a glistening tear dropped on Kopec's rough, greyneck. She had forgotten him, forgotten even that he was standing besideher, in the one predominant thought that filled her mind. With animmense effort he got command of himself. Somehow he must conquer thissudden insanity. The loyalty that had hung trembling in the balancereasserted itself and a self-disgust seized him. He had been within anace of betraying the man who had been for twenty years nearer to himthan a brother. She belonged to his friend, and now he had not even theright to question the ethics of the Sheik's possession of her. The calmthat he had lost came back to him. The wound would heal though it mightalways throb, but he was strong enough to hide its existence even fromthe jealous eyes that had watched him ceaselessly since his outburst onthe night of his arrival. He had been conscious of them daily. Eventhis morning the Sheik had made every effort short of a direct commandto induce him to go with him on the expedition that had taken him awayso early. Sure of himself now, he lifted her fingers to his lips againreverently with a kind of renunciation in his kiss, and laid her handdown gently. He turned away with a smothered sigh and a little pang ather complete absorption, and, as he did so, Henri came in quickly.
"Monsieur le Vicomte! Will you come? There has been an accident."
With a cry that Saint Hubert never forgot Diana leaped to her feet, herface colourless, and her lips framed the word "Ahmed," though no soundcame from them. She was shaking all over, and the Vicomte put his armround her instinctively. She clung to him, and he knew with a bittercertainty that the support of a table or a chair would have meant noless to her.
"What is it, Henri?" he said sharply, with a slight movement thatinterposed himself between Diana and his servant.
"One of the men, Monsieur le Vicomte. His gun burst, and his hand isshattered."
Saint Hubert nodded curtly towards the door and turned his attention toDiana. She sank down on the divan and, gathering the hound's head inher arm, buried her face in his neck. "Forgive me," she murmured, hervoice muffled in the rough, grey hair. "It is stupid of me, but he isriding that brute Shaitan to-day. I am always nervous. Please go. Iwill come in a minute."
He went without a word. "I am always nervous." The tales he had heardof Diana Mayo as he passed through Biskra did not include nerves. Hisface was set as he ran hurriedly across the camp.
Diana sat quite still after he had gone until the nervous shudderingceased, until Kopec twisted his head free of her arms and licked herface with an uneasy whine. She brushed her hand across her eyes with agasp of relief, and went out into the bright sunlight with the hound ather heels.
The noisy clamour of excited voices guided her to the scene of theaccident, and the surrounding crowd opened to let her pass through. Thewounded man was sitting holding up his hand stoically for SaintHubert's ministrations with a look of mild interest on his face. Inresponse to Diana's smile and cheery word he grinned sheepishly with aroll of his fine eyes. Saint Hubert looked up quickly. "It is not apleasant sight," he said doubtfully.
"I don't mind. Let me hold that," she said quietly, rolling up hersleeves and taking a crimson-spattered basin from Henri. Saint Hubertflashed another look at her, marvelling at her steady voice and evencolour when he thought of the white-faced girl who had clung tremblingto him ten minutes earlier. Outside of Ahmed Ben Hassan she stillretained the fearless courage that she had always had; it was only whenanything touched him nearly that the new Diana, with the coward anxietyof love, rose paramount.
She watched the Vicomte's skilful treatment of the maimed hand withinterest. There was a precision in his movement and a deft touch th
atindicated both knowledge and practise. "You are a doctor?"
"Yes," he said, without looking up from his work, "I studied when I wasa young man and passed all the necessary examinations. It isindispensable when one travels as I do. I have found it invaluable."
He took up some dressing that Henri held ready for him, and Dianahanded the now unwanted bowl to Gaston. She looked again at the Arab,whose impassive face showed no sign of any feeling. "Does he feel itvery much, do you think?" she asked the valet.
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Less than I should, Madame.What is really troubling him is the thought of what Monseigneur willsay when he hears that Selim was fool enough to buy a worthless gunfrom one of the servants of the Dutchman who passed here last week,"and he added a few teasing words in Arabic which made Selim look upwith a grimace.
Saint Hubert finished adjusting the bandages and stood up, wiping theperspiration from his forehead.
"Will he do all right now?" asked Diana anxiously.
"I think so. The thumb is gone, as you saw, but I think I can save therest of the hand. I will watch him carefully, but these men of Ahmed'sare in such excellent condition that I do not think there will be anytrouble."
"I am going to ride," said Diana, turning away. "It is rather late, butthere is just time. Will you come?"
It was a temptation and he hesitated, gathering together theinstruments he had been using, but prudence prevailed.
"I should like to, but I ought to keep an eye on Selim," he saidquietly, snatching at the plausible excuse that offered. He found herlater before the big tent as she was ready to start, and waited whileshe mounted.
"If I am late don't wait for me. Tell Henri to give you your lunch,"she called out between The Dancer's idiotic prancings.
He watched her ride away, with Gaston a few paces behind and followedby the escort of six men that the Sheik had lately insisted upon. Thecontinual presence of these six men riding at her heels irked herconsiderably. The wild, free gallops that she had loved became quitedifferent with the thought of the armed guard behind her. They seemedto hamper her and put a period to her enjoyment. The loneliness of herrides had been to her half their charm; she had grown accustomed to andoblivious of Gaston, but she was acutely conscious of the six pairs ofeyes watching her every movement. She did not see the necessity forthem. She had never been aware of anything any time when she was ridingthat seemed to justify the Sheik's order. The oasis was not on acaravan route, and if she ever saw Arabs at any distance from the campthey always proved to be Ahmed Ben Hassan's own men. She had thought ofremonstrating with him, but her courage had failed her. His mood, sincethe coming of Saint Hubert, had been of the coldest--almost repellant.The weeks of happiness that had gone before had developed the intimacybetween them almost into a feeling of camaraderie. He had been morehumane, more Western, more considerate than he had ever been, and thefear that she had of him had lain quiescent. She could have asked himthen. But since the morning of Raoul's arrival, when the unexpectedfervour of his embrace had given new birth to the hope that had almostdied within her, he had changed completely into a cold reserve thatchilled her. His caresses had been careless and infrequent, and hisindifference so great that she had wondered miserably if the flame ofhis passion for her was burning out and if this was the end. And yetthroughout his indifference she had been conscious, like Saint Hubert,of the surveillance of constant jealous eyes that watched them bothwith a fierce scrutiny that was felt rather than actually seen. But thespark of hope that the knowledge of this jealousy still fanned was notgreat enough to overcome the barrier that his new mood had raisedbetween them. She dared ask no favour of him now. Her heart tightenedat the thought of his indifference. It hurt so. This morning he hadleft her without a word when he had gone out into the early dawn, andshe was hungry for the kisses he withheld. She was used to his taciturnfits, but her starved heart ached perpetually for tangible recognition.Love, the capacity for which she had so long denied, had become a forcethat, predominating everything, held her irresistibly. The accumulatedaffection that, for want of an outlet, had been stemmed within her, hadburst all restraint, and the love that she gave to the man to whom shehad surrendered her proud heart was immeasurable--a love of infinitetenderness and complete unselfishness, a love that had made herstrangely humble. She had yielded up everything to him, he dominatedher wholly. Her imperious will had bent before his greaterdetermination, and his mastery over her had provoked a love that cravedfor recompense. She only lived for him and for the hope of his love,engulfed in the passion that enthralled her. Her surrender had been nocommon one. The feminine weakness that she had despised and foughtagainst had triumphed over her unexpectedly without humiliatingthoroughness. Sex had supervened to overthrow all her preconceivednotions. The womanly instincts that under Aubrey's training had beensuppressed and undeveloped had, in contact with the Sheik's vividmasculinity and compelling personality, risen to the surface withstartling completeness.
To-day she was almost desperate. His callousness of the morning hadwounded her deeply, and a wave of rebellion welled up in her. She wouldnot be thrown aside without making any effort to fight for his love.She would use every art that her beauty and her woman's instinct gaveher. Her cheek burned as she thought of the role she was settingherself. She would be no better than "those others" whose remembrancestill made her shiver. But she crushed down the repugnant feelingresolutely, flinging up her head with the old haughty gesture anddrawing herself straighter in the saddle with compressed lips. She hadendured so much already that she could even bear this further outrageto her feelings. At no matter what cost she must make him care for her.Though she loathed the means she would make him love her. But even asshe planned the doubt of her ability to succeed crept into her mind,torturing her with insidious recollections.
Ahmed Ben Hassan was no ordinary man to succumb to the fascinations ofa woman. She had experienced his obstinacy, and knew the inflexibilityof his nature. His determination was a rock against which she had beenbroken too many times not to know its strength. For a moment shedespaired, then courage came to her again, thrusting away the doubtsthat crowded in upon her and leaving the hope that still lingered inher heart. A faint tremulous smile curved her lips, and she looked up,forcing her thoughts back to the present with an effort.
At the beginning of the ride they had passed several vedettes sittingmotionless on their impatient horses. The men had swung their rifleshigh in the air in salute as she passed, and once or twice Gaston hadshouted a question as he galloped after her. But for the last hour theyhad seen no one. The desert was undulating here, rising and falling inshort, sharp declivities that made a wide outlook impossible.
Gaston spurred to Diana's side. "Will Madame please to turn?" he saidrespectfully. "It is late, and it is not safe riding amongst theseslopes. One cannot see what is coming and I am afraid."
"Afraid, Gaston?" she rallied laughingly.
"For you, Madame," he answered gravely.
She reined in The Dancer as she spoke; but it was too late. Even as sheturned her horse's head innumerable Arabs seemed to spring up on allsides of them. Before she realised what was happening her escortflashed past and wheeled in behind her, shooting steadily at the hordeof men who poured in upon them, and, with a groan, Gaston seized herbridle and urged the horses back in the direction from which they hadcome. The noise was deafening, the raucous shouting of the Arabs andthe continuous sharp crack of the rifles. Bullets began to whizz pasther.
Gaston tucked his reins under his knee, and with one hand grasping TheDancer's bridle and his revolver in the other, rode looking back overhis shoulder. Diana, too, glanced behind her, and mechanically herfingers closed over the shining little weapon that the Sheik had givenher the previous week. She saw with a sudden sickening the six men whohad formed her escort beaten back by the superior numbers that enclosedthem on every side. Already two were down and the rest were on foot,and, as she watched, they were swallowed up in the mass of men thatpoured over them, and
, at the same time, a party of about twentyhorsemen detached themselves from the main body and galloped towardsher and Gaston.
She seized his arm. "Can't we do something? Can't we help them? Wecan't leave them like that," she gasped, wrenching the revolver fromthe holster at her waist.
"No, no, Madame, it is impossible. It is a hundred to six. You mustthink of yourself. Go on, Madame. For God's sake, ride on. We may havea chance." He loosed her bridle and dropped behind her, interposinghimself between her and the pursuing Arabs. A fierce yelling and a hailof bullets that went wide made Diana turn her head as she crouched lowin the saddle. She realised the meaning of Gaston's tactics and checkedher horse deliberately.
"I won't go first. You must ride with me," she cried, wincing as abullet went close by her.
"_Mon Dieu!_ What are you stopping for? Do you think I can faceMonseigneur if anything happens to you, Madame?" replied Gastonfiercely. "Do as I tell you. Go on!" Deference was gone in the fearthat roughened his voice.
He looked back and his face grew grey. For himself he had no fear, butfor the girl beside him he dared not even think. They were IbraheimOmair's men who had trapped them, and he cursed his folly in allowingDiana to come so far. Yet it had seemed safe enough. The scout'sreports had lately proved that the robber Sheik had up to now respectedthe boundary line between the two territories. This must be a suddententative raid which had met with unlooked-for success. The bait wouldbe too tempting to allow of any slackening on the part of the raiders.The white woman, who was Ahmed Ben Hassan's latest toy, and hisservant, whom he was known to value so highly, would be a prize thatwould not be lightly let go. For himself it would be probably torture,certainly death, and for her----! He set his teeth as he looked at herand the perspiration poured down his face. He would kill her himselfbefore it came to that. And as he looked she turned her head, and methis agonised eyes for a moment, smiling bravely. He had refrained uptill now from shooting, trying to reserve his ammunition for a lastresource, but he saw that he must delay no longer. He fired slowly andsteadily, picking his men with careful precision. It was a forlornhope, but by checking the leaders even for a few moments he might gaintime. The accuracy of his aim, that every time proved effectual, mightkeep back the onrush until they got clear of the undulating country,until they got out into the open where the sounds of the firing mightreach some of the outpost sentinels, until they got too near to theSheik's camp for pursuit to be possible. The bullets patteredcontinuously round them, but the men who fired them were not Ahmed BenHassan's carefully trained marksmen. But still Gaston knew that theirposition was almost hopeless. Any moment a bullet might reach one ofthem.
Their pursuers, too, seemed to guess his thoughts and opened out intoan irregular, extended line, swerving and manoeuvring continually,making accurate shooting impossible, while they urged their horses to aterrific pace trying to outflank them. Diana was shooting now. Thethought of her escort's annihilation and her own and Gaston's peril hadovercome the reluctance she had had at first, and she had even a momentto wonder at her coolness. She did not feel afraid, the death ofAhmed's men had made her angry, a fierce revengeful anger that made hersee red and filled her with a desire to retaliate in kind. She firedrapidly, emptying her revolver, and she had just reloaded with steadyfingers when The Dancer stumbled, recovering himself for a few steps,and then lurched slowly over on to his side, blood pouring from hismouth. Diana sprang clear, and in a moment Gaston was beside her,thrusting her behind him, shielding her with his own body, and firingsteadily at the oncoming Arabs.
The same feeling of unreality that she had experienced once before thefirst day in the Sheik's camp came over her. The intense stillness--forthe Arabs had ceased shouting--the hot, dry sand with the shimmeringheat haze rising like mist from its whispering surface, the cloudlessdeep blue sky overhead, the band of menacing horsemen circling nearerand nearer, the dead Dancer, with Gaston's horse standing quietlybeside his prostrate companion, and lastly, the man beside her, braveand devoted to the end, all seemed fantastic and unreal. She viewed itdispassionately, as if she were a spectator rather than a participantin the scene. But for a moment only, then the reality of the situationcame clearly to her again. Any minute might mean death for one or otheror both of them, and with an instinctive movement she pressed closer toGaston. They were both silent, there seemed nothing to say. The valet'sleft hand clenched over hers at the involuntary appeal forcompanionship that she made, and she felt it contract as a bulletgashed his forehead, blinding him for a moment with the blood thatdripped into his eyes. He let go her hand to brush his arm across hisface, and as he did so the Arabs with suddenly renewed shouting boredown upon them.
Gaston turned sharply and Diana read his purpose in the horror in hiseyes. She held up her head with a little nod and the same brave smileon her white lips. "Please," she whispered, "quickly!" A spasm crossedhis face, "Turn your head," he muttered desperately. "I cannot do it ifyou----"
There was a rattle of shots, and with a gasp he crumpled up againsther. For a moment it was pandemonium. Standing over Gaston's body shefired her last shot and flung the empty revolver in the face of a manwho sprang forward to seize her. She turned with a desperate hope ofreaching Gaston's horse, but she was hemmed in, and for a second shestood at bay, hands clenched and teeth set, braving the wild faces thatsurrounded her, and were closing in upon her, with flashing defianteyes. Then she was conscious of a crashing blow on her head, the groundheaved up under her feet, everything went black before her eyes, andwithout a sound she fell senseless.
Late in the afternoon Saint Hubert was still writing in the big tent.Henri had deciphered the notes that had baffled his master in themorning, and the Vicomte had taken advantage of the solitude to do somelong-neglected work. He had forgotten the time, forgotten to besurprised at Diana's continued absence, immersed in the interestingsubject he was dealing with, and not realising the significance of herdelayed return. Ahmed had spoken of the proximity of his hereditaryenemy, but Saint Hubert had not grasped how near the robber Sheik hadventured.
He was too engrossed to notice the usual noise in the camp thatheralded the Sheik's arrival, and he looked up with a start when AhmedBen Hassan swept in. The Sheik's dark eyes glanced sombrely around thetent and without a word he went through into the inner room. In amoment he came hack.
"Where is Diane?"
Saint Hubert got up, puzzled at his tone. He looked at his watch. "Shewent for a ride this morning. _Dieu!_ I had no idea it was solate."
"This morning!--and not back yet?" repeated the Sheik slowly. "Whattime this morning?"
"About ten, I think," replied Saint Hubert uneasily. "I'm not sure. Ididn't look. There was an accident, and she delayed to watch me tie upone of your foolish children who had been playing with a worthlessgun."
The Sheik moved over to the doorway. "She had an escort?" he askedcurtly.
"Yes."
Ahmed Ben Hassan's face hardened and the heavy scowl contracted hisblack brows. Had she all these weeks been tricking him--feigning acontent she did not feel, lulling his suspicions to enable her to seizeanother opportunity to attempt to get away? For a moment his face grewdark, then he put the thought from him. He trusted her. Only a weekbefore she had given him her word, and he knew she would not lie tohim. And, besides, the thing was impossible. Gaston would never becaught napping a second time, and there were also the six men whoformed her guard. She would never be able to escape the vigilance ofseven men. But it was the trust he had in her that weighed most withhim. He had never trusted a woman before, but this woman had beendifferent. The others who had come and gone so lightly had not evenleft a recollection behind them; they had faded into one concrete causeof utter boredom. There had never been any reason to trust or mistrustthem, or to care if they came or went. Satiety had come with possessionand with it indifference. But the emotion that this girl's uncommonbeauty and slender boyishness had aroused in him had not diminishedduring the months she had been living in his camp. Her varying moods,he
r antagonism, her fits of furious rage, and, lastly, her unexpectedsurrender, had kept his interest alive. He had grown accustomed to her.He had come to looking forward with a vague, indefinite pleasure, onreturning from his long expeditions, to seeing the dainty little figurecurled up among the cushions on the big divan. Her presence seemed topervade the atmosphere of the whole tent, changing it utterly. She hadbecome necessary to him as he had never believed it possible that awoman could be. And with the change that she had made in his camp therehad come a change in himself also.
For the first time a shadow had risen between him and the man whosefriendship had meant everything to him since, as a lad of fifteen, hehad come under the influence of the young Frenchman, who was threeyears his senior. He realized that since the night of Raoul's arrivalhe had been seething with insensate jealousy. He had relied on theWestern tendencies that prompted him to carry off the difficultsituation, but his ingrained Orientalism had broken through thesuperficial veneer. He was jealous of every word, every look she gaveSaint Hubert. Pride had prevented an open rupture with the Vicomte thismorning, but he had ridden away filled with a cold rage that hadaugmented every hour and finally driven him back earlier than he hadintended, riding with a recklessness that had been apparent even to hismen. The sight of Raoul sitting alone absorbed in his work had in partallayed his suspicions, and he had gone on into the other room with afeeling of new expectancy that had changed to a sudden chill at itsemptiness. The vacant room had brought home to him abruptly all thatthe girl meant to him. A latent anxiety crept into his eyes.
He went out under the awning and clapped his hands, and a servantanswered the summons almost immediately. He gave an order and waited,his hands thrust into the folds of his waist-cloth and his teethclenched on a cigarette that he had forgotten to light.
Saint Hubert joined him. "What do you think?" he asked, with a touch ofdiffidence.
"I don't know what to think," replied the Sheik shortly.
"But is there any real danger?"
"There is always danger in the desert, particularly when that devil isabroad." He motioned to the south with an impatient jerk of his head.
Saint Hubert's breath whistled sharply through his teeth. "My God! Youdon't imagine----"
But the Sheik only shrugged his shoulders and turned to Yusef, who hadcome up with half-a-dozen men. There was a rapid interchange ofquestions and answers, some brief orders, and the men hurried away indifferent directions, while Ahmed Ben Hassan turned again to SaintHubert.
"They were seen by three of the southern patrols this morning, but ofcourse it was nobody's business to find out if they had come back ornot. I will start at once--in about ten minutes. You will come with me?Good! I have sent for reinforcements, who are to follow us if we arenot back in twelve hours." His voice was expressionless, and only Raoulde Saint Hubert, who had known him since boyhood, could and didappreciate the significance of a fleeting look that crossed his face ashe went back into the tent.
For a moment the Vicomte hesitated, but he knew that not even he waswanted inside that empty tent, and a half-bitter, half-sad feeling thatthe perfect friendship and confidence that had existed between them fortwenty years would never again be the same came to them, the regretfulsense of inevitable change, the consciousness of personal relegation.Then fear for Diana drove out every other consideration, and he went tohis own quarters with a heavy heart.
When he came back in a few minutes with Henri following him the camphad undergone a transformation. With the promptness of perfectdiscipline the hundred men who had been chosen to go on the expeditionwere already waiting, each man standing by his horse, and the Sheik,quiet and impassive as usual, was superintending the distribution ofextra ammunition. A groom was walking The Hawk slowly up and down, andYusef, whose gloomy eyes had been fixed reproachfully on his chief,chafing against the order to remain behind to take command of thereinforcements should they be needed, went to him and took the horse'sbridle from him and brought him to the Sheik. Even as he held thestirrup Saint Hubert could see that he was expostulating with anunusual insistence, begging for permission to accompany them. But theSheik shook his head, and the young man stood sullenly aside to avoidThe Hawk's hoofs as he reared impatiently.
Ahmed Ben Hassan motioned Saint Hubert to his side and in silence thecavalcade started at the usual swift gallop. The silence impressedRaoul, who was accustomed to the Arab's usual clamour. It affected hissensitive temperaments, filling him with a sinister foreboding. Thesilent band of stern-faced horsemen riding in close and orderlyformation behind them suggested something more than a mere reliefparty. The tradition of reckless courage and organised fightingefficiency that had made the tribe known and feared for generations hadbeen always maintained, and under the leadership of the last twoholders of the hereditary name to so high a degree that the respect inwhich it was held was such that no other tribe had ventured to disputeits supremacy, and for many years its serious fighting capacities hadnot been tested.
Even Ibraheim Omair had inherited a feud that was largely traditional.Only once during the lifetime of the last Ahmed Ben Hassan had he daredto come into open conflict, and the memory of it had lasted until now.Skirmishes there had been and would always be inevitably sufficient tokeep the tribesmen in a state of perpetual expectancy, and for thisAhmed Ben Hassan preserved the rigid discipline that prevailed in histribe, insisting on the high standard that had kept them famous. Thelife-work that his predecessor had taken over from his father thepresent Ahmed Ben Hassan had carried on and developed with autocraticperseverance. The inborn love of fighting had been carefully fosteredin the tribe, the weapons with which they were armed were of the newestpattern. Raoul knew with perfect certainty that to the picked menfollowing them this hasty expedition meant only one thing--war, the warthat they had looked forward to all their lives, precipitated now by anaccident that gave to a handful of them the chance that hundreds oftheir fellow-tribesmen were longing for, a chance that sent themjoyfully behind their chief, careless whether the reinforcements thathad been sent for arrived in time or not. The smallness of theirnumbers was a source of pleasure rather than otherwise; if they wonthrough to them would be the glory of victory; if they were annihilatedwith them would rest the honour of dying with the leader whom theyworshipped, for not one of them doubted that Ahmed Ben Hassan would notsurvive his bodyguard, the flower of his tribe, the carefully chosenmen from whose ranks his personal escort was always drawn. With them hewould crush his hereditary enemy or with them he would die.
The short twilight had gone and a brilliant moon shone high in theheavens, illuminating the surrounding country with a clear white light.At any other time the beauty of the scene, the glamour of the Easternnight, the head-long gallop in company with this band of fiercefighting men would have stirred Saint Hubert profoundly. His artistictemperament and his own absolute fearlessness and love of adventurewould have combined to make the expedition an exciting experience thathe would not willingly have foregone. But the reason for it all, theperil of the girl whom he loved so unexpectedly, changed the wholecolour of the affair, tinging it with a gravity and a suspense thatleft a cold fear in his heart. And if to him, what then to the manbeside him? The question that Ahmed Ben Hassan had negatived soscornfully a week before had been answered differently in the swiftlook that had crossed his face this evening. He had not spoken sincethey started, and Saint Hubert had not felt able to break the silence.They had left the level country and were in amongst the long,successive ranges of undulating ground, the summits standing out silverwhite in the gleaming moonlight, the hollows filled with dark shadow,like black pools of deep, still water. And at the bottom of one of theslopes the Sheik pulled up suddenly with a low, hissing exclamation. Awhite shape was lying face downwards, spread-eagled on the sand, almostunder The Hawk's feet, and at their approach two lean, slinking formscantered away into the night. The Sheik and Henri reached the stillfigure simultaneously and Saint Hubert almost as quickly. He made ahurried examination. The bullet that
had stunned Gaston had glancedoff, leaving an ugly cut, and others that had hit him at the same timehad ploughed through his shoulder, breaking the bone and causingbesides wounds that had bled freely. He had staggered more than a milebefore he had fainted again from loss of blood. He came to under SaintHubert's handling, and lifted his heavy eyes to the Sheik, who waskneeling beside him.
"Monseigneur--Madame--Ibraheim Omair," he whispered weakly, andrelapsed into unconsciousness.
For a moment the Sheik's eyes met Raoul's across his body, and thenAhmed Ben Hassan rose to his feet. "Be as quick as you can," he said,and went back to his horse. He leaned against The Hawk, his fingersmechanically searching for and lighting a cigarette, his eyes fixedunseeingly on the group around Gaston. The valet's broken words hadconfirmed the fear that he had striven to crush since he discoveredDiana's absence.
He had only seen Ibraheim Omair once when, ten years before, he hadgone with the elder Ahmed Ben Hassan to a meeting of the more powerfulchiefs at Algiers, arranged under the auspices of the FrenchGovernment, to confer on a complicated boundary question that hadthreatened an upheaval amongst the tribes which the nominal protectorsof the country were afraid would be prejudicial to their own prestige,as it would have been beyond their power to quell. He had chafed athaving to meet his hereditary enemy on equal terms, and only therestraining influence of the old Sheik, who exacted an unquestioningobedience that extended even to his heir, had prevented a catastrophethat might have nullified the meeting and caused infinitely morecomplications than the original boundary dispute. But the memory of therobber Sheik remained with him always, and the recollection of hisbloated, vicious face and gross, unwieldy body rose clearly before himnow.
Ibraheim Omair and the slender daintiness that he had prized solightly. Diane! His teeth met through the cigarette in his mouth. Hissenseless jealousy and the rage provoked by Raoul's outspoken criticismhad recoiled on the innocent cause. She, not Saint Hubert, had felt thebrunt of his anger. In the innate cruelty of his nature it had givenhim a subtle pleasure to watch the bewilderment, alternating withflickering fear, that had come back into the deep blue eyes that fortwo months had looked into his with frank confidence. He had made heracutely conscious of his displeasure. Only last night, when his lack ofconsideration and his unwonted irritability had made her wince severaltimes during the evening and after Saint Hubert had gone to his owntent, he, had looked up to find her eyes fixed on him with anexpression that, in his dangerous mood, had excited all the brutalityof which he was capable, and had filled him with a desire to tortureher. The dumb reproach in her eyes had exasperated him, rousing thefiendish temper that had been hardly kept in check all the previousweek. And yet, when he held her helpless in his arms, quivering andshrinking from the embrace that was no caress, but merely the medium ofhis anger, and the reproach in her wavering eyes changed to muteentreaty, the pleasure he had anticipated in her fear had failed him asit had before, and had irritated him further. The wild beating of herheart, the sobbing intake of her breath, the knowledge of his powerover her, gave him no gratification, and he had flung her from himcursing her savagely, till she had fled into the other room with herhands over her ears to shut out the sound of his slow, deliberatevoice. And this morning he had left her without a sign of any kind, noword or gesture that might have effaced the memory of the previousnight. He had not meant to, he had intended to go back to her before hefinally rode away, but Saint Hubert's refusal to accompany him hadkilled the softer feelings that prompted him, and his rage had flamedup again.
And now? The longing to hold her in his arms, to kiss the tears fromher eyes and the colour into her pale lips, was almost unbearable. Hewould give his life to keep even a shadow from her path, and she was inthe hands of Ibraheim Omair! The thought and all that it implied wastorture, but no sign escaped him of the hell he was enduring. Theunavoidable delay seemed interminable, and he swung into the saddle,hoping that the waiting would seem less with The Hawk's restless,nervous body gripped between his knees, for though the horse wouldstand quietly with his master beside him, he fretted continually atwaiting once the Sheik was mounted, and the necessity for soothing himwas preferable to complete inaction.
Saint Hubert rose to his feet at last, and, leaving behind Henri andtwo Arabs, who were detailed to take the wounded man back to the camp,the swift gallop southward was resumed. On, over the rising and fallingground along which Gaston had stumbled, blind and faint with loss ofblood and the pain of his wounds, past the dead body of The Dancer,ghostly white in the moonlight, lying a little apart from thesemicircle of Arabs that proved the efficiency of Gaston's shootingwhere Diana and he had made their last stand. The Sheik made no signand did not check the headlong gallop, but continued on, The Hawktaking the fallen bodies that lay in his path in his stride, with onlya quiver of repugnance and a snort of disgust. Still on, past thehuddled bundles of tumbled draperies that marked the way significantly,avoiding them where the moonlight illuminated brightly, and riding overthem in the deep hollows, where once Raoul's horse stumbled badly andnearly fell, recovering himself with a wild scramble, and the Vicomteheard the dead man's skull crack under the horse's slipping hoof.
The distant howling of jackals came closer and closer until, toppingone long rise and descending into a hollow that was long enough andwide enough to be fully lit by the moon, they came to the place wherethe ambush had been laid. Instinctively Ahmed Ben Hassan knew thatamongst the jostling heaps of corpses and dead horses lay the bodies ofhis own men. Perhaps amongst the still forms from which the jackals,whose hideous yelling they had heard, had slunk away, there might beone left with life enough to give some news. One of his own men whowould speak willingly, or one of Ibraheim Omair's who would be made tospeak. His lips curled back from his white teeth in a grin of purecruelty.
The silence that had prevailed amongst his men broke suddenly as theysearched quickly among the dead. The Sheik waited impassively, silentamidst the muttered imprecations and threats of vengeance of hisfollowers as they laid beside him the six remains of what had beenDiana's escort, slashed and mutilated almost beyond recognition. But itwas he who noticed that the last terrible figure stirred slightly as itwas laid down, and it was into his face, grown suddenly strangelygentle, that the dying Arab looked with fast-filming eyes. The mansmiled, the happy smile of a child that had obtained an unexpectedreward, and raised his hand painfully in salute, then pointed mutely tothe south.
The Sheik caught his follower's nerveless fingers as they fell in hisown strong grasp, and with a last effort the Arab drew his chief's handto his forehead and fell back dead.