Burning Sands

She turned and watched Daniel as he helped in the work of unloading the camels. He had taken off his coat, and his shirt sleeves were rolled back from his mighty arms. He was wearing a shabby old pair of riding breeches and gaiters; and the butt of his heavy revolver protruded from his hip pocket. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled over his bronzed face, and his pipe was in his mouth. He appeared to be lifting enormous loads with incredible ease; and just now he had set all his Bedouin laughing by walking off unceremoniously with a huge bundle of tenting, in the ropes of which one of the natives had become entangled, thereby dragging the astonished man across the sand as a puppy might be dragged at the end of a string.

Presently he came towards her, beckoning to her; and she slid down the sandy slope to meet him.

“Look here,” he said, “this’ll be a long job. I wish you’d let me send your horse away: I’ll be wanting the man who’s holding him soon.”

Muriel felt abashed, and something of her old hostility returned to her.

“I’d better go,” she said. “I’m in your way.”

“No,” he answered quickly “I don’t want you to go. I like you to be here – very much indeed.”

His obvious sincerity appeased her. He fetched a notebook and pencil from the pocket of his coat, and handed them to her.

“I’ll send your horse back to the hotel,” he said. “Please write a note to your friends.”

“What d’you want me to say?” she asked, taking the writing materials from him, her eyes curiously wide open, and having in them that characteristic expression of assumed and mischievous innocence.

“Say this,” he replied, and, with mock obedience, she wrote at his dictation: “Mr. Lane insists on my working. Please ’phone to my father that he has arrived, and that I will bring him to the Residency for tea. I’ll look in at the hotel in the early afternoon.”

“Anything else?” she asked with a laugh. “Won’t you send a few directions to my maid to pack my things, and order a car to take us into Cairo?”

“Yes,” he replied, without a smile. “You’d better add that.”

As she was writing he turned to the man who was holding her horse, and gave him his instructions; then, having handed him the note, he sent him galloping off.

“Now what?” asked Muriel. Unaccountably, her heart was beating fast.

“Now take your coat off, and come and help,” he said.

For a moment she hesitated, and a sensation very much like fear took hold of her; but, recollecting that he was nothing more than her father’s new diplomatic Secretary, she gave herself up to the enticement of the free and sparkling desert.

“Come on then,” she answered; “let’s get at it.” And pulling off her long white linen coat, she tossed it aside, with her gloves and crop, and rolled up the sleeves of her silk shirt.

Daniel looked gravely at her as she stood before him in her well-cut white breeches and brown top-boots; and for the first time Muriel could see admiration in his eyes. She was feeling reckless, and her boyish costume did not disconcert her: she was quite aware that her figure had nothing of that ungainliness about the hips and knees which so often makes the hunting-field a place of mirth.

He wisely offered no comment upon her appearance, much as he liked the graceful freedom and vigour which it suggested; and together they hastened over to the camels, Muriel pretending, as they went, to spit on her hands.

For a couple of hours they worked with the Bedouin: erecting the tents at the foot of the spur of rock; laying down the grass mats over the level floors of sand; unpacking the kitchen utensils, the enamel jugs and basins, the plates and dishes; setting up the camp bed and collapsible tables and chairs; arranging the books in the portable bookcase; and folding up the towels and blankets in the useful camel-boxes, or lockers, of which there was a good supply.

Muriel threw herself into the work with energy; and indeed she thought it one of the best games she had ever played. She hastened to and fro, laden with pots and pans; she crawled about on her hands and knees, banging away at doubtful pegs, or scooping up the sand around the skirting of the tents; she sorted out and arranged the tins and bottles of food and drink; and she helped to heap up stones and sand to make a sort of kennel for the dogs.

Her labours gave her little time for conversation, and indeed a great part of Daniel’s remarks had the nature of somewhat peremptory orders and instructions. When she dropped a glass bottle of jam, and smashed it, he scolded her not altogether in jest; and she was quite relieved to find that he did not make her lick it up, but, on the contrary, took care that she did not cut her fingers. And when she tripped over one of the tent-ropes and fell flat on her face he actually tempered his reproofs with kindly enquiries after her general health, and dusted her down with the greatest care. Every now and then, however, they had short opportunities of exchanging their news; and she then gave him a few of the less compromising details of the recent tragedy, at which he showed genuine and undisguised distress. But she had no inclination to cast a shadow on the morning’s strenuous enjoyment; and she did not linger on that sad subject.

“This is just like a game of Indians or something,” she said, as she sat herself upon a packing case to rest.

“Yes,” he answered, looking down at her with amusement. “That’s the funny thing: life is generally lived on such rigid lines that when one comes down to actuality it seems like pretence.”

He opened a tin of biscuits and a bottle of aerated water, and fetched a couple of tin mugs from the kitchen-tent; and, thus refreshed, they continued their work until midday.

By this time the camp was spick and span; and the three tents which served as dining-room, bedroom, and study, looked alluringly comfortable. They were decorated inside in the usual Arab manner, with bold designs and inscriptions cut out in bright coloured cotton-cloth stitched to the canvas; and the camp-chairs of green sail-cloth, the grass matting, and the plain wooden lockers, gave an appearance of clean and cool comfort which rejoiced Daniel’s heart. The kitchen, and the smaller tent which was to shelter his servant at night, both stood somewhat apart, tucked away behind a projecting arm of the rock.

“What are you going to do with your camels and men?” Muriel asked, as she stood in the sunlight, regarding her handiwork with satisfaction.

“One of the camels belongs to me,” he replied, “and its duties will be to take me to and from Mena House every day, and to fetch water from the well. My servant Hussein is going to remain with me; and his brother – the lean fellow with the squint – will look after the camel. All the rest of the bunch will be off back to the desert tomorrow morning, the lucky devils.”

Muriel looked at him questioningly. “Why ‘lucky’?” she asked. “Are you sick of your fellow countrymen already?”

He corrected himself quickly. “No,” he said; “I spoke without thought. As a matter of fact, I’m mighty glad to be here, thanks to you.”

“O, have I made any difference?” she queried, with an air of innocence.

He put his hands into his pockets, and, sucking at his pipe, regarded her thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said at length, “I think you’ve made all the difference.” And then, as though afraid that his words might be thought to bear a romantic interpretation, he added: “You’ve made the place look fine.”

Hussein now served an excellent little luncheon consisting of particular delicacies from the store-cupboard, washed down with refreshing lime-juice and soda; and Muriel did full justice to the meal. When she had devoured everything within sight, like a hungry schoolgirl, she yawned loudly; and Daniel, without further question, arranged some blankets on the floor at the side of the tent, and covered them with the sheepskin from his saddle.

She stared at him anxiously. “What’s that for?” she asked.

“For you to sleep on,” he said. “I’m going out to see about the men, and you’d better take the opportunity for a siesta. You look half asleep already.”

“I think I’d better not,” she replied. “We ought to be going soon.”

“Do what I tell you,” he commanded, pointing to the sheepskin; and, being indeed sleepy, she obeyed without further argument.

“Comfy?” he asked, as she lay down.

“Gorgeous,” she answered drowsily, and shut her eyes. When she opened them again a few moments later he had already left the tent; and, with a sigh of supreme happiness, she settled herself down to her repose.

Half an hour later Daniel looked into the tent and found her fast asleep. She was lying upon her back with her legs crossed, and one arm behind her head; and frankly he admitted to himself that she made a most delightful picture.

He went away again, and busied himself for half an hour in changing his clothes and having something of a wash. He routed out quite a respectable suit of grey flannels, and a white stock for his neck; and thus arrayed, he returned to the sleeper.

She lay now upon her side, her cheek resting on her two hands, her knees drawn up; and he confessed to himself that she looked adorable. He did not take his eyes from her for a full minute.

He went out for a walk, and surveyed with satisfaction the position which he had chosen for his camp; and it was half past three when he returned once more to Muriel.

This time she was lying on her back, with one knee raised, one arm across her breast, and the other flung out upon the floor. He sat himself down in the entrance of the tent, and lit his pipe. He did not look at her; for suddenly some door in his heart had opened, revealing a vista of thought which was new to him. The girl upon the sheepskin was no longer merely a charming picture: she was a woman sleeping in his tent after her labours in the camp. She was his companion, his mate, tired out with helping him. She was Eve, and he was Adam: and lo! – the desert was become the Garden of Paradise.

He got up from his chair with a start, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. His thoughts were riotous, mutinous, foolish: he had no business to think of her like that. He knew nothing about her – nothing, except that she did not belong truly to his system of life. Her little show of vigorous, outdoor activity was a pretence on her part, a mere experiment, a new experience filling an idle day. She was not a child of the open desert: she was a daughter of that busy, dressed up, painted old harlot, the World. Presently she would go back to her stuffy rooms and trim gardens, her dinner-parties and balls, her diamonds and frocks and frills, her conventions and mockeries of life.

When he turned to her again she had opened her eyes, and was looking at him in dazed wonderment. She sat up with a start, and the colour flushed into her face. Then she threw her head back and laughed happily.

“It’s nothing to laugh about,” he said, gloomily. “It’s nearly tea-time.”

She jumped to her feet, and began arranging her hair, which was falling down. “Why didn’t you wake me, man?” she asked.

“I was too busy,” he replied.

He spoke roughly, and she thought he was angry with her. “I slept like a log,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no good being sorry,” he exclaimed. “The mischief’s done.”

“What d’you mean?” she asked, perplexed.

He did not answer. “I’ll go and get the camels,” he said. “Ever ridden a camel?”

She shook her head.

“Well, that’ll wake you up all right,” he laughed, and therewith left the tent.

She thought him very ungracious, after all the work she had done for him. “I suppose he wanted me to clean his boots,” she muttered.

CHAPTER XIII – THE NEW LIFE

Perched on the make-shift saddle of a baggage-camel at an apparently break-neck height above the ground, Muriel still had the feeling that she was playing an elaborate game as she jogged along beside Daniel’s taller and more magnificent beast, with its gaily coloured tassels and trappings, and its rich white sheepskin upon which its rider was seated. Behind them rode a black-bearded son of the desert, with a white bernous over his head, silver-mounted pistols stuck into his sash, and a rifle slung over his shoulders. Daniel was holding her guiding-rope, and her two hands were therefore free, as she bounced up and down, to cling on to the sides of the saddle – a circumstance for which she was grateful, although it caused her to feel like a captive being led into slavery.

At the gate of the hotel her companion’s camel knelt at a word from him, and he dismounted; but in her own case her less accustomed mount was not so easily induced to go down on its knees, and startled by its antics, she recklessly slid from the saddle and hung for a moment at its side, her legs kicking about in the air. A moment later she tumbled into Daniel’s arms, and presently found herself deposited, like a piece of baggage, upon the doorstep, in front of Mrs. Bindane, who happened to be standing in the entrance bullying the hall porter.

“Hullo,” said Kate, casually, “the washing’s come home.”

Muriel felt herself all over carefully, as though to make sure that her anatomy was still reasonably complete, and then, linking her arm in that of her friend, described to her the day’s strenuous events; while Daniel, feeling that his presence was not required during these confidences, went over to his attendant to give him his instructions.

“My dear,” said Muriel enthusiastically, “we’ve made a lovely camp out there. It’s like a story out of the Arabian Nights.”

Kate Bindane looked at her suspiciously. “Well, you be careful of those stories,” she said. “They generally need a lot of expurgation before they’re fit for family reading. Isn’t this the man you told me kept a harîm in the desert?”

“So they say,” she answered. “Anyway he’s evidently given it up.”

“He’ll soon collect another,” her friend replied. “I expect that’s the Grand Chief Eunuch he’s talking to now.”

“Did you get my note?” asked Muriel, anxious to change the subject.

“Yes,” she smiled, “and your esteemed orders received the prompt attention of our Mr. Bindane, who ’phoned your papa, and ordered the car, and made himself quite useful.”

After the tragic death of Rupert Helsingham, four weeks ago, Kate Bindane had taken a gloomy aversion to their steamer, and had persuaded her husband to get rid of it, and to come out to this hotel on the edge of the desert. Muriel had, on more than one occasion, spent the night here with them in their comfortable suite of rooms; and now as she said “good-bye,” she made arrangements for future meetings and visits, while Daniel, in a spasm of hospitality, suggested that they should make use of his camp as an occasional halting-place.

“During the day, while I’m at work in Cairo,” he said, “you can make use of my tents. I’ll tell my servant to look after you.”

Kate Bindane laughed. “O, come now,” she answered, “that’s driving your birds right over my gun. It makes shooting too easy.”

Daniel was perplexed. “What d’you mean?” he asked, as he seated himself beside Muriel in the car.

“Well,” said Mrs. Bindane, “you’ve got the reputation of being a bit short with your fellow men; but to say you’ll be glad to entertain us provided that you yourself are not there is the limit.”

Muriel turned to Daniel. “She’s only joking,” she assured him; “that’s her way.”

Kate uttered an exclamation. “Oh, you little swine!” she said to Muriel. “You’re on his side now!”

“No, I’m not,” Muriel protested, hastily, and the colour came into her face.

Daniel looked from one to the other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m all at sea.”

The car moved away, and Muriel sat back in her corner luxuriously. She was very tired, and her feet ached. She was happy to find that she no longer felt awkward in this man’s presence, and that her feminine intuition had not deserted her, for she seemed to have learned the trick of managing him. It was only necessary to make herself useful to him, to roll her sleeves up and show a little muscle, and his antagonism evaporated. He was prehistoric – that was all; and yet she could not associate the idea of brutality with him. No, she had not quite classified him; but at any rate she realized that she had probably been wrong in regarding him as being contemptuous of her sex. He was only contemptuous of uselessness.

She glanced at him as he sat in silence by her side, and she noticed that his expression had become grave, and even sad.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look unhappy.”

He aroused himself, and smiled; but his eyes were troubled.

“Yes, I feel a bit blue,” he said. “I suppose it’s the thought of my new job.”

“I’m rather surprised,” she commented, “that you have taken it on. Why did you?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I thought it was my duty,” he said. “You see I happen to speak Arabic as fluently as I speak English, and I’ve made a study of the native mind. I understand these fellows and they understand me; and Egypt just now is craving for understanding.”

“You’ve got a lot to live up to,” she told him. “My father thinks you are going to be the saving of the country. I’m always hearing your praises sung.”

He looked gravely at her. “You call to my mind,” he said, “the prayer of Abu-Bakr, the first Khalif. When he heard that people were praising him, he used to say something like this: ‘O God, Thou knowest me better than I know myself, and I know myself better than other people know me. Make me, I pray Thee, better than they suppose, and forgive me what they know not.’”

Therewith he relapsed into silence once more; and Muriel, feeling that there was a sort of momentousness in this hour of his entrance into the political arena, held her peace. There was in her mind a sense of pride at the part she was playing in a great event. She felt that she was, as it were, a sharer in a diplomatic secret; it was almost as though she, too, were serving a great cause. Suddenly the things which made up her social life seemed to become insignificant, and her existence took on a larger aspect.

As they drove up to the door of the Residency, she turned to him as though he were an old friend. “I’m awfully glad my father is going to have you with him,” she said. “I feel a sort of personal interest in it all.”

Daniel’s reply was interrupted by Lord Blair’s appearance on the steps. He had heard the car drive up to the door, and had hastened out to greet the newcomer.

“Welcome, my dear Daniel,” he exclaimed, holding out his arms as though he were going to embrace his friend. “This is splendid, capital!”

The two men shook hands, and as they did so, Lord Blair winced as though his fingers had been crunched in a man-trap. For some minutes thereafter he held his right hand loosely in his left, bending the joints carefully to and fro, under the pretence of fiddling with his rings. Even after they had entered the drawing-room and Muriel was dispensing the tea, he was still clenching and unclenching his fist, and bending and straightening his first finger as though surreptitiously beckoning to somebody.

Muriel told her father of her morning’s work, and described with enthusiasm the camp in the desert.

“I’m very sorry,” he answered, turning to Daniel, “very sorry indeed, that you are not going to live here in the house, but I bow to your wishes. You must consider yourself entirely free; and indeed I know we shall lose you if you are not your own master.”

“Oh no,” Daniel replied, “I’m quite prepared to follow a routine. I’ll work here all the morning, talking to your native callers, and I’ll do the correspondence at the camp in the evenings.”

“That will be admirable,” said Lord Blair; and presently, when tea was over, he led Daniel away to his study.

“And now,” he said, when they were seated, “let us discuss the question of your salary…”

Daniel interrupted him. “Oh, don’t bother about that. I’ll take whatever the position carries – I don’t suppose it’s much, as it’s a Foreign Office job. I’ve got a small income of my own, you know; and my tastes are simple. Get me as much as you reasonably can, of course; but don’t worry about it.”

Presently Lord Blair spoke of the question of Knighthood, and attempted to persuade him to reconsider his decision; but Daniel was obdurate, and very reluctantly his chief abandoned the project.

“Let me follow my own instincts,” said Daniel. “From the native point of view your adviser on Oriental matters does not need that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you think he does?” asked Lord Blair, rather doubtfully.

“Certainly not. If you’ll let me, I shall turn out all the fine English office furniture from my official room: the desk, and the red leather chairs, and the pictures. They’re all right for a governor, but not for the – what shall I say? – the court philosopher, as I intend to be. I want plain bare walls, bare floors with just a rug or two, and a few chairs. No books, or papers, or maps, or calendars, or clocks.”

“As you wish, my dear Daniel: I rely on you,” said Lord Blair.

“You see,” he continued, “what English pro-consuls in the East so often lack is the go-between, the man who tries to get at the native soul, so to speak. You, as governor, must represent the might and the justice of England; but I must be the voice saying ‘Don’t be afraid: we shall not outrage your religion or your philosophies or your traditions.’ Now I can’t be that if I’m sitting at an American desk, with an eyeglass in my eye, and a stenographer tapping away beside me, and a large office clock ticking on the wall. I should be so unconvincing. Do you see what I mean?”

“Quite, quite,” Lord Blair answered. “I dare say you are right.”

His face, however, belied anything of conviction that he attempted to put into the words. He did not want Daniel to orientalize himself to any marked extent: he wished him to take his place in the English and Continental society of the Residency. He had great ambitions for him, and the idea of training him ultimately to occupy his own exalted position was developing rapidly in his mind. He dreaded anything in the nature of eccentricity: he had the characteristic British dislike of the crank. Yet he could not imagine Daniel as ever becoming unbalanced, for a kind of equilibrium and stability were apparent in all his actions.

On the other hand, the idea of the new Oriental Secretary adopting the rôle of philosopher appealed to him; he saw the force of it; for his experiences in the East had made him realize that if a white man is to gain the confidence of a brown race he must be, in both senses of the words, capable of a brown study.

When Daniel returned to the drawing-room to say “good-bye” to Muriel and to thank her, it was already dark outside, and the room was brilliantly illuminated by a number of somewhat inadequately shaded electric globes. There were five or six people in the room; and he paused for a moment in the doorway, wondering whether he would give offence by beating an immediate retreat. He was paying very careful regard to his behaviour, however; and when Muriel called out to him, he was obliged to enter.

“I’m going now,” he said to her, approaching the sofa where she was seated. “I just wanted to say ‘thank you.’” He looked neither to right nor left.

Lady Muriel turned to a very smartly dressed woman who was seated beside her on the sofa, and introduced Daniel. His hands were, at the moment, clasped behind his back, and he bowed to her with great gravity. She held out her hand, but, seeing that he had considered the more formal bow sufficient to the occasion, withdrew it again. He thought that perhaps he had been stiff, and at once held out his tanned and muscular paw, but finding that it was too late, thrust it into his coat pocket, at the moment when, for the second time, she offered her fingers. He snatched his hand out of his pocket, but simultaneously she withdrew hers again.

Muriel laughed nervously, but Daniel faced the situation frankly.

“I’m sure I don’t know whether I’m supposed to shake hands or not,” he said. “What do people do in society?”

“Which ever you like,” the lady murmured, with a titter of laughter.

“That’s no good,” he answered, “unless you do what the other fellow’s going to do. Anyway,” he added, bending forward and very deliberately taking hold of her irresolute hand, “how d’you do?”

He glanced about him, and observed that the others were watching him with mild amusement. Near him was Sir Frank Lestrange, the First Secretary, whom he had met before – a fair-haired, clean-shaven man of some forty years of age, whose rigid formality seemed incapable of disturbance. Daniel shook him warmly by the hand, but for all the impression he made he might have been greeting a tailor’s dummy.