by E. M. Hull
CHAPTER IX
It was evening when Diana opened drowsy and heavy eyes, a bitter tastein her mouth from the effects of the drug that Saint Hubert had givenher. Everything had been laid out in readiness for her waking with thelittle touches that were characteristic of Zilah's handiwork, but theArab girl herself was not visible. The lamp was lighted, and Dianaturned her head languidly, still half confused, to look at the clockbeside her. The tiny chime sounded seven times, and with a rush ofrecollection she leaped up. More than twelve hours since she had kneltbeside him after drinking the coffee that Raoul had given her. Sheguessed what he had done and tried to be grateful, but the thought ofwhat might have happened during the twelve hours she had lain like alog was horrible. She dressed with feverish haste and went into theouter room. It was filled with Arabs, many of whom she did notrecognise, and she knew that they must belong to the reinforcementsthat Ahmed Ben Hassan had sent for. Two, who seemed from theirappearance to be petty chiefs, were talking in low tones to SaintHubert, who looked worn and tired. The rest were grouped silently aboutthe divan, looking at the still-unconscious Sheik. The restlessness anddelirium of the morning had passed and been succeeded by a death-likestupor. Nearest to him stood Yusef, his usual swaggering self-assurancechanged into an attitude of deepest dejection, and his eyes, that werefixed on Ahmed Ben Hassan's face, were like those of a whipped dog.
Gradually the tent emptied until only Yusef was left, and at last,reluctantly, he too went, stopping at the entrance to speak to SaintHubert, who had just taken leave of the two headmen.
The Vicomte came back, bringing a chair for Diana, and put her into itwith gentle masterfulness. "Sit down," he said almost gruffly. "Youlook like a ghost."
She looked up at him reproachfully. "You drugged that coffee, Raoul. Ifhe had died to-day while I was asleep I don't think I could ever haveforgiven you."
"My dear child," he said gravely, "you don't know how near you were tocollapse. If I had not made you sleep I should have had three patientson my hands instead of two."
"I am very ungrateful," she murmured, with a tremulous little smile.
Saint Hubert brought a chair for himself and dropped into it wearily.He felt very tired, the strain of the past twenty-four hours had beentremendous. He had a very real fear that was fast growing into aconviction that his skill was going to prove unequal to save hisfriend's life, and beside that anxiety and his physical fatigue he hadfought a bitter fight with himself all day, tearing out of his heartthe envy and jealousy that filled it, and locking away his love as asecret treasure to be hidden for always. His devotion to Ahmed BenHassan had survived the greatest test that could be imposed upon it,and had emerged from the trial strengthened and refined, with everytrace of self obliterated. It had been the hardest struggle of hislife, but it was over now, and all the bitterness had passed, leavingonly a passionate desire for Diana's happiness that outweighed everyother thought. One spark of comfort remained. He would not be quiteuseless. His help and sympathy would be necessary to her, and even forthat he was grateful.
He looked across the divan at her, and the change that the last fewhours had made in her struck him painfully. The alert, vigorousboyishness that had been so characteristic was gone. Her slim figuredrooping listlessly in the big chair, her white face with the new marksof suffering on it, and her wide eyes burning with dumb misery, wereall purely womanly. And yet though he resented the change he wished itcould have gone further. The restraint she was putting on herself wasunnatural. She asked no questions and she shed no tears. He could haveborne them both easier than the silent anguish of her face. He fearedthe results of the emotion she was repressing so rigidly.
There was a long silence.
Henri came in once and Diana roused herself to ask for Gaston, and thenrelapsed into silent watchfulness again. She sighed once, a longquivering sigh that nearly broke Saint Hubert's heart. He rose and bentover the Sheik with his fingers on his wrist, and as he laid thenerveless hand down again she leaned nearer and covered it with herown.
"His hand is so big for an Arab's," she said softly, like a thoughtspoken aloud unconsciously.
"He is not an Arab," replied Saint Hubert with sudden, impatientvehemence. "He is English."
Diana looked up at him swiftly with utter bewilderment in her startledeyes. "I don't understand," she faltered. "He hates the English."
"_Quand-meme_, he is the son of one of your English peers. Hismother was a Spanish lady; many of the old noble Spanish families haveMoorish blood in their veins, the characteristics crop up even aftercenturies. It is so with Ahmed, and his life in the desert hasaccentuated it. Has he never told you anything about himself?"
She shook her head. "Sometimes I have wondered----" she saidreflectively. "He seemed different from the others, and there has beenso much that I could never understand. But then again there were timeswhen he seemed pure Arab," she added in a lower voice and with aninvoluntary shiver.
"You ought to know," said Saint Hubert. "Yes!" he went on firmly, asshe tried to interrupt him. "It is due to you. It will explain so manythings. I will take the responsibility. His father is the Earl ofGlencaryll."
"But I know him," said Diana wonderingly. "He was a friend of myfather. I saw him only a few months ago when Aubrey and I passedthrough Paris. He is such a magnificent-looking old man, so fierce andsad. Oh, now I know why that awful frown of Ahmed's has always seemedso familiar. Lord Glencaryll frowns like that. It is the famous Caryllscowl. But I still don't understand." She looked from Saint Hubert tothe unconscious man on the divan and back to Saint Hubert with a newtrouble growing in her eyes.
"I had better tell you the whole story," said Raoul, dropping back intohis chair.
"Thirty-six years ago my father, who was as great a wanderer as I am,was staying here in the desert with his friend the Sheik Ahmed BenHassan. A chance acquaintance some years before over the purchase ofsome horses had ripened into a very intimate friendship that wasunusual between a Frenchman and an Arab. The Sheik was a wonderful man,very enlightened, with strong European tendencies. As a matter of purefact he was not too much in sympathy with the French form ofadministration as carried on in Algeria, but he was not affectedsufficiently by it to make any real difficulty. The territory that heregarded as his own lay too much to the south, and he kept his largeand scattered tribe in too good order for any interference to bepossible. He was unmarried, and the women of his own race seemed tohave no attraction for him. He was wrapped up in his tribe and hishorses. My father had come for a stay of some months. My mother hadrecently died and he wanted to get away from everything that remindedhim of her. One evening, shortly after his arrival at the camp, a partyof the Sheik's men who had been absent for some days in the north onthe chief's affairs arrived, bringing with them a woman whom they hadfound wandering in the desert. How she had got there, or from whatdirection she had come, they did not know. They were nearercivilisation than Ahmed Ben Hassan's camp at the time, but with truenative tendency to avoid responsibility they thought that the disposalof her was a matter more for their Sheik than themselves. She couldgive no account of herself, as, owing to the effects of the sun orother causes, she was temporarily out of her mind. Arabs are verygentle with any one who is mad--'Allah has touched them!' She was takento the tent of one of the headmen, whose wife looked after her. Forsome days it was doubtful whether she would recover, and her conditionwas aggravated by the fact that she was shortly to become a mother. Shedid regain her senses after a time, however, but nothing could make hersay anything about herself, and questions reduced her to terrible fitsof hysterical crying which were prejudicial in her state of health. Sheseemed calmest when she was left quite alone, but even then she startedat the slightest sound, and the headman's wife reported that she wouldlie for hours on her bed crying quietly to herself. She was quiteyoung--seemingly not more than nineteen or twenty. From her accents myfather decided that she was Spanish, but she would admit nothing, noteven her nationality. In due course of time the child was bo
rn, a boy."
Saint Hubert paused a moment and nodded towards the Sheik. "Even afterthe child's birth she refused to give any account of herself. In thatshe was as firm as a rock; in everything else she was the frailest,gentlest little creature imaginable. She was very small and slender,with quantities of soft dark hair and beautiful great dark eyes thatlooked like a frightened fawn's. I have heard my father describe hermany times, and I have seen the water-colour sketch he made of her--hewas quite an amateur. Ahmed has it locked away somewhere. She nearlydied when the baby was born, and she never recovered her strength. Shemade no complaint and never spoke of herself, and seemed quite contentas long as the child was with her. She was a child herself in a greatnumber of ways. It never seemed to occur to her that there was anythingodd in her continued residence in the Sheik's camp. She had a tent andservants of her own, and the headman's wife was devoted to her. So werethe rest of the camp for that matter. There was an element of themysterious in her advent that had taken hold of the superstitiousArabs, and the baby was looked upon as something more than human andwas adored by all the tribe. The Sheik himself, who had never lookedtwice at a woman before in his life, became passionately attached toher. My father says that he has never seen a man so madly in love asAhmed Ben Hassan was with the strange white girl who had come so oddlyinto his life. He repeatedly implored her to marry him, and even myfather, who has a horror of mixed marriages, was impelled to admit thatany woman might have been happy with Ahmed Ben Hassan. She would notconsent, though she would give no reason for her refusal, and themystery that surrounded her remained as insolvable during the two yearsthat she lived after the baby's birth as it had been on the day of herarrival. And her refusal made no difference with the Sheik. Hisdevotion was wonderful. When she died my father was again visiting thecamp. She knew that she was dying, and a few days before the end shetold them her pitiful little history. She was the only daughter of oneof the oldest noble houses in Spain, as poor as they were noble, andshe had been married when she was seventeen to Lord Glencaryll, who hadseen her with her parents in Nice. She had been married without anyregard to her own wishes, and though she grew to love her husband shewas always afraid of him. He had a terrible temper that was very easilyroused, and, in those days, he also periodically drank a great dealmore than was good for him, and when under the influence of drinkbehaved more like a devil than a man. She was very young and_gauche_, failing often to do what was required of her from merenervousness. He was exigent and made no allowance for her youth andinexperience, and her life was one long torture. And yet in spite of itall she loved him. Even in speaking of it she insisted that the faultwas hers, that the trouble was due to her stupidity, glossing over hisbrutality; in fact, it was not from her, but from inquiries that hemade after her death, that my father learned most of what her life hadbeen. It seems that Lord Glencaryll had taken her to Algiers and hadwished to make a trip into the desert. He had been drinking heavily,and she did not dare to upset his plans by refusing to go with him oreven by telling him how soon her child was going to be born. So shewent with him, and one night something happened--what she would notsay, but my father says he has never seen such a look of terror on anywoman's face as she hurried over that part of her story. Whatever itwas she waited until the camp was asleep and then slipped out into thedesert, mad with fear, with no thought beyond a blind instinct offlight that drove her panic-stricken to face any danger rather thanremain and undergo the misery she was flying from. She rememberedhurrying onward, terrified by every sound and every shadow, frightenedeven by the blazing stars that seemed to be watching her and pointingout the way she had taken, until her mind was numb from utter wearinessand she remembered nothing more until she awoke in the headman's tent.She had been afraid to say who she was lest she should be sent back toher husband. And with the birth of the child she became more than everdetermined to preserve her secret. The boy should be spared thesuffering she had herself endured, he should not be allowed to fallinto the hands of his father to be at his mercy when the periodicaldrinking fits made him a very fiend of cruelty. She made my father andthe Sheik swear that not until the boy grew to manhood should LordGlencaryll be told of his existence. She wrote a letter for her husbandwhich she gave into my father's keeping, together with her weddingring, which had an inscription inside of it, and a miniature ofGlencaryll which she had worn always hidden away from sight. She wasvery contrite with the Sheik, begging his forgiveness for the sorrowshe had caused him and for keeping from his knowledge the fact that shewas not free. She loved her husband loyally to the end, but the lastfew days that she lived the Sheik's devotion seemed to wake ananswering tenderness in her heart. She was happiest when he was withher, and she died in his arms with his kisses on her lips. She left herboy in his keeping, and Ahmed Ben Hassan adopted him formally and madehim his heir, giving him his own name--the hereditary name that theSheik of the tribe has borne for generations. His word was law amongsthis people, and there was no thought of any opposition to his wishes;further, the child was considered lucky, and his choice of successorwas received with unanimous delight. All the passionate love that theSheik had for the mother was transferred to the son. He idolised him,and the boy grew up believing that Ahmed Ben Hassan was his own father.With the traits he had inherited from his mother's people and with hisdesert upbringing he looked, as he does now, pure Arab. When he wasfifteen my father induced the Sheik to send him to Paris to beeducated. With his own European tendencies the Sheik had wished italso, but he could not bring himself to part with the boy before, andit was a tremendous wrench to let him go when he did. It was then thatI first saw him. I was eighteen at the time, and had just begun mymilitary training, but as my regiment was stationed in Paris I was ableto be at home a good deal. He was such a handsome, high-spirited lad.Men mature very young in the desert and in many ways he was a greatdeal older than I was, in spite of my three years' seniority. But, ofcourse, in other ways he was a perfect child. He had a fiendish temperand resented any check on his natural lawless inclinations. He loathedthe restrictions that had to be put upon him and he hated the restraintof town life. He had been accustomed to having his own way in nearlyeverything, and to the constant adulation of the tribesmen, and he wasnot prepared to give to anybody else the obedience that he gavewillingly to the Sheik. There were some very stormy times, and I neveradmired my father in anything so much as his handling of that youngsavage. His escapades were nerve-racking and his _beaux yeux_ ledhim into endless scrapes. The only threat that reduced him to order wasthat of sending him home to the Sheik in disgrace. He would promiseamendment and take himself off to the Bois to work off his superfluousenergy on my father's horses--until he broke out again. But in spite ofhis temper and his _diableries_ he was very lovable and everybodyliked him.
"After a year with us in Paris my father, always mindful of his realnationality, sent him for two years to a tutor in England, where I hadmyself been. The tutor was an exceptional man, used to dealing withexceptional boys, and Ahmed did very well with him. I don't mean thathe did much work--that he evaded skilfully and spent most of his timehunting and shooting. The only thing that he studied at all seriouslywas veterinary surgery, which he knew would be useful to him with hisown horses, and in which his tutor was level-headed enough to encouragehim. Then at the end of two years he came back to us for another year.He had gone to the desert every summer for his holidays, and on eachoccasion the Sheik let him return with greater reluctance. He wasalways afraid that the call of civilisation would be too much for hisadopted son, especially as he grew older, but although Ahmed hadchanged very much from the wild desert lad who had first come to us,and had developed into a polished man of the world, speaking French andEnglish as fluently as Arabic, with plenty of means to amuse himself inany way that he wished--for the Sheik was very rich and kept himlavishly supplied with money--and though in that last year he was withus he was courted and feted in a way that would have turned mostpeople's heads, he was always secretly longing for the time whenhe would
go back to the desert. It was the desert, not civilisationthat called loudest to him. He loved the life and he adored the manwhom he thought was his father. To be the son and heir of Ahmed BenHassan seemed to him to be the highest pinnacle that any man's ambitioncould reach. He was perfectly indifferent to the flattery and attentionthat his money and his good looks brought him. My father entertainedvery largely and Ahmed became the fashion--'_Le bel Arabe_' hewas called, and he enjoyed a _succes fou_ which bored him toextinction--and at the end of the year, having written to the Sheik forpermission to go home, he shook the dust of Paris off his feet and wentback to the desert. I went with him. It was my first visit and thefirst time that I had experienced Ahmed _en prince_. I had neverseen him in anything but European clothes, and I got quite a shock whenI came up on deck the morning that we arrived at Oran and found an Arabof the Arabs waiting for me. The robes and a complete change ofcarriage and expression that seemed to go with them altered himcuriously and I hardly recognised him. Some of his men were waiting forhim on the quay and their excitement was extraordinary. I realised fromthe deference and attention that the French officials paid to Ahmed theposition that the old Sheik had made for himself and the high esteem inwhich he was held. We spent the rest of the day in arranging for theconsiderable baggage that he had brought with him to be forwarded bythe camel caravan that had been sent for the purpose, and also inbusiness for the Sheik in Oran. We spent the night in a villa on theoutskirts of the town belonging to an old Arab who entertained uslavishly, and who spent the evening congratulating Ahmed heartily onhaving escaped from the clutches of the odious French, by no meansabashed when Ahmed pointed out that there was an odious Frenchmanpresent, for he dismissed me with a gesture that conveyed that mynationality was my misfortune and not my fault, and in impressing onhim the necessity of immediately acquiring a wife or two and settlingdown for the good of the tribe--all this in the intervals of drinkingcoffee, listening to the most monotonous native music and watchingbarbaric dances. There was one particularly well-made dancing girl thatthe old man tried to induce Ahmed to buy, and he made a show ofbargaining for her--not from any real interest he took in her, butmerely to see the effect that it would have on me. But I refused to bedrawn, and as my head was reeling with the atmosphere I escaped to bedand left him still bargaining. We started early next morning, and werejoined a few miles out of the town by a big detachment of followers.The excitement of the day before was repeated on a very much largerscale. It was a novel experience for me, and I can hardly describe myfeelings in the midst of that yelling horde of men, galloping wildlyround us and firing their rifles until it seemed hardly possible thatsome accident would not happen. It was Ahmed's attitude that impressedme most. He took it all quietly as his due, and when he had had enoughof it stopped it with a peremptory authority that was instantly obeyed,and apologised for the exuberant behaviour of his children. It was anew Ahmed to me; the boy I had known for four years seemed suddenlytransformed into a man who made me feel very young. In France I hadnaturally always rather played elder brother, but here Ahmed was on hisown ground and the roles seemed likely to be reversed. The arrival atthe Sheik's camp was everything that the most lavish scenic producercould have wished. Though I had heard of it both from my father andAhmed I was not quite prepared for the splendour with which the Sheiksurrounded himself. With Eastern luxury was mingled many Europeanadjuncts that added much to the comfort of camp life. The meetingbetween the Sheik and Ahmed was most touching. I had a very happy timeand left with regret. The charm of the desert took hold of me then andhas never left me since. But I had to return to my medical studies. Ileft Ahmed absorbed in his life and happier than I had ever seen him inParis. He was nineteen then, and when he was twenty-one my father hadthe unpleasant task of carrying out Lady Glencaryll's dying wishes. Hewrote to Lord Glencaryll asking him to come to Paris on businessconnected with his late wife, and, during the course of a very painfulinterview, put the whole facts before him. With the letter that thepoor girl had written to her husband, with the wedding-ring and thelocket, together with the sketch that my father had made of her, theproofs of the genuineness of the whole affair were conclusive.Glencaryll broke down completely. He admitted that his wife had everyjustification for leaving him, he spared himself nothing. He referredquite frankly to the curse of which he had been the slave and which hadmade him irresponsible for his actions when he was under its influence.He had never known himself what had happened that terrible night, butthe tragedy of his wife's disappearance had cured him. He had madeevery effort to find her and it was many years before he gave up allhope. He mourned her bitterly, and worshipped her memory. It wasimpossible not to pity him, for he had expiated his fault with agonythat few men can have experienced. The thought that he had a son andthat son her child almost overwhelmed him. He had ardently desired anheir, and, thinking himself childless, the fact that his title and hisold name, of which he was very proud, would die with him had been agreat grief. His happiness in the knowledge of Ahmed's existence waspathetic, he was consumed with impatience for his son's arrival.Nothing had been said to Ahmed in case Lord Glencaryll should provedifficult to convince and thereby complicate matters, but his readyacceptance of the affair and his eagerness to see his son made furtherdelay unnecessary, and my father sent for Ahmed. The old Sheik let himgo in ignorance of what was coming. He had always dreaded the time whenhis adopted son would have to be told of his real parentage, fearful oflosing him, jealous of sharing his affection and resenting anybody'sclaim to him over his own. And so, with the only instance he ever gaveof want of moral courage, he sent Ahmed to Paris with no explanation,and left to my father the task of breaking to him the news. I shallnever forget that day. It had been arranged that Ahmed should be toldfirst and that afterwards father and son should meet. Ahmed arrived inthe morning in time for _dejeuner_, and afterwards we went to myfather's study, and there he told him the whole story as gently and ascarefully as he could. Ahmed was standing by the window. He never saida word the whole time my father was speaking, and when he finished hestood quite still for a few moments, his face almost grey under thedeep tan, his eyes fixed passionately on my father's--and then hisfiendish temper broke out suddenly. It was a terrible scene. He cursedhis father in a steady stream of mingled Arabic and French blasphemythat made one's blood run cold. He cursed all English peopleimpartially. He cursed my father because he had dared to send him toEngland. He cursed me because I had been a party to the affair. Theonly person whom he spared was the Sheik; who after all was as muchimplicated as we were, but he never once mentioned him. He refused tosee his father, refused to recognise that he was his father, and heleft the house that afternoon and Paris that night, going straight backto the desert, taking with him Gaston, who had arranged some timebefore to enter his service as soon as his time in the cavalry was up.A letter that Lord Glencaryll wrote to him, addressed to ViscountCaryll, which is, of course, his courtesy title, begging for at leastan interview, and which he gave to us to forward, was returnedunopened, and scrawled across the envelope: _'Inconnu._ Ahmed BenHassan.' And since that day his hatred of the English had been amonomania, and he has never spoken a word of English. Later on, when weused to travel together, his obvious avoidance of English people was attimes both awkward and embarrassing, and I have often had to go throughthe farce of translating into French or Arabic remarks made to him byEnglish fellow-travellers, that is, when he condescended to notice theremarks, which was not often. From the day he learned the truth abouthimself for two years we saw nothing of him. Then the old Sheik askedus to visit him. We went with some misgivings as to what Ahmed'sreception of us would be, but he met us as if nothing had happened. Heignored the whole episode and has never referred to it. It is a closedincident. The Sheik warned us that Ahmed had told him that anyreference to it would mean the breaking off of all relations with us.But Ahmed himself had changed indescribably. All the lovable qualitiesthat had made him so popular in Paris were gone, and he had become thecruel, merciless man he has been ever s
ince. The only love left in himwas given to his adopted father, whom he worshipped. Later I wasallowed back on the old footing, and he has always been good to Gaston,but with those three exceptions he has spared nobody and nothing. He ismy friend, I love him, and I am not telling you more than you knowalready."
Saint Hubert broke off and looked anxiously at Diana, but she did notmove or meet his gaze. She was sitting with her hand still clasped overthe Sheik's and the other one shading her face, and the Vicomte went onspeaking: "It is so easy to judge, so difficult to understand anotherperson's temptations. Ahmed's position has always been a curious one.He has had unique temptations with always the means of gratifyingthem."
There was a longer pause, but still Diana did not move or speak.
"The curse of Ishmael had taken hold of me by then and I wanderedcontinually. Sometimes Ahmed came with me; we have shot big gametogether in most parts of the globe. A few times he stayed with us inParis, but never for long; he always wearied to get back to the desert.Five years ago the old Sheik died; he was an exceptionally strong man,and should have lived for years but for an accident which crippled himhopelessly and from which he died a few months afterwards. Ahmed'sdevotion during his illness was wonderful. He never left him, and sincehe succeeded to the leadership of the tribe he has lived continuouslyamongst his people, absorbed in them and his horses, carrying on thetraditions handed down to him by his predecessor and devoting his lifeto the tribe. They are like children, excitable, passionate andheadstrong, and he has never dared to risk leaving them alone too long,particularly with the menace of Ibraheim Omair always in thebackground. He has never been able to seek relaxation further afieldthan Algiers or Oran----" Saint Hubert stopped abruptly, cursing himselffor a tactless fool. She could not fail to realise the significance ofthose visits to the gay, vicious little towns. The inference wasobvious. His thoughtless words would only add to her misery. Hersensitive mind would shrink from the contamination they implied. IfAhmed was going to die, she would be desolate enough without forcing onher knowledge the unworthiness of the man she loved. He pushed hischair back impatiently and went to the open doorway. He felt that shewanted to be alone. She watched him go, then slipped to her kneesbeside the couch.
She had realised the meaning of Raoul's carelessly uttered words andthey had hurt her poignantly, but it was no new sorrow. He had told herhimself months ago, callously, brutally, sparing her nothing,extenuating nothing. She pressed her cheek against the hand she washolding. She did not blame him, she could only love him, no matter whathis life had been. It was Ahmed as he was she loved, his faults, hisvices were as much a part of him as his superb physique and thealternating moods that had been so hard to meet. She had never knownhim otherwise. He seemed to stand alone, outside the prescribedconventions that applied to ordinary men. The standards of common usagedid not appear compatible with the wild desert man who was his own lawand followed only his own precedent, defiant of social essentials andscornful of criticism. The proud, fierce nature and passionate temperthat he had inherited, the position of despotic leadership in which hehad been reared, the adulation of his followers and the savage life inthe desert, free from all restraint, had combined to produce thehaughty unconventionalism that would not submit to the ordinary rulesof life. She could not think of him as an Englishman. The mere accidentof his parentage was a factor that weighed nothing. He was and alwayswould be an Arab of the wilderness. If he lived! He _must_ live!He could not go out like that, his magnificent strength and fearlesscourage extinguished by a treacherous blow that had not dared to meethim face to face--in spite of the overwhelming numbers--but had struckhim down from behind, a coward stroke. He must live, even if his lifemeant death to her hopes of happiness; that was nothing compared withhis life. She loved him well enough to sacrifice anything for him. Ifhe only lived she could bear even to be put out of his life. It wasonly he that mattered, his life was everything. He was so young, sostrong, so made to live. He had so much to live for. He was essentialto his people. They needed him. If she could only die for him. In thedays when the world was young the gods were kind, they listened to theprayers of hapless lovers and accepted the life that was offered inplace of the beloved whose life was claimed. If God would but listen toher now. If He would but accept her life in exchange for his. If----!if----!
Her fingers crept up lightly across his breast, fearful lest even theirtender touch should injure his battered body, and she looked long andearnestly at him. His crisp brown hair was hidden by the bandages that,dead white against his tanned face, swathed his bruised head. Hisclosed eyes with the thick dark lashes curling on his cheek, hiding theusual fierce expression that gleamed in them, and the relaxation of thehard lines of his face made him look singularly young. That youthfullook had been noticeable often when he was asleep, and she had watchedit wondering what Ahmed the boy had been like before he grew into themerciless man at whose hands she had suffered so much.
And now the knowledge of his boyhood seemed to make him even dearerthan he had been before. What sort of man would he have been if thelittle dark-eyed mother had lived to sway him with her gentleness? Poorlittle mother, helpless and fragile!--yet strong enough to save her boyfrom the danger that she feared for him, but paying the price of thatstrength with her life, content that her child was safe.
Diana thought of her own mother dying in the arms of a husband whoadored her, and then of the little Spanish girl slipping away fromlife, a stranger in a strange land, her heart crying out for thehusband whom she still loved, turning in ignorance of his love forconsolation in the agony of death to the lover she had denied, andseeking comfort in his arms. A sudden jealousy of the two dead womenshook her. They had been loved. Why could not she be loved? Wherein didshe fail that he would not love her? Other men had loved her, and hislove was all she longed for in the world. To feel his arms around heronly once with love in their touch, to see his passionate eyes kindleonly once with the light she prayed for. She drew a long sobbingbreath. "Ahmed, _mon bel Arabe_," she murmured yearningly.
She rose to her feet. She was afraid of breaking down, of giving way tothe fear and anxiety that racked her. She turned instinctively to thehelp and sympathy that offered and went to Saint Hubert, joining himunder the awning. Usually at night the vicinity of the Sheik's tent wasavoided by the tribesmen, even the sentry on guard was posted at somelittle distance. Kopec curled up outside the doorway kept ample watch.But to-night the open space was swarming with men, some squatting onthe ground in circles, others clustered together in earnestconversation, and far off through the palm trees she caught anoccasional glimpse of mounted men. Yusef and the headmen acting underhim were taking no risks, there was to be no chance of a surpriseattack.
"You must be very tired, Raoul," she said, slipping her hand throughhis arm, for her need was almost as much for physical as mentalsupport. The frank touch of her hand sent a quiver through him, but hesuppressed it, and laid his own hand over her cold fingers.
"I must not think of that yet. Later on, perhaps, I can rest a little.Henri can watch; he is almost as good a doctor as I am, theincomparable Henri! Ahmed and I have always quarrelled over therespective merits of our servants."
He felt her hand tighten on his arm at the mention of the Sheik's nameand heard the smothered sigh that she choked back. They stood insilence for a while watching the shifting groups of tribesmen. A littleknot of low-voiced men near them opened up, and one of their numbercame to Saint Hubert with an inquiry.
"The men are restless." Raoul said when the Arab had gone back to hisfellows with all the consolation the Vicomte could give him. "Theirdevotion is very strong. Ahmed is a god to them. Their anxiety takesthem in a variety of ways. Yusef, who has been occupied with his dutiesmost of the day, has turned to religion for the first time in his life,he has gone to say his prayers with the pious Abdul, as he thinks thatAllah is more likely to listen if his petitions go heavenward incompany with the holy man's."
Diana's thoughts strayed back to the story that S
aint Hubert had toldher. "Does Lord Glencaryll know that you see Ahmed?" she asked.
"Oh yes. He and my father became great friends. He often stays with usin Paris. We are a link between him and Ahmed. He is always hungry forany news of him, and still clings to the hope that one day he willrelent. He has never made any further effort to open up relations withhim because he knows it would be useless. If there is to be any_rapprochement_ between them it must come from Ahmed. They havealmost met accidentally once or twice, and Glencaryll has once seenhim. It was at the opera. He was staying in Paris for some months andhad a box. I had gone across from our own box on the other side of thehouse to speak to him. There were several people with him. I wasstanding beside him, talking. Ahmed had just come into our box oppositeand was standing right in the front looking over the theatre. Somethinghad annoyed him and he was scowling. The likeness was unmistakable.Glencaryll gave a kind of groan and staggered back against me. 'GoodGod! Who is that?' he said, and I don't think he knew he was speakingout loud.
"A man next him looked in the direction he was looking and laughed.'That's the Saint Huberts' wild man of the desert. Looks fierce,doesn't he? The women call him "_le bel Arabe_." He certainlywears European clothes with better grace than most natives. He is saidto have a peculiar hatred of the English, so you'd better give him awide berth, Glencaryll, if you don't want to be bow-stringed or haveyour throat cut, or whatever fancy form of death the fellow cultivatesin his native habitat. Raoul can tell you all about him.'
"There was not any need for me to tell him. Fortunately the opera beganand the lights went down, and I persuaded him to go away before thething was over."
Diana gave a little shiver. She felt a great sympathy coming over herfor the lonely old man, hoping against hope for the impossible, thatshe had not felt earlier in the evening. He, too, was wearing his heartout against the inflexible will of Ahmed Ben Hassan.
She shivered again and turned back into the tent with Saint Hubert.They halted by the couch and stood for a long time in silence. ThenDiana slowly raised her head and looked up into Raoul's face, and heread the agonised question in her eyes.
"I don't know," he said gently. "All things are with Allah."
CHAPTER X
The night grew hotter and the atmosphere more oppressive. Wrapped in athin silk kimono Diana lay very still on the outside of the wide couchin the inner room, propped high with pillows that the shaded light ofthe little reading-lamp beside her might fall on the book she held, butshe was not reading.
It was Raoul's latest book, that he had brought with him, but she couldnot concentrate her mind on it, and it lay idle on her knee--while herthoughts were far away. It was three months since the night that SaintHubert had almost given up hope of being able to save the Sheik'slife--a night that had been followed by days of suspense that hadreduced Diana to a weary-eyed shadow of her former vigorous self, andhad left marks on Raoul that would never be effaced. But thanks to hisgreat strength and splendid constitution the Sheik had rallied andafter the first few weeks convalescence had been rapid. When theterrible fear that he might die was past it had been a wonderfulhappiness to wait on him. With the determination to live for themoment, to which she had forced herself, she had banished everythingfrom her mind but the joy of being near him and of being necessary tohim. It had been a very silent service, for he would lie for hours withclosed eyes without speaking, and something that she could not masterkept her tongue-tied in his presence when they were alone. Only once hehad referred to the raid. As she bent over him to do some small officehis fingers closed feebly round her wrist and his eyes, with asearching apprehension in them, looked into hers for the first timesince the night when she had fled from his curses.
"Was it--in time?" he whispered slowly, and as she nodded with crimsoncheeks and lowered eyes he turned his head away without another word,but a shudder that he was too weak to control shook him.
But the happiness of ministering to him passed very swiftly. As he grewstronger he managed so that she was rarely alone with him, and heinsisted on her riding twice every day, sometimes with Saint Hubert,sometimes with Henri, coolly avowing a preference for his own societyor that of Gaston, who was beginning to get about again. Later, too, hewas much occupied with headmen who came in from the different camps,and as the days passed she found herself more and more excluded fromthe intimacy that had been so precious. She was thrown much into thesociety of Raoul de Saint Hubert. All that they had gone throughtogether had drawn them very closely to each other, and Diana oftenwondered what her girlhood would have been like if it had been spentunder his guardianship instead of that of Sir Aubrey Mayo. The sisterlyaffection she had never given her own brother she gave to him, and,with the firm hold over himself that he had never again slackened, theVicomte accepted the role of elder brother which she unconsciouslyimposed on him.
It was hard work sometimes, and there were days when he dreaded thedaily rides, when the strain seemed almost more than he could bear, andhe began to make tentative suggestions about resuming his wanderings,but always the Sheik pressed him to stay.
Ahmed Ben Hassan's final recovery was quick, and the camp soon settleddown into normal conditions. The reinforcements were gone back to thedifferent camps from which they had been drawn. There was no furtherneed of them. Ibraheim Omair's tribe, with their leader dead, hadbroken up and scattered far to the south; there was no chief to keepthem together and no headman strong enough to draw them round a newchieftain, for Ibraheim had allowed no member of his tribe to attainany degree of wealth or power that might prove him a rival; so they hadsplit up into numerous small bands lacking cohesion. In fulfilling thevow made to his predecessor Ahmed Ben Hassan had cleared the desert ofa menace that had hung over it for many years.
The relations between the Sheik and Saint Hubert had gone back to whatthey had been the night of Raoul's arrival, before his candid criticismhad roused the Sheik's temper and fired his jealousy. The recollectionof the miserable week that had preceded the raid had been wiped out inall that had followed it. No shadow could ever come between them againsince Raoul had voluntarily stood on one side and sacrificed his ownchance of happiness for his friend's.
And with the Sheik's complete recovery his attitude towards Diana hadreverted to the cold reserve that had chilled her before--a reservethat was as courteous as it was indifferent. He had avoided her as muchas had been possible, and the continual presence of Saint Hubert hadbeen a barrier between them. Unostensibly but effectually he hadcontrived that Raoul should never leave them alone. Though he includedher in the general conversation he rarely spoke to her directly, andoften she found him looking at her with his fierce eyes filled with anexpression that baffled her, and as each time the quick blood rushedinto her face his forehead drew together in the heavy frown that was socharacteristic. During meals it was Raoul that kept the conversationfrom lapsing with ready tact and an eloquent flow of words, rangingover many subjects. In the evening the men became immersed in theprojection of Saint Hubert's new book, for details of which he wasdrawing on the Sheik's knowledge, and long after Diana left them shecould hear the two voices, both deep and musical, but Raoul's quickerand more emphatic, continuously rising and falling, till at last Raoulwould go to his own tent and Gaston would come--noiseless andsoft-toned as his master. Ordinarily the Sheik dispensed with him atnight, but since his wound, the valet, as soon as he had himselfrecovered, had always been in attendance. Some nights he lingeredtalking, and others the Sheik dismissed him in a few minutes with onlya curt word or two, and then there would be silence, and Diana wouldbury her face in her pillow and writhe in her desperate loneliness,sick with longing for the strong arms she had once dreaded and thekisses she had once loathed. He had slept in the outer room since hisillness, and tossing feverishly on the soft cushions of the big emptybed in which she lay alone Diana had suffered the greatest humiliationshe had yet experienced. He had never loved her, but now he did noteven want her. She was useless to him. She was less than nothing tohim. He h
ad no need of her. She would lie awake listening wearily tothe tiny chimes of the little clock with the bitter sense of herneedlessness crushing her. She was humbled to the very dust by hisindifference. The hours of loneliness in the room that was redolentwith associations of him were filled with memories that tortured her.In her fitful sleep her dreams were agonies from which she awakenedwith shaking limbs and shuddering breath, and waking, her hand wouldstretch out groping to him till remembrance came with cruel vividness.
In the daytime, too, she had been much alone, for as soon as the Sheikwas strong enough to sit in the saddle the two men had ridden farafield every day, visiting the outlying camps and drawing into AhmedBen Hassan's own hands again the affairs that had had to be relegatedto the headmen.
At last Raoul had announced that his visit could be protracted nolonger and that he must resume his journey to Morocco. He was going upto Oran and from there to Tangier by coasting steamer, collecting atTangier a caravan for his expedition through Morocco. His decision oncemade he had speeded every means of getting away with a despatch thathad almost suggested flight.
To Diana his going meant the hastening of a crisis that could not beput off much longer. The situation was becoming impossible. She hadsaid good-bye to him the night before. She had never guessed the loveshe had inspired in him, and she wondered at the sadness in his eyesand his unaccustomed lack of words. He had wanted to say so much and hehad said so little. She must never guess and Ahmed must never guess, sohe played the game to the end. Only that night after she had left themthe voices sounded in the adjoining room for a very short time. Andthis morning he and Ahmed Ben Hassan had ridden away at daybreak. Shehad not been asleep; she had heard them go, and almost she wished Raoulback, for with his presence the vague fear that assailed her seemedfurther away. The camp had seemed very lonely and the day very long.
She had ridden with Gaston, and hurried over her solitary dinner, andsince then she had been waiting for the Sheik to come back. In whatmood would he come? Since Raoul's announcement of his departure he hadbeen more than usually taciturn and reserved. The book she held slippedat length on to the floor, and she let it he unheeded. The usualstillness of the desert seemed to-night unusually still-sinistereven--and the silence was so intense that the sudden squeal of astallion a little distance away made her start with madly racing heartEarlier in the evening a tom-tom had been going persistently in themen's lines, and later a native pipe had shrilled thinly in monotonouscadence; but she had grown accustomed to these sounds; they were ofnightly occurrence and they soothed rather than irritated her, and whenthey stopped the quiet had become intensified to such a degree that shewould have welcomed any sound. To-night her nerves were on edge. She wasrestless and excited, and her thoughts were chaos.
She was alone again at his mercy. What would his attitude be? Her handsclenched on her knees. At times she lay almost without breathing,straining to hear the faintest sound that would mean his return, andthen again lest she should hear what she listened for. She longed forhim passionately, and at the same time she was afraid, He had changedso much that there were moments when she had the curious feeling thatit was a stranger who was coming back to her, and she both dreaded hiscoming and yearned for it with a singular combination of emotions. Shelooked round the room where she had at once suffered so much and beenso happy with troubled eyes. She had never been nervous before, butto-night her imagination ran riot. There was electricity in the airwhich acted on her overstrung nerves. The little shaded lamp threw acircle of light round the bed, but left the rest of the room dim, andthe dusky corners seemed full of odd new shadows that came and wentillusively. Hangings and objects that were commonly familiar to hertook on fantastic shapes that she watched nervously, till at last shebrushed her hand across her eyes with a laugh of angry impatience. Wasthe love that had changed her so completely also making her a coward?Had even her common-sense been lost in the one great emotion that heldher? She understood perfectly the change that had taken place in her.She had never had any illusions about herself, and had never attemptedto curb the obstinate self-will and haughty pride that hadcharacterized her. She thought of it curiously, her mind going backover the last few months that had changed her whole life. The last madfreak for which she had paid so dearly had been the outcome of anarrogant determination to have her own way in the face of all protestsand advice. And with a greater arrogance and a determination strongerthan her own Ahmed Ben Hassan had tamed her as he tamed the magnificenthorses that he rode. He had been brutal and merciless, using no halfmeasures, forcing her to obedience by sheer strength of will andcompelling a complete submission. She thought of how she had feared andhated him with passionate intensity, until the hatred had been swampedby love as passionate and as intense. She did not know why she lovedhim, she had never been able to analyse the passion that held her sostrongly, but she knew deep down in her heart that it went now far pasthis mere physical beauty and superb animal strength. She loved himblindly with a love that had killed her pride and brought her to hisfeet humbly obedient. All the love that had lain dormant in her heartfor years was given to him. Body and soul she belonged to him. And thechange within her was patent in her face, the haughty expression in hereyes had turned to a tender wistfulness, with a curious gleam ofexpectancy that flickered in them perpetually; the little mutinousmouth had lost the scornful curve. And with the complete change in herexpression she was far more beautiful now than she had ever been. Butwith her love was the fear of him that she had learned during the firsthours of her captivity, the physical fear that she had never lost, evenduring the happy weeks that had preceded the coming of Saint Hubert,and the greater fear that was with her always, and that at times droveher, with wide-stricken eyes, wildly to pace the tent as if to escapethe shadow that hung over her--the fear of the time when he should tireof her. The thought racked her, and now, as always, she tried to put itfrom her, but it continued, persistently haunting her like a grimspectre. Always the same thought tortured her--he had not taken her forlove. No higher motive than a passing fancy had stirred him. He hadseen her, had wished for her and had taken her, and once in his powerit had amused him to break her to his hand. She realised all that. Andhe had been honest, he had never pretended to love her. Often when thehumour took him he could be gentle, as in those last few weeks, butgentleness was not love, and she had never seen the light that shelonged for kindle in his eyes. His caresses had been passionate orcareless with his mood. She did not know that he loved her. She had notbeen with him during the long hours of his delirium and she had notheard what Raoul de Saint Hubert had heard. And since his recovery hisattitude of aloofness had augmented her fear. There seemed only oneconstruction to put on his silence, and his studied and obviousavoidance of her. The passing fancy had passed. It was as if thefleeting passion he had had for her had been drained from him with theblood that flowed from the terrible wound he had received. He was tiredof her and seeking for a means to disembarrass himself of her. Vaguelyshe felt that she had known this for weeks, but to-night was the firsttime that she had had courage to be frank with herself. It must be so.Everything pointed to it; the curious expression she had seen in hiseyes and his constant heavy frown all confirmed it. She flung her armacross her eyes with a little moan. He was tired of her and the bottomhad fallen out of her world. The instinct to fight for his love thathad been so strong in her the day that Ibraheim Omair had captured herhad died with the death of all her hopes. Her spirit was broken. Sheknew that her will was helpless against his, and with a fatalism thatshe had learned in the desert she accepted the inevitable with acrushed feeling of hopelessness.
She wondered numbly what would become of her. It did not seem to mattermuch. Nothing mattered now that he did not want her any more. The oldlife was far away, in another world. She could never go back to it. Shedid not care. It was nothing to her. It was only here in the desert, inAhmed Ben Hassan's arms, that she had become alive, that she hadlearned what life really meant, that she had waked both to happinessand sorr
ow.
The future stretched out blank and menacing before her, but she turnedfrom it with a great sob of despair. It was on him that her thoughtswere fixed. How would life be endurable without him? Dully she wonderedwhy she did not hate him for having done to her what he had done, forhaving made her what she was. But nothing that he could do could killthe love now that he had inspired. And she would never regret. Shewould always have the memory of the fleeting happiness that had beenhers--in after years that memory would be all that she would have tolive for. Even in her heart she did not reproach him, there was nobitterness in her misery. She had always known that it would come,though she had fenced with it, shutting it out of her mind resolutely.He had never led her to expect anything else. There was no link tobring them closer together, no bond between them. If she could have hadthe promise of a child. Alone though she was the sensitive colourflamed into her cheeks, and she hid her face in the pillows with aquivering sob. A child that would be his and hers, a child--a boy withthe same passionate dark eyes, the same crisp brown hair, the samegraceful body, who would grow up as tall and strong, as brave andfearless as his father. Surely he must love her then. Surely the memoryof his own mother's tragic history would make him merciful to themother of his son. But she had no hope of that mercy. She lay shakingwith passionate yearning and the storm of bitter tears that swept overher, hungry for the clasp of his arms, faint with longing. The pent-upmisery of weeks that she had crushed down surged over. There was nobodyto hear the agonising sobs that shook her from head to foot. She couldrelax the control that she had put upon herself and which had seemed tobe slowly turning her to stone. She could give way to the emotion that,suppressed, had welled up choking in her throat and gripped herforehead like red-hot bands eating into her brain. Tears were not easyto her. She had not wept since that first night when, with the fear ofworse than death, she had grovelled at his feet, moaning for mercy. Shehad not wept during the terrible hours she was in the power of IbraheimOmair, nor during the days that Raoul de Saint Hubert had fought forhis friend's life. But to-night the tears that all her life she haddespised would not be denied. Tortured with conflicting emotions,unsatisfied love, fear and uncertainty, utterly unnerved, she gaveherself up at last to the feelings she could no longer restrain. Proneon the wide bed, her face buried in the pillows, her hands clutchingconvulsively at the silken coverings, she wept until she had no moretears, until the anguished, sobs died away into silence and she layquiet, exhausted.
She wrestled with herself. The weakness that she had given way to mustbe conquered. She knew that, without any possibility of doubt, hiscoming would seal her fate--whatever it was to be. She must wait untilthen. A long, shuddering sigh ran through her. "Ahmed! Ahmed BenHassan," she murmured slowly, lingering with wistful tenderness on thewords. She pressed her face closer into the cushions, clasping herhands over her head, and for a long time lay very still. The heat wasintense and every moment the tent seemed to grow more airless. The roomwas stifling, and, with a little groan, Diana sat up, pushing the heavyhair oft her damp forehead, and covered her flushed face with herhands. A cicada began its shrill note close by, chirping with maddeningpersistency. Quite suddenly her mind was filled with thoughts of herown people, the old home in England, the family for whose honour herancestors had been so proudly jealous. Even Aubrey, lazy andself-indulgent as he was, prized the family honour as he prized nothingelse on earth; and now she, proud Diana Mayo, who had the history ofher race at her fingers' ends, who had gloried in the long line ofupright men and chaste women, had no thankfulness in her heart that inher degradation she had been spared a crowning shame. Beside her loveeverything dwindled into nothingness. He was her life, he filled herhorizon. Honour itself was lost in the absorbing passion of her love.He had stripped it from her and she was content that it should lie athis feet. He had made her nothing, she was his toy, his plaything,waiting to be thrown aside. She shuddered again and looked around thetent that she had shared with him with a bitter smile and sad, huntedeyes.... After her--who? The cruel thought persisted. She was torn witha mad, primitive jealousy, a longing to kill the unknown woman whowould inevitably succeed her, a desire that grew until a horror of herown feelings seized her, and she shrank down, clasping her hands overher ears to shut out the insidious voice that seemed actuallywhispering beside her. The Persian hound in the next room had whineduneasily from time to time, and now he pushed his way past the curtainand stalked across the thick rugs. He nuzzled his shaggy head againsther knee, whimpering unhappily, looking up into her face. And when shenoticed him he reared up and flung his long body across her lap,thrusting his wet nose into her face. She caught his head in her handsand rubbed her cheek against his rough hair, crooning over him softly.Even the dog was comfort in her loneliness, and they both waited fortheir master.
She pushed him down at length, and with her hand on his collar wentinto the other room. A solitary lamp burned dimly. She crossed to thedoorway and pulled aside the flap, and a small, white-clad figure roseup before her.
"Is that you, Gaston?" she asked involuntarily, though she knew thatthe question was unnecessary, for he always slept across the entranceto the tent when the Sheik was away.
"_A votre service, Madame_."
For a few minutes she did not speak, and Gaston stood silent besideher. She might have remembered that he was there. He never stirred farbeyond the sound of her voice whenever she was alone in the camp. Hewas always waiting, unobtrusive, quick to carry out her requests, evento anticipate them. With him standing beside her she thought of thetime when they had fought side by side--all difference in rank eclipsedin their common danger. The servant had been merged into the man, and aman who had the courage to do what he had attempted when he had facedher at what had seemed the last moment with his revolver clenched in ahand that had not shaken, a man at whose side and by whose hand shewould have been proud to die. They were men, these desert dwellers,master and servants alike; men who endured, men who did things, inuredto hardships, imbued with magnificent courage, splendid healthyanimals. There was nothing effete or decadent about the men with whomAhmed Ben Hassan surrounded himself.
Diana had always liked Gaston she had been touched by his unvaryingrespectful attitude that had never by a single word or look conveyedthe impression that he was aware of her real position in his master'scamp. He treated her as if she were indeed what from the bottom of herheart she wished she was. He was solicitous without being officious,familiar with no trace of impertinence, He was Diana's first experienceof a class of servant that still lingers in France, a survival ofpre-Revolution days, who identify themselves entirely with the familythey serve, and in Gaston's case this interest in his master had beenstrengthened by experiences shared and dangers faced which had boundthem together with a tie that could never be broken and had raisedtheir relations on to a higher plane than that of mere master and man.Those relations had at first been a source of perpetual wonder toDiana, brought up in the rigid atmosphere of her brother'sestablishment, where Aubrey's egoism gave no opportunity for anythingbut conventional service, and in their wanderings, where personalservants had to be often changed. Even Stephens was, in Aubrey's eyes,a mere machine.
Very soon after she had been brought to Ahmed Ben Hassan's camp she hadrealised that Gaston's devotion to the Sheik had been extended toherself, but since the night of the raid he had frankly worshipped her.
It was very airless even out-of-doors. She peered into the darkness,but there was little light from the tiny crescent moon, and she couldsee nothing. She moved a few steps forward from under the awning tolook up at the brilliant stars twinkling overhead. She had watched themso often from Ahmed Ben Hassan's arms; they had become an integral partof the passionate Oriental nights. He loved them, and when the mood wason him, watched them untiringly, teaching her to recognise them, andtelling her countless Arab legends connected with them, sitting underthe awning far info the night, till gradually his voice faded away fromher ears, and long after she was asleep he would sit on
motionless,staring up into the heavens, smoking endless cigarettes. Would it begiven to her ever to watch them again sparkling against theblue-blackness of the sky, with the curve of his arm round her and thesteady beat of his heart under her cheek? A stab of pain went: throughher. Would anything ever be the same again? Everything had changedsince the coming of Raoul de Saint Hubert. A weary sigh broke from herlips.
"Madam is tired?" a respectful voice murmured at her ear.
Diana started. She had forgotten the valet. "It is so hot. The tent wasstifling," she said evasively.
Gaston's devotion was of a kind that sought practical demonstration."_Madame veut du cafe?_" he suggested tentatively. It was hisuniversal panacea, but at the moment it sounded almost grotesque.
Diana felt an hysterical desire to laugh which nearly turned intotears, but she checked herself. "No, it is too late."
"In one little moment I will bring it," Gaston urged persuasively,unwilling to give up his own gratification in serving her.
"No, Gaston. It makes me nervous," she said gently.
Gaston heaved quite a tragic sigh. His own nerves were steel and hiscapacity for imbibing large quantities of black coffee at any hour ofthe day or night unlimited.
"_Une limonade_?" he persisted hopefully.
She let him bring the cool drink more for his pleasure than for herown. "Monseigneur is late," she said slowly, straining her eyes againinto the darkness.
"He will come," replied Gaston confidently. "Kopec is restless, he isalways so when Monseigneur is coming."
She looked down for a moment thoughtfully at the dim shape of the houndlying at the man's feet, and then with a last upward glance at thebright stars turned back into the tent. All her nervous fears hadvanished in speaking to Gaston, who was the embodiment of practicalcommon sense; earlier, when unreasoning terror had taken such a hold onher, she had forgotten that he was within call, faithful and devoted.She picked up the fallen book, and lying down again forced herself toread, but though her eyes followed the lines mechanically she did notsense what she was reading, and all the time her ears were strained tocatch the earliest sound of his coming.
At last it came. Only a suggestion at first--a wave of thought caughtby her waiting brain, an instinctive intuition, and she started uptense with expectancy, her lips parted, her eyes wide, hardlybreathing, listening intently. And when he came it was with unexpectedsuddenness, for, in the darkness, the little band of horsemen wereinvisible until they were right on the camp, and the horses' hoofs madeno sound. The stir caused by his arrival died away quickly. For amoment there was a confusion of voices, a jingle of accoutrements, oneof the horses whinnied, and then in the ensuing silence she heard himcome into the tent. Her heart raced suffocatingly. There was a murmurof conversation, the Sheik's low voice and Gaston's quick animatedtones answering him, and then the servant hurried out. Acutelyconscious of every sound, she waited motionless, her hands gripping thesoft mattress until her fingers cramped, breathing in long, painfulgasps as she tried to stop the laboured beating of her heart. In spiteof the heat a sudden coldness crept over her, and she shiveredviolently from time to time. Her face was quite white, even her lipswere colourless and her eyes, fixed on the curtain which divided thetwo rooms, glittered feverishly. With her intimate knowledge everymovement in the adjoining room was as perceptible as if she had seenit. He was pacing up and down as he had paced on the night whenGaston's fate was hanging in the balance, as he always paced when hewas deliberating anything, and the scent of his cigarette filled herroom. Once he paused near the communicating curtain and her heart gavea wild leap, but after a moment he moved away. He stopped again at thefar end of the tent, and she knew from the faint metallic click that hewas loading his revolver. She heard him lay it down on the littlewriting-table, and then the steady tramping began once more. Hisrestlessness made her uneasy. He had been in the saddle since earlydawn. Saint Hubert had advised him to be careful for some weeks yet. Itwas imprudent not to rest when opportunity offered. He was so carelessof himself. She gave a quick, impatient sigh, and the tender light inher eyes deepened into an anxiety that was half maternal. In spite ofhis renewed strength and his laughing protests at Raoul's warnings,coupled with a physical demonstration on his less muscular friend thathad been very conclusive, she could never forget that she had seen himlying helpless as a child, too weak even to raise his hand. Nothingcould ever take the remembrance from her, and nothing could ever alterthe fact that in his weakness he had been dependent on her. She hadbeen necessary to him then. She had a moment's fierce pleasure in thethought, but it faded as suddenly as it had come. It had been anephemeral happiness.
At last she heard the divan creak under his weight, but not untilGaston came back bringing his supper. As he ate he spoke, and his firstwords provoked an exclamation of dismay from the Frenchman, which washastily smothered with a murmured apology, and then Diana became awarethat others had come into the room. He spoke to each in turn, and sherecognised Yusef's clear, rather high-pitched voice arguing with thetaciturn head camelman, whose surly intonations and behaviour matchedthe bad-tempered animals to whom he was devoted, until a word fromAhmed Ben Hassan silenced them both. There were two more who receivedtheir orders with only a grunt of acquiescence.
Presently they went out, but Yusef lingered, talking volubly, half inArabic, half in French, but lapsing more and more into the vernacularas he grew excited. Even in the midst of her trouble the thought of himsent a little smile to Diana's lips. She could picture him squattingbefore the Sheik, scented and immaculate, his fine eyes rolling, hisslim hands waving continually, his handsome face alight with boyishenthusiasm and worship. At last he, too, went, and only Gastonremained, busy with the _cafetiere_ that was his latest toy. Thearoma of the boiling coffee filled the tent. She could imagine theservant's deft fingers manipulating the fragile glass and silverappliance. She could hear the tinkle of the spoon as he moved the cup,the splash of the coffee as he poured it out, the faint sound of thecup being placed on the inlaid table. Why was Ahmed drinking Frenchcoffee when he always complained it kept him awake? At night he was inthe habit of taking the native preparation. Surely to-night he had needof sleep. It was the hardest day he had had since his illness. For afew moments longer Gaston moved about the outer room, and from thesound Diana guessed that he was collecting on to a tray the variousthings that had to be removed. Then his voice, louder than he hadspoken before:
_"Monseigneur desir d'autre chose?"_
The Sheik must have signed in the negative, for there was no audibleanswer.
_"Bon soir, Monseigneur."_
_"Bon soir, Gaston."_
Diana drew a quick breath. While the man was still in the adjoiningroom the moment for which she was waiting seemed interminable. And nowshe wished he had not gone. He stood between her and--what? For thefirst time since the coming of Saint Hubert she was alone with him,really alone. Only a curtain separated them, a curtain that she couldnot pass. She longed to go to him, but she did not dare. She was pulledbetween love and fear, and for the moment fear was in the ascendant.She shivered, and a sob rose in her throat as the memory came to her ofanother night during those two months of happiness, that were fastbecoming like a wonderful dream, when he had ridden in late. AfterGaston left she had gone to him, flushed and bright-eyed with sleep,and he had pulled her down on to his knee, and made her share thenative coffee she detested, laughing boyishly at her face of disgust.And, holding her in his arms with her head on his shoulder, he had toldher all the incidents of the day's visit to one of the other camps, andfrom his men and his horses drifted almost insensibly into detailsconnected with his own plans for the future, which were really theintimate confidences of a husband to a wife who is also a comrade. Themingled pain and pleasure of the thought had made her shiver, and hehad started up, declaring that she was cold, and, lifting her till hischeek was resting on hers, carried her back into the other room.
But what she had done then was impossible now. He seemed so utterlystrange,
so different from the man whom she thought she had grown tounderstand. She was all at sea. She was desperately tired, her headaching and confused with the terrible problems of the future. She darednot think any more. She only wanted to lie in his arms and sob herheart out against his. She was starving for the touch of his hands,suffering horribly.
She slid down on to her knees, burying her face in the couch.
"Oh, God! Give me his love!" she kept whispering in agonised entreaty,until the recollection of the night, months before, when in the sameposture she had prayed that God's curse might fall on him, sent ashudder through her.
"I didn't mean if," she moaned. "Oh, clear God! I didn't mean it. Ididn't know.... Take it back. I didn't mean it."
She choked down the sobs that rose, pressing her face closer into thesilken coverings.
There was silence in the next room except for the striking of a matchthat came with monotonous regularity. And always the peculiar scent ofhis tobacco drifting in through the heavy curtains, forcing a hundredrecollections with the association of its perfume. Why didn't he cometo her? Did he know how he was torturing her? Was he so utterlyindifferent that he did not care what she suffered? Did he even thinkof her, to wonder if she suffered or not? The fear of the future rushedon her again with overwhelming force. The uncertainty was killing her.She raised her head and looked at the travelling clock beside thereading-lamp. It was an hour since Gaston had left him. Another hour ofwaiting would drive her mad. She must know what he was going to do. Shecould bear anything but this suspense. She had reached the limit of herendurance. She struggled to her feet, drawing the thin wrap closeraround her. But even then she stood irresolute, dreading the fulfillingof her fears; she had not the courage voluntarily to precipitate herfate. She clung to her fool's paradise. Her eyes were fixed on theclock, watching the hands drag slowly round the dial. A quarter of anhour crept past. It seemed the quarter of a lifetime, and Diana brushedher hand across her eyes to clear away the dazzling reflection of thestaring white china face with its long black minute hand. No sound ofany kind came now from the other room. The silence was driving herfrantic. She was desperate; she must know, nothing could be worse thanthe agony she was enduring.
She set her teeth and, crossing the room, slipped noiselessly betweenthe curtains. Then she shrank back suddenly with her hands over hermouth. He was leaning forward on the divan, his elbows on his knees,his face hidden in his hands. And it was as a stranger that he had comeback to her, divested of the flowing robes that had seemed essentiallya part of him; an unfamiliar figure in silk shirt, riding breeches andhigh brown boots, still dust-covered from the long ride. A thin tweedcoat lay in a heap on the carpet--he must have flung it off afterGaston went, for the valet, with his innate tidiness, would never haveleft it lying on the floor.
She looked at him hungrily, her eyes ranging slowly over the longlength of him and lingering on his bent head. The light from thehanging lamp shone on his thick brown hair burnishing it like bronze.She was shaking with a sudden new shyness, but love gave her courageand she went to him, her bare feet noiseless on the rugs.
"Ahmed!" she whispered.
He lifted his head slowly and looked at her, and the sight of his facesent her on to her knees beside him, her hands clutching the breast ofhis soft shirt.
"Ahmed! What is it?... You are hurt--your wound----?" she cried, hervoice sharp with anxiety.
He caught her groping hands, and rising, pulled her gently to her feet,his fingers clenched round hers, looking down at her strangely. Then heturned from her without a word, and wrenching open the flap of thetent, flung it back and stood in the open doorway staring out into theright. He looked oddly slender and tall silhouetted against thedarkness. A gleam of perplexity crept into her frightened eyes, and onehand went up to her throat.
"What is it?" she whispered again breathlessly.
"It is that we start for Oran to-morrow," he replied. His voice soundeddull and curiously unlike, and with a little start Diana realised thathe was speaking in English. Her eyes closed and she swayed dizzily.
"You are sending me away?" she gasped slowly.
There was a pause before he answered.
"Yes."
The curt monosyllable lashed her like a whip. She reeled under it,panting and wild-eyed. "Why?"
He did not answer and the colour flamed suddenly into her face. Shewent closer to him, her breast heaving, trying to speak, but her throatwas parched and her lips shaking so that no words would come.
"It is because you are tired of me?" she muttered at last hoarsely,"--as you told me you would tire, as you tired of--those other women?"Her voice died away with an accent of horror in it.
Again he did not answer, but he winced, and his hands that were hangingat his sides clenched slowly.
Diana flung one arm across her face to shut him out from her sight. Herheart was breaking, and she longed with a feeling of sick misery tocrawl to his feet, but a remnant of pride kept her back.
He spoke at length in the same level, toneless voice. "I will take youto the first desert station outside of Oran, where you can join thetrain. For your own sake I must not be seen with you in Oran, as I amknown there. If you should by any chance be recognised or your identityshould leak out, you can say that for reasons of your own you extendedyour trip, that your messages miscarried, anything that occurs to you.But it is not at all likely to happen. There are many travellerspassing through Oran. Gaston can do all business and make allarrangements for you. He will take you to Marseilles, and if you needhim he will go with you to Paris, Cherbourg, or London--whichever youwish. As you know, you can trust him absolutely. When you do not needhim any longer, he will come back to me. I--I will not trouble you anymore. You need never be afraid that I will come into your life again.You can forget these months in the desert and the uncivilised Arab whocrossed your path. To keep out of your way is the only amends I canmake."
She flung up her head. Quick, suspicious jealousy and love and pridecontending nearly choked her. "Why don't you speak the truth?" shecried wildly. "Why don't you say what you really mean?--that you haveno further use for me, that it amused you to take me and torture me tosatisfy your whim, but the whim is passed. It does not amuse you anylonger. You are tired of me and so you get rid of me with allprecautions. Do you think the truth can hurt me? Nothing that you cando can hurt me now. You made me the vile thing I am for your pleasure,and now for your pleasure you throw me on one side.... How many times ayear does Gaston take your discarded mistresses back to France?" Hervoice broke into a terrible laugh.
He swung round swiftly and flung his arms about her, crushing her tohim savagely, forgetting his strength, his eyes blazing. "God! Do youthink it is easy to let you go, that you are taunting me like this? Doyou think I haven't suffered, that I'm not suffering now? Don't youknow that it is tearing my heart out by the roots to send you away? Mylife will be hell without you. Do you think I haven't realised what aninfinitely damned brute I've been? I didn't love you when I took you, Ionly wanted you to satisfy the beast in me. And I was glad that youwere English that I could make you suffer as an Englishman made mymother suffer, I so loathed the whole race. I have been mad all mylife, I think--up till now. I thought I didn't care until the night Iheard that Ibraheim Omair had got you, and then I knew that if anythinghappened to you the light of my life was out, and that I would onlywait to kill Ibraheim before I killed myself."
His arms were like a vice hurting her, but they felt like heaven, andshe clung to him speechless, her heart throbbing wildly. He looked downlong and deeply into her eyes, and the light in his--the light that shehad longed for--made her tremble. His brown head bent lower and lower,and his lips had almost touched her when he drew back, and the love inhis eyes faded into misery.
"I mustn't kiss you," he said huskily, as he put her from him gently."I don't think I should have the courage to let you go if I did. Ididn't mean to touch you."
He turned from her with a little gesture of weariness.
Fear fled back into her eyes. "I don't want to go," she whisperedfaintly.
He paused by the writing-table and took up the revolver he had loadedearlier, breaking it absently, spinning the magazine between his fingerand thumb, and replaced it before answering.
"You don't understand. There is no other way," he said dully.
"If you really loved me you would not let me go," she cried, with amiserable sob.
"_If_ I loved you?" he echoed, with a hard laugh. "_If_ Iloved you! It is because I love you so much that I am able to do it. IfI loved you a little less I would let you stay and take your chance."
She flung out her hands appealingly. "I want to stay, Ahmed! I loveyou!" she panted, desperate--for she knew his obstinate determination,and she saw her chance of happiness slipping away.
He did not move or look at her, and his brows drew together in thedreaded heavy frown. "You don't know what you are saying. You don'tknow what it would mean," he replied in a voice from which he hadforced all expression. "If you married me you would have to live alwayshere in the desert. I cannot leave my people, and I am--too much of anArab to let you go alone. It would be no life for you. You think youlove me now, though God knows how you can after what I have done toyou, but a time would come when you would find that your love for medid not compensate for your life here. And marriage with me isunthinkable. You know what I am and what I have been. You know that Iam not fit to live with, not fit to be near any decent woman. You knowwhat sort of a damnable life I have led; the memory of it would alwayscome between us--you would never forget, you would never trust me. Andif you could, of your charity, both forgive and forget, you know that Iam not easy to live with. You know my devilish temper--it has notspared you in the past, it might not spare you in the future. Do youthink that I could bear to see you year after year growing to hate memore? You think that I am cruel now, but I am thinking what is best foryou afterwards. Some day you will think of me a little kindly because Ihad the strength to let you go. You are so young, your life is only justbeginning. You are strong enough to put the memory of these last monthsout of your mind--to forget the past and live only for the future. Noone need ever know. There can be no fear for your--reputation. Thingsare forgotten in the silence of the desert. Mustafa Ali is many hundredsof miles away, but not so far that he would dare to talk. My own menneed not be considered, they speak or are silent as I wish. There isonly Raoul, and there is no question of him. He has not spared me hisopinion. You must go back to your own country, to your own people, toyour own life, in which I have no place or part, and soon all this willseem only like an ugly dream."
The sweat was standing out on his forehead and his hands were clenchedwith the effort he was making, but her head was buried in her hands,and she did not see the torture in his face, she only heard his soft,low voice inexorably decreeing her fate and shutting her out fromhappiness in quiet almost indifferent tones.
She shuddered convulsively. "Ahmed! I go!" she wailed.
He looked up sharply, his face livid, and tore her hands from her face."Good God! You don't mean--I haven't--You aren't----" he gasped hoarsely,looking down at her with a great fear in his eyes.
She guessed what he meant and the color rushed into her face. Thetemptation to lie to him and let the consequences rest with the futurewas almost more than she could resist. One little word and she would bein his arms ... but afterwards----? It was the fear of the afterwardsthat kept her silent. The colour slowly drained from her face and sheshook her head mutely.
He let go her wrists with a quick sigh of relief and wiped theperspiration from his face. Then he laid his hand on her shoulder andpushed her gently towards the inner room. For a moment she resisted,her wide, desperate eyes searching his, but he would not meet her look,and his mouth was set in the hard straight line she knew so well, andwith a cry she flung herself on his breast, her face hidden againsthim, her hands clinging round his neck. "Ahmed! Ahmed! You are killingme. I cannot live without you. I love you and I want you--only you. Iam not afraid of the loneliness of the desert, it is the loneliness ofthe world outside the shelter of your arms that I am afraid of. I amnot afraid of what you are or what you have been. I am not afraid ofwhat you might do to me. I never lived until you taught me what lifewas, here in the desert. I can't go back to the old life, Ahmed. Havepity on me. Don't shut me out from my only chance of happiness, don'tsend me away. I know you love me--I know! I know! And because I know Iam not ashamed to beg you to be merciful. I haven't any shame or prideleft. Ahmed! Speak to me! I can't bear your silence.... Oh! You arecruel, cruel!"
A spasm crossed his face, but his mouth set firmer and he disengagedher clinging hands with relentless fingers. "I have never been anythingelse," he said bitterly, "but I am willing that you should think me abrute now rather than you should live to curse the day you ever saw me.I still think that your greater chance of happiness lies away from merather than with me, and for your ultimate happiness I am content tosacrifice everything."
He dropped her hands and turned abruptly, going back to the doorway,looking out into the darkness. "It is very late. We must start early.Go and lie down," he said gently, but it was an order in spite of thegentleness of his voice.
She shrank back trembling, with piteous, stricken face and eyes filledwith a great despair. She knew him and she knew it was the end. Nothingwould break his resolution. She looked at him with quivering lipsthrough a mist of tears, looked at him with a desperate fixedness thatsought to memorise indelibly his beloved image in her heart. The dearhead so proudly poised on the broad shoulders, the long strong limbs,the slender, graceful body. He was all good to look upon. A man of men.Monseigneur! Monseigneur! _Mon maitre et seigneur._ No! It wouldnever be that any more. A rush of tears blinded her and she steppedback uncertainly and stumbled against the little writing-table. Shecaught at it behind her to steady herself, and her fingers touched therevolver he had laid down. The contact of the cold metal sent a chillthat seemed to strike her heart. She stood rigid, with startled eyesfixed on the motionless figure in the doorway--one hand gripping theweapon tightly and the other clutching the silken wrap across herbreast. Her mind raced forward feverishly, there were only a few hoursleft before the morning, before the bitter moment when she must leavebehind her for ever the surroundings that had become so dear, that hadbeen her home as the old castle in England had never been. She thoughtof the long journey northward, the agonised protraction of her miseryriding beside him, the nightly camps when she would lie alone in thelittle travelling tent, and then the final parting at the waysidestation, when she would have to watch him wheel at the head of his menand ride out of her life, and she would strain her eyes through thedust and sand to catch the last glimpse of the upright figure on thespirited black horse. It would be The Hawk, she thought suddenly. Hehad ridden Shaitan to-day, and he always used one or other of the twofor long journeys. It was The Hawk he had ridden the day she had madeher bid for freedom and who had carried the double burden on the returnjourney when she had found her happiness. The contrast between thatride, when she had lain content in the curve of his strong arm, and theride that she would take the next day was poignant. She closed herteeth on her trembling lip, her fingers tightened on the stock of therevolver, and a wild light came into her sad eyes. She could never gothrough with it. To what end would be the hideous torture? What waslife without him?--Nothing and less than nothing. She could never giveherself to another man. She was necessary to no one. Aubrey had no realneed of her; his selfishness wrapped him around with a complacency thatabundantly satisfied him. One day, for the sake of the family he wouldmarry--perhaps was already married if he had been able to find a womanin America who would accept his egoism along with his old name andpossessions. Her life was her own to deal with. Nobody would be injuredby its termination. Aubrey, indeed, would benefit considerably. Andhe----? His figure was blurred through the tears that filled her eyes.
Slowly she lifted the weapon clear of the table with steady fingers andbrought her hand
stealthily from behind her. She looked at it for amoment dispassionately. She was not afraid. She was conscious only ofan overwhelming weariness, a longing for rest that should still thegnawing pain in her breast and the throbbing in her head.... A flashand it would be over, and all her sorrow would melt away.... But wouldit? A doubting fear of the hereafter rushed over her. What if sufferinglived beyond the border-line? But the fear went as suddenly as it hadcome, for with it came remembrance that in that shadowy world she wouldfind one who would understand--her own father, who had shot himself,mad with heartbroken despair, when her mother died in giving her birth.
She lifted the revolver to her temple resolutely.
There had been no sound to betray what was passing behind him, but theextra sense, the consciousness of imminent danger that was strong inthe desert-bred man, sprang into active force within the Sheik. Heturned like a flash and leaped across the space that separated them,catching her hand as she pressed the trigger, and the bullet spedharmlessly an inch above her head. With his face gone suddenly ghastlyhe wrenched the weapon from her and flung it far into the night.
For a moment they stared into each other's eyes in silence, then, witha moan, she slipped from his grasp and fell at his feet in an agony ofterrible weeping. With a low exclamation he stooped and swept her upinto his arms, holding her slender, shaking figure with tenderstrength, pressing her head against him, his cheek on her red-goldcurls.
"My God! child, don't cry so. I can bear anything but that," he criedbrokenly.
But the terrible sobs went on, and fearfully he caught her closer,straining her to him convulsively, raining kisses on her shining hair."_Diane, Diane,_" he whispered imploringly, falling back into thesoft French that seemed so much more natural. "_Mon amour, mabien-aimee. Ne pleures pas, je t'en prie. Je t'aime, je t'adore. Turesteras pres de moi, tout a moi._"
She seemed only half-conscious, unable to check the emotion that,unloosed, overwhelmed her. She lay inert against him, racked with thelong shuddering sobs that shook her. His firm mouth quivered as helooked down at his work. Gathering her up to his heart he carried herto the divan, and the weight of her soft slim body sent the bloodracing madly through his veins. He laid her down, and dropped on hisknees beside her, his arm wrapped round her, whispering words ofpassionate love.
Gradually the terrible shuddering passed and the gasping sobs diedaway, and she lay still, so still and white that he was afraid. Hetried to rise to fetch some restorative, but at the first movement sheclung to him, pressing closer to him. "I don't want anything but you,"she murmured almost inaudibly.
His arm tightened round her and he turned her face up to his. Her eyeswere closed and the wet lashes lay black against her pale cheek. Hislips touched them pitifully.
"Diane, will you never look at me again?" His voice was almost humble.
Her eyes quivered a moment and them opened slowly, looking up into hiswith a still-lingering fear in them. "You won't send me away?" shewhispered pleadingly, like a terrified child.
A hard sob broke from him and he kissed her trembling lips fiercely."Never!" he said sternly. "I will never let you go now. My God! If youknew how I wanted you. If you knew what it cost me to send you away.Pray God I keep you happy. You know the worst of me, poor child--youwill have a devil for a husband."
The colour stole back slowly into her face and a little tremulous smilecurved her lips. She slid her arm up and round his neck, drawing hishead down. "I am not afraid," she murmured slowly. "I am not afraid ofanything with your arms round me, my desert lover. Ahmed! Monseigneur!"
THE END