The Sheik

"Pearls are too cold and diamonds too banal for you," he said slowly. "You should wear nothing but jade. It is the colour of the evening sky against the sunset of your hair."

He had never spoken like that to her before, or used that tone of voice. His methods had been more fierce than tender. She glanced up swiftly at his face, but it baffled her. There was no love in his eyes or even desire, nothing but an unusual gentleness. "Perhaps you would prefer the diamonds and the pearls," he went on, pointing disdainfully at the box.

"No, no. I hate them! I hate them all! I will not wear your jewels. You have no right to think that I am that kind of woman," she cried hysterically.

"You do not like them? Bon Dieu! None of the other women ever refused them. On the contrary, they could never get enough," he said with a laugh.

Diana looked up with a startled glance, a look of horror dawning in her eyes. "Other women?" she repeated blankly.

"You didn't suppose you were the first, did you?" he asked with brutal candour. "Don't look at me like that. They were not like you, they came to me willingly enough—too willingly. Allah! How they bored me! I tired of them before they tired of me."

She flung her arm across her eyes with a dry sob, straining away from him. She had never thought of that. In the purity of her mind it had never occurred to her. She was only one of many, one of a succession of mistresses, taken and discarded at his whim. She writhed with the shame that filled her. "Oh, you hurt me!" she whispered very low, and then anger killed all other feeling. He had loosened his arm about her and she wrenched herself free and sprang to her feet. "I hate you, do you understand? I hate you! I hate you!"

He lit a cigarette leisurely before answering and moved into a more comfortable position on the divan. "So you have already told me this afternoon," he said at length coolly, "and with reiteration your remark becomes less convincing, ma cherie."

Her anger ebbed away. She was too tired to be angry. She was humiliated and hurt, and the man before her had it in his power to hurt her more, but she was at his mercy and to-night she could not fight. She pushed the hair off her forehead with a heavy sigh and looked at the Sheik's long length stretched out on the couch, the steely strength of his limbs patent even in the indolent attitude in which he was lying, at his brown handsome face, inscrutable as it always was to her, and the feeling of helplessness came back with renewed force and with it the sense of her own pitiful weakness against his force, compelling her to speak. "Have you never felt pity for a thing that was weaker than yourself? Have you never spared anything or any one in all your life? Have you nothing in your nature but cruelty? Are all Arabs hard like you?" she said shakily. "Has love never even made you merciful?"

He glanced up at her with a harsh laugh, and shook his head. "Love? Connais pas! Yes, I do," he added with swift mockery, "I love my horses."

"When you don't kill them," she retorted.

"I am corrected. When I don't kill them."

There was something in his voice that made her reckless, that made her want to hurt him. "If you give no love to the—the women whom you bring here, do you give love to the women of your harem? You have a harem, I suppose, somewhere?" she braved him with curling lip and scornful voice, but as she spoke she knew that she had only hurt herself and her voice faltered.

His hand reached out suddenly and he dragged her down into his arms again with a laugh. "And if I have, are you jealous? What if the nights I spent away from you were passed in my harem—what then?"

"Then may Allah put it into the heart of one of your wives to poison you so that you never come back," she said fiercely.

"Allah! So beautiful and so bloodthirsty," he said in bantering reproof. Then he turned her face up to his, smiling into her angry eyes with amusement. "I have no harem and, thanks be to Allah, no wives, cherie. Does that please you?"

"Why should I care? It is nothing to me," she replied sharply, with a vivid blush.

He held her closer, looking deeply into her eyes, holding them as he could when he liked, in spite of her efforts to turn them away—a mesmerism she could not resist.

"Shall I make you care? Shall I make you love me? I can make women love me when I choose."

She went very white and her eyes flickered. She knew that he was only amusing himself, that he was utterly indifferent to her feelings, that he did not care if she hated or loved him, but it was a new form of torture that was more detestable than anything that had gone before it. It infuriated her that he could even suggest that she could come to care for him, that she could ever look on him as anything but a brutal savage who had committed a hideous outrage, that she could ever have any feeling for him except hatred and loathing. That he should class her with the other women he spoke of revolted her, she felt degraded, soiled as she had never done before, and she had thought that she had felt the utmost humiliation of her position.

The colour rushed back into her face. "I would rather you killed me," she cried passionately.

"So would I," he said drily, "for if you loved me you would bore me and I should have to let you go. While as it is"—he laughed softly—"as it is I do not regret the chance that took me into Biskra that day."

He let her go and got up with a yawn, watching her approvingly as she crossed the tent. The easy swing of her boyish figure and the defiant carriage of her head reminded him of one of his own thoroughbred horses. She was as beautiful and as wild as they were. And as he broke them so would he break her. She was nearly tamed now, but not quite, and by Allah! it should be quite! As he turned his foot struck against the jade necklace lying on the rug where she had thrown it. He picked it up and called her back. She came reluctantly, slowly, with mutinous eyes.

He held out the necklace silently, and silently she stared not at it but at him. Her heart began to beat faster, and the colour slowly left her face. "Take it. I wish it," he said quietly.

"No." It was little more than a gasp.

"You will wear it to please me," he went on in the same soft voice, and the old hateful mockery crept into his eyes, "to please my artistic soul. I have an artistic soul even though I am only an Arab."

"I will not!"

The mockery was wiped out of his eyes in a flash, giving place to the usual ferocity, and his forehead knit in the dreaded heavy scowl. "Diane, obey me!"

She clenched her teeth on her lower lip until a rim of blood stained their whiteness. If he would only shout or bluster like the average angry man she felt that she could brave him longer, but the cold quiet rage that characterised him always was infinitely more sinister, and paralysed her with its silent force. She had never heard him raise his voice in anger or quicken his usual slow, soft tone, but there was an inflection that came into his voice and a look that came into his eyes that was more terrible than any outburst. She had seen his men shrink when, standing near him, she had barely been able to hear what he had said. She had seen a look from him silence a clamorous quarrel that had broken out among his followers too close to his own tent for his pleasure. And that inflection was in his voice and that look was in his eyes now. It was no longer use to resist. The fear of him was an agony. She would have to obey, as in the end he always forced her to obey. She wrenched her eyes away from his compelling stare, her bosom heaving under the soft silk, her chin quivering, and reached out blindly and took it from him. But the sudden chill of it against her bare breast seemed to revive the courage that was not yet dead in her. She flung up her head, the transient colour flaming into her cheeks, and her lips sprang open, but he drew her to him swiftly, and laid his hand over her mouth. "I know, I know," he said coldly. "I am a brute and a beast and a devil. You need not tell me again. It commences to grow tedious." His hand slipped to her shoulder, his fingers gripping the delicate, rounded arm. "How much longer are you going to fight? Would it not be wiser after what you have seen to-day to recognise that I am master?"

"You mean that you will treat me as you treated the colt this afternoon?" she whispered, her eyes drawn back irresistibly to his in spite of all her efforts.

"I mean that you must realise that my will is law."

"And if I do not?" He guessed rather than heard the words.

"Then I will teach you, and I think that you will learn—soon."

She quivered in his hands. It was a threat, but how much of it he meant to be taken literally she did not know. Again every ghastly detail of the afternoon passed with lightning speed through her mind. When he punished he punished mercilessly. To what lengths would he go? The Arab standards were not those of the men amongst whom she had lived. The position of a woman in the desert was a very precarious one. There were times when she forgot altogether that he was an Arab until some chance, as now, drove the hard fact home indisputably. He was an Arab, and as a woman she need expect no mercy at his hands. His hands! She looked down for a second sideways at the fingers gripping her shoulder and she saw them again stained with blood, saw them clenched round the dripping thong. She knew already by bitter experience the iron grip of his lean fingers and the compelling strength of his arms. Her quick imagination leaped ahead. What she had already suffered would be nothing compared with what would be. The remembrance of the stained, huddled figure of the servant he had chastised rose before her. And as she battled with herself, still torn in her passionate desire to make her strong will and courageous spirit triumph over her coward woman's body that shrank instinctively from physical torture, his arm tightened around her and she felt the hard muscles pressing against her shoulders and soft, bare neck, a suggestion of the force lying dormant beside her. She looked up at him slowly.

His expression was unchanged, his forehead was still drawn together in the heavy frown and there was no softening in his eyes. The cruel lines about his mouth were accentuated and the tiger-look in his face was more marked than ever. He was not threatening idly; he meant what he said.

"You had better kill me," she said drearily.

"That would be to admit my own defeat," he replied coolly. "I do not kill a horse until I have proved beyond all possible doubt that I cannot tame it. With you I have no such proof. I can tame you and I will. But it is for you to choose and to choose to-night if you will obey me willingly or if I must make you. I have been very patient—for me," he added, with an odd smile flitting across his face, "but my patience is exhausted. Choose quickly." Insensibly he drew her closer to him till his arm felt like an inflexible steel band about her, and she thought with a shudder of the coils of a great serpent closing round its victim. She made a final effort to conquer herself, but between her and the broad chest so close to her she seemed to see a horse's head held low in agony, blood and foam dripping from his lacerated mouth, and a horse's flanks heaving piteously, torn with the cruel punishment he had undergone. A sudden nausea came over her, everything seemed to swim before her eyes, and she swayed against the man who was holding her. Her bodily fear overruled her mind. She could not bear any more.

"I will obey you," she whispered heavily.

He took her chin in his fingers and jerked her head up sharply, staring at her intently until she felt he was looking into her very soul. The heavy scowl smoothed away but the fierceness lingered in his eyes. "Good!" he said at length briefly. "You are wise," he added significantly. He tilted her head further back, bending his own down until his lips were nearly touching hers. She shivered involuntarily, an anguished appeal leaping into her eyes. He smiled ironically. "Do you hate them so much, my kisses?"

She swallowed convulsively.

"You are at least candid if you are not complimentary;" and with that he released her and turned away.

She reached the curtain that divided the two rooms, her heart beating wildly, giddy with the strain that she had gone through. She paused a moment and looked back at him, amazed at her own temerity. He had unbuttoned the flap of the tent and was standing in the entrance looking out into the night. The scent of the peculiar tobacco he used drifted to her with the draught from the open door. Her eyes grew puzzled. Would she ever understand him? To-night he had given her a choice instead of simply enforcing his will, he had made her choose to save herself, he had proved his determination and his mastery over her. And with his last words the unexpected gentleness had come into his voice again and the cruel lines about his mouth had relaxed in a smile of amusement. It was the swift transition from ferocity to gentleness that she could never fathom. His complex nature was beyond her understanding. She would not try to understand him; she could never know the depths of his baffling personality. She only knew that for some reason of his own he had spared her, and she feared him more than ever.

CHAPTER V

Under the awning of the tent Diana was waiting for Gaston and the horses, pulling on her thick riding-gloves nervously. She was wrought up to the utmost pitch of excitement. Ahmed Ben Hassan had been away since the previous day and it was uncertain if he would return that night or the next. He had been vague as to how long he would be absent. There had been a constant coming and going amongst his followers—messengers arriving on exhausted horses at all hours of the day and night, and the Sheik himself had seemed unusually preoccupied. He had not condescended to give any reason for the special activity of his people and she had not asked him.

In the four weeks that had elapsed since she had promised him her obedience she had been very silent. The fear and hatred of him grew daily. She had learned to stifle the wild fits of rage and the angry words that leaped to her lips. She had learned to obey—a reluctant obedience given with compressed lips and defiant eyes, but given, and with a silence that surprised even herself. Day after day she had followed the usual routine, dumb unless he spoke to her; and with his own attention occupied with matters beyond the four walls of his tent he had not noticed or did not trouble to heed her silence. Lately he had left her very much alone; she had ridden with him almost daily until the last week, when he had announced curtly that in the meantime the length of her rides must be curtailed and that Gaston would accompany her. He had not offered any explanation, and she had not sought one. She had chosen to see in it merely another act of tyranny imposed on her by the man whose arbitrary exercise of power over her and whose tacit possession of her galled her continually. And under the sullen submission a wild fury of revolt was raging. She searched feverishly for means of flight, and now the Sheik's absence seemed to have given her the chance she had been waiting for. In the solitude of the previous night she had tossed impatiently from side to side of the big couch, vainly trying to find some means of taking advantage of her comparative freedom to effect her escape. Surely she could find some way of avoiding Gaston's vigilance. Excitement had kept her awake half the night, and in the morning she had had hard work to keep her agitation hidden and to appear as usual. She had even been afraid to order the horses any earlier in her nervous terror lest the valet should suspect there was any reason behind the simple request. After her petit dejeuner she had paced the tent, unable to sit still, dreading lest any moment might bring the return of the Sheik and frustrate her hopes. She looked back into the room with a shudder as her eyes travelled over the luxurious appointments and different objects that had become so curiously familiar in the last two months. The unexpected equipments and the man's own baffling personality would remain in her recollection always as an enigma that she would never be able to solve. So much had been so inexplicable in himself and in his mode of life. She drew a long breath and went out hastily into the sunshine.

The horses were waiting, and Gaston was standing ready to hold her stirrup. She fondled the beautiful grey horse's soft nose and patted his satiny neck with a hand that trembled a little. She loved the horse and to-day he should be the means of saving her. He responded to her caresses, gentling her with slobbering mouth and whinnying softly. With one last look at the big double tent and the rest of the camp behind it she mounted and rode away without another backward glance. She had to exercise a rigid control over herself. She longed to put Silver Star into a hand gallop at once and shake off Gaston, but she was still too near the camp. She must be patient and put a certain number of miles between herself and the possibility of pursuit before she attempted anything. Too early an endeavour would only bring the whole horde in wild chase at her heels. The thought of the promise she had given to the man from whom she was flying came back to her. She had promised obedience, but she had not promised that she would not try to escape, and, if she had, no promise wrung from her by fear was valid in her opinion.

She rode steadily forward at a slow, swinging canter, instinctively saving her horse, plan after plan passing through her brain to be rejected as impracticable. Silver Star fretted continually at the moderate pace, tossing his head and catching at his bit. She took no heed of the time beyond the fact that it was passing quickly, and that if anything was to be done it must be done as soon as possible. But Gaston, riding a few paces behind her, was very much alive to the hour and had looked several times at his watch. He ranged alongside of her now with a murmured apology. "Pardon, Madame. It grows late," and submitted his wrist watch for her inspection.

Diana glanced mechanically at her own wrist and then remembered that she had broken her watch the day before. She pulled up, and tilting her helmet back mopped her hot forehead, and, as she did so, a sharp breeze sprang up, the curious wind that comes and goes so rapidly in the desert. An idea flashed into her mind. It was a poor chance, but it might succeed. She shot a glance at Gaston. He was looking in the opposite direction, and, raising her hand, she fluttered her handkerchief a moment in the breeze and then let it go. The wind carried it some distance away. She gave a little cry and caught at the bridle of the valet's horse.

"Oh, Gaston, my handkerchief!" and pointed to where the morsel of cambric lay white against a rock. With a comical exclamation of dismay he slipped to the ground and started to run across the sand.

She waited until he had got well on his way, sitting tense with shining eyes and thumping heart, then, snatching off her helmet, she brought it down with a resounding smack on the hindquarters of the servant's horse, stampeding it in the direction of the camp, and, wheeling Silver Star, headed for the north, deaf to Gaston's cries.

Wild with excitement and free to go his own pace at last her mount galloped swiftly and the wind whistled past Diana's ears. To the possible fate of the little Frenchman left on foot so far from the encampment she gave no heed. For the moment she did not even think of him, she had no thought for anybody but herself. Her ruse by its very simplicity had succeeded. She was free and she did not care about anything else. She had no plans or ideas what she should do or where she should go beyond the fact that she would keep riding northward. She had vague hopes that she might fall in with friendly Arabs who, for a promised reward, would guide her to civilisation. Most of them could speak a little French, and for the rest her small stock of Arabic must do. She knew that she was mad to attempt to ride across the desert alone, but she did not mind. She was free. She was too excited to think coherently. She laughed and shouted like a mad thing and her madness communicated itself to the grey, who was going at racing speed. Diana knew that he was out of control, that she could not stop him if she tried, but she did not want to try, the faster the better. In time he would tire himself, but until then let him go as he pleased. She was fast putting miles between herself and the camp that had been a prison, between herself and the brute who had dared to do what he had done. At the thought of the Sheik a sick feeling of fear ran through her. If anything should happen? If he should catch her again? She shuddered, and a cry burst from her lips, but she gripped herself at once. She was idiotic, contemptible; it was impossible. It would be hours, perhaps even the next day, before the alarm was given; he would not know in what direction she had gone. She would have miles of start on one of the fleetest of his horses. She tried to put him out of her mind. She had escaped from him and his cruelty, it was a nightmare that was over. The effects would remain with her always, nothing would ever be the same again, but the daily dread, the daily contamination would be gone, the helpless tortured feeling, the shame of submission that had filled her with an acute self-loathing that was as intense as her passionate hatred of the man who had forced her to endure his will. The memory of it would live with her for ever. He had made her a vile thing. Her cheeks scorched with the thought and she shivered at the remembrance of all that she had gone through. She had been down into the depths and she would carry the scars all her life. The girl who had started out so triumphantly from Biskra had become a woman through bitter knowledge and humiliating experience.

The pace was less killing now. Silver Star had settled down into the steady tireless gallop for which Ahmed Ben Hassan's horses were famous. The little breeze had died away as quickly as it had sprung up, and it was very hot. Diana looked about her with glowing eyes. Everything seemed different. From the first she had loved the desert, but back of everything and mingled with everything had been the feeling of fear, the continual restraint, the perpetual subservience to the whims of her captor which had dominated everything. But now the whole aspect was changed. She loved the endless, undulating expanse stretching out before her, and as the grey topped each rise her interest grew keener. What might not be behind the next one? For an hour or more the ground rose and fell in monotonous succession, and then the desert grew level again and quite suddenly she could see for miles. About two miles away a few palm trees showed clustering together, and Diana turned in their direction. They probably meant a well, and it was time she rested her horse and herself. It was the tiniest little oasis, and she drew rein and dismounted with fears for the well she had hoped to find. But there was one, very much silted up, and she set to work to clear it as well as she could to procure enough for herself and Silver Star, who was frantically trying to get to the water. It was exhausting work, but she managed to satisfy the grey, and, having unloosed his girths, she flung herself down on the ground in a small patch of shade. She lit a cigarette and lay flat on her back with her helmet over her eyes.

For the first time since she had shaken off Gaston she began to think seriously. What she had done was madness. She had no food for herself or her horse, no water, and Heaven alone knew where the next well might be. She was alone in an uncivilised country among a savage people with no protection of any kind. She might fall in with friendly Arabs or she might not. She might come across an encampment, or she might wander for days and see no one, in which case death from hunger and thirst stared her in the face. What would she do when night came? With a sharp cry she leaped to her feet. What was she to do? She looked all around the little oasis with startled eyes, at the few palm trees and clumps of camel thorn, the broken well and the grey horse still snuffing about its mouth. She felt frightened for the first time; she was alone and about her was unending space, and she felt an atom, insignificant, the least of all things. She looked up into the clear sky and the blue vastness appalled her.