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The Sheik

E >> E. M. Hull >> The Sheik




She shook off the feeling of apprehension that had taken hold of her
and her nervous fears died away. A reckless feeling, like the
excitement of the morning, came over her, and she urged the grey on
with coaxing words, and responding to her voice, and hardly feeling her
light weight, he raced on untiringly. All around was silence and a
solitude that was stupendous. The vast emptiness was awe-inspiring. The
afternoon was wearing away; already it was growing cooler. Diana had
seen no sign of human life since she had left Gaston hours before and a
little feeling of anxiety stirred faintly deep down in her heart.
Traces of caravans she passed several times, and from the whitening
bones of dead camels she turned her head in aversion--they were too
intimately suggestive. She had seen a few jackals, and once a hyena
lumbered away clumsily among some rocks as she passed. She had got away
from the level desert, and was threading her way in and out of some low
hills, which she felt were taking her out of her right course. She was
steering by the setting sun, which had turned the sky into a glory of
golden crimson, but the intricate turnings amongst the rocky hills were
bewildering. The low, narrow defile seemed hemming her in, menacing her
on all sides, and she was beginning to despair of finding her way out
of the labyrinth, when, on rounding a particularly sharp turn, the
rocks fell away suddenly and she rode out into open country. She
breathed a sigh of relief and called out cheerily to the grey, but, as
she looked ahead, her voice died away, and she reined him in sharply
with a quickening heart-beat. Across the desert about a mile away she
saw a party of Arabs coming towards her. There were about fifty of
them, the leader riding a big, black horse some little distance in
front of his followers. In the clear atmosphere they seemed nearer than
they were. It was not what she wished. She had hoped for an encampment,
where there would be women or a caravan of traders whose constant
communication with the towns would make them realise the importance of
guiding her to civilisation unharmed. This band of fighting men, for
she could see their rifles clearly, and their close and orderly
formation was anything but peaceful, filled her with the greatest
misgivings. Only the worst might be expected from the wild, lawless
tribesmen towards a woman alone amongst them. She had fled from one
hideousness to another which would be ten times more horrible. Her face
blanched and she set her teeth in desperation. The human beings she had
prayed for were now a deadly menace, and she prayed as fervently that
they might pass on and not notice her. Perhaps it was not too late,
perhaps they had not yet seen her and she might still slip away and
hide in the twisting turnings of the defile. She backed Silver Star
further into the shadow of the rock, but as she did so she saw that she
had been seen. The leader turned in his saddle and raised his hand high
above his head, and with a wild shout and a great cloud of dust and
sand his men checked their horses, dragging them back on to their
haunches, while he galloped towards her alone. And at the same moment
an icy hand clutched at Diana's heart and a moan burst from her lips.
There was no mistaking him or the big black horse he rode. For a moment
she reeled with a sudden faintness, and then with a tremendous effort
she pulled herself together, dragging her horse's head round and urged
him back along the track which she had just left, and behind her raced
Ahmed Ben Hassan, spurring the great, black stallion as he had never
done before. With ashy face and wild, hunted eyes Diana crouched
forward on the grey's neck, saving him all she could and riding as she
had never ridden in her life. Utterly reckless, she urged the horse to
his utmost pace, regardless of the rough, dangerous track. Perhaps she
could still shake off her pursuer among the tortuous paths of the
hills. Nothing mattered but that. Better even an ugly toss and a broken
neck than that he should take her again. Panic-stricken she wanted to
shriek and clenched her teeth on her lips to keep back the scream that
rose in her throat. She dared not look behind, but straight ahead
before her, riding with all her skill, hauling the grey round perilous
corners and bending lower and lower in the saddle to aid him. In her
terror she had forgotten what a little distance the hills stretched
from where she had entered them, and blindly she turned into the track
by which she had come, leaving the main hills on her right hand and
emerging on to the open desert on the south side of the range. There
was nothing now but the sheer speed of her horse to save her, and how
long could she count on it? Then with a little glimmer of hope she
remembered that the Sheik was riding The Hawk, own brother to the grey,
and she knew that neither had ever outpaced the other. She had ridden
hard all day, but it was probable that Ahmed Ben Hassan had ridden
harder; he never spared his horses, and his weight was considerably
greater than hers. Would it not be possible for Silver Star, carrying
the lighter burden, to outdistance The Hawk? It was a chance. She would
take it, but she would never give in. The perspiration was rolling down
her face and her breath was coming laboriously. Suddenly, a few minutes
after she had left the hills behind, the Sheik's deep voice came
clearly across the space between them.

"If you do not stop I will shoot your horse. I give you one minute."

She swayed a little in the saddle, clutching the grey's neck to steady
herself and for a moment she closed her eyes, but she did not falter
for an instant. She would not stop; nothing on earth should make her
stop now. Only, because she knew the man, she kicked her feet clear of
the stirrups. He had said he would shoot and he would shoot, and if the
grey shied or swerved a hair's breadth she would probably receive the
bullet that was meant for him. Better that! Yes, even better that!

Silver Star tore on headlong and the minute seemed a lifetime. Then
before even she heard the report he bounded in the air and fell with a
crash. Diana was flung far forward and landed on some soft sand. For a
moment she was stunned by the fall, then she staggered dizzily to her
feet and stumbled back to the prostrate horse. He was lashing out
wildly with his heels, making desperate efforts to rise. And as she
reached him the black horse dashed up alongside, stopping suddenly, and
rearing straight up. The Sheik leaped to the ground and ran towards
her. He caught her wrist and flung her out of his way, and she lay
where she had fallen, every nerve in her body quivering. She was beaten
and with the extinguishing of her last hope all her courage failed her.
She gave way to sheer, overwhelming terror, utterly cowed. Every
faculty was suspended, swallowed up in the one dominating force, the
dread of his voice and the dread of the touch of his hands. She heard a
second report and knew that he had put Silver Star out of his misery,
and then, in a few seconds, his voice beside her. She got up
unsteadily, shrinking from him.

"Why are you here, and where is Gaston?"

In a stifled voice she told him everything. What did it matter? If she
tried to be silent he would force her to speak.

He made no comment, and bringing The Hawk nearer tossed her up roughly
into the saddle and swung up behind her, the black breaking at once
into the usual headlong gallop. She made no kind of resistance, a
complete apathy seemed to have come over her. She did not look at the
body of Silver Star, she looked at nothing, clinging to the front of
the saddle, and staring ahead of her unseeingly. She had dropped her
helmet when she fell and she had left it, thankful to be relieved of
the pressure on her aching head. Her mental collapse had affected her
physically, and it needed a real effort of will-power to enable her to
sit up right. Very soon they would join the horsemen, who were waiting
for them, and for her pride's sake she must concentrate all her energy
to avoid betraying her weakness.

Ahmed Ben Hassan did not go back through the defile, he turned into a
little path that Diana had overlooked and which skirted the hills. In
about half-an-hour the troop met them, riding slowly from the opposite
direction. She did not raise her eyes as they approached, but she heard
Yusef's clear tenor voice calling out to the Sheik, who answered
shortly as the men fell in behind him. Back over the ground that she
had traversed so differently. She knew that it had been madness from
the first. She should have known that it could never succeed, that she
could never reach civilisation alone. She had been a fool ever to
imagine that she could win through. The chance that had thrown her
again into the Sheik's power might just as easily have thrown her into
the hands of any other Arab. Luck had helped Ahmed Ben Hassan even as
she herself had unknowingly played into his hands when he had captured
her first. Fate was with him. It was useless to try and struggle
against him any more. Her brain was a confused medley of thoughts that
she was too tired to unravel, strange, conflicting ideas chasing wildly
through her mind. She did not understand them, she did not try. The
effort of thinking made her head ache agonisingly. She was conscious of
a great unrest, a dull aching in her heart and a terrible depression
that was altogether apart from the fear she felt of the Sheik. She gave
up trying to think; she was concerned only with trying to keep her
balance.

She lifted her head for the first time and looked at the magnificent
sky. The sun had almost set, going down in a ball of molten fire, and
the heavens on either side were a riot of gold and crimson and palest
green, shading off into vivid blue that grew blacker and blacker as the
glory of the sunset died away. The scattered palm trees and the far-off
hills stood out in strong relief. It was a country of marvellous
beauty, and Diana's heart gave a sudden throb as she realised that she
was going back to it all. She was drooping wearily, unable to sit
upright any longer, and once or twice she jolted heavily against the
man who rode behind her. His nearness had ceased to revolt her; she
thought of it with a dull feeling of wonder. She had even a sense of
relief at the thought of the strength so close to her. Her eyes rested
on his hands, showing brown and muscular under the folds of his white
robes. She knew the power of the long, lean fingers that could, when he
liked, be gentle enough. Her eyes filled with sudden tears, but she
blinked them back before they fell. She wanted desperately to cry. A
wave of terrible loneliness went over her, a feeling of desolation, and
a strange, incomprehensible yearning for what she did not know. As the
sunset faded and it grew rapidly dusk a chill wind sprang up and she
shivered from time to time, drooping more and more with fatigue, at
times only half conscious. She had drifted into complete oblivion, when
she was awakened with a jerk that threw her back violently against the
Sheik, but she was too tired to more than barely understand that they
had stopped for something, and that there were palm trees near her. She
felt herself lifted down and a cloak wrapped round her, and then she
remembered nothing more. She awoke slowly, shaking off a persistent
drowsiness by degrees. She was still tired, but the desperate weariness
was gone, and she was conscious of a feeling of well-being and
security. The cool, night air blew in her face, dissipating her
sleepiness. She became aware that night had fallen, and that they were
still steadily galloping southward. In a few moments she was wide
awake, and found that she was lying across the saddle in front of the
Sheik, and that he was holding her in the crook of his arm. Her head
was resting just over his heart, and she could feel the regular beat
beneath her cheek. Wrapped warmly in the cloak and held securely by his
strong arm at first she was content to give way only to the sensation
of bodily rest. It was enough for the moment to lie with relaxed
muscles, to have to make no effort of any kind, to feel the soothing
rush of the wind against her face, and the swift, easy gallop of The
Hawk as he carried them on through the night. Them! With a start of
recollection she realised fully whose arm was round her, and whose
breast her head was resting on. Her heart beat with sudden violence.
What was the matter with her? Why did she not shrink from the pressure
of his arm and the contact of his warm, strong body? What had happened
to her? Quite suddenly she knew--knew that she loved him, that she had
loved him for a long time, even when she thought she hated him and when
she had fled from him. She knew now why his face had haunted her in the
little oasis at midday--that it was love calling to her subconsciously.
All the confusion of mind that had assailed her when they started on
the homeward journey, the conflicting thoughts and contrary emotions,
were explained. But she knew herself at last and knew the love that
filled her, an overwhelming, passionate love that almost frightened her
with its immensity and with the sudden hold it had laid upon her. Love
had come to her at last who had scorned it so fiercely. The men who had
loved her had not had the power to touch her, she had given love to no
one, she had thought that she could not love, that she was devoid of
all natural affection and that she would never know what love meant.
But she knew now--a love of such complete surrender that she had never
conceived. Her heart was given for all time to the fierce desert man
who was so different from all other men whom she had met, a lawless
savage who had taken her to satisfy a passing fancy and who had treated
her with merciless cruelty. He was a brute, but she loved him, loved
him for his very brutality and superb animal strength. And he was an
Arab! A man of different race and colour, a native; Aubrey would
indiscriminately class him as a "damned nigger." She did not care. It
made no difference. A year ago, a few weeks even, she would have
shuddered with repulsion at the bare idea, the thought that a native
could even touch her had been revolting, but all that was swept away
and was nothing in the face of the love that filled her heart so
completely. She did not care if he was an Arab, she did not care what
he was, he was the man she loved. She was deliriously, insanely happy.
She was lying against his heart, and the clasp of his arm was joy
unspeakable. She was utterly content; for the moment all life narrowed
down to the immediate surroundings, and she wished childishly that they
could ride so for ever through eternity. The night was brilliant. The
stars blazed against the inky blackness of the sky, and the light of
the full moon was startlingly clear and white. The discordant yelling
of a pack of hunting jackals came from a little distance, breaking the
perfect stillness. The men were riding in unusual silence, though a low
exclamation or the subdued jingle of accoutrements was heard
occasionally, once some one fired at a night creature that bounded out
from almost under his horse's feet. But the Sheik flung a word of
savage command over his shoulder and there were no more shots. Diana
stirred slightly, moving her head so that she could see his face
showing clearly in the bright moonlight, which threw some features into
high relief and left the rest in dark shadow. She looked at him with
quickening breath. He was peering intently ahead, his eyes flashing in
the cold light, his brows drawn together in the characteristic heavy
scowl, and the firm chin, so near her face, was pushed out more
doggedly than usual.

He felt her move and glanced down. For a moment she looked straight
into his eyes, and then with a low, inarticulate murmur she hid her
face against him. He did not speak, but he shifted her weight a little,
drawing her closer into the curve of his arm.

It was very late when they reached the camp. Lights flashed up in the
big tent and on all sides, and they were surrounded by a crowd of
excited tribesmen and servants. In spite of the hard day's work The
Hawk started plunging and rearing, his invariable habit on stopping,
which nothing could break, and at a word from the Sheik two men leaped
to his head while he transferred Diana to Yusef's outstretched arms.
She was stiff and giddy, and the young man helped her to the door of
the tent, and then vanished again into the throng of men and horses.

Diana sank wearily on to the divan and covered her face with her hands.
She was trembling with fatigue and apprehension. What would he do to
her? She asked herself the question over and over again, with shaking,
soundless lips, praying for courage, nerving herself to meet him. At
last she heard his voice and, looking up, saw him standing in the
doorway. His back was turned, and he was giving orders to a number of
men who stood near him, for she could hear their several voices; and
shortly afterwards half-a-dozen small bands of men rode quickly away in
different directions. For a few moments he stood talking to Yusef and
then came in. At the sight of him Diana shrank back among the soft
cushions, but he took no notice of her, and, lighting a cigarette,
began walking up and down the tent. She dared not speak to him, the
expression on his face was terrible.

Two soft-footed Arab servants brought a hastily prepared supper. It was
a ghastly meal. He never spoke or showed in any way that he was
conscious of her presence. She had had nothing to eat all day, but the
food nearly choked her and she could hardly swallow it, but she forced
herself to eat a little. It seemed interminable until the servants
finally withdrew, after bringing two little gold-cased cups of native
coffee. She gulped it down with difficulty. The Sheik had resumed his
restless pacing, smoking cigarette after cigarette in endless
succession. The monotonous tramp to and fro worked on Diana's nerves
until she winced each time he passed her, and, huddled on the divan,
she watched him continually, fascinated, fearful.

He never looked at her. From time to time he glanced at the watch on
his wrist and each time his face grew blacker. If he would only speak!
His silence was worse than anything he could say. What was he going to
do? He was capable of doing anything. The suspense was torture. Her
hands grew clammy and she wrenched at the soft open collar of her
riding-shirt with a feeling of suffocation.

Twice Yusef came to report, and the second time the Sheik came back
slowly from the door where he had been speaking to him and stopped in
front of Diana, looking at her strangely.

She flung out her hands instinctively, shrinking further back among the
cushions, her eyes wavering under his. "What are you going to do to
me?" she whispered involuntarily, with dry lips.

He looked at her without answering for a while, as if to prolong the
torture she was enduring, and a cruel look crept into his eyes. "That
depends on what happens to Gaston," he said at length slowly.

"Gaston?" she repeated stupidly. She had forgotten the valet, in all
that had occurred since the morning she had forgotten his very
existence.

"Yes--Gaston," he said sternly. "You do not seem to have thought of
what might happen to him."

She sat up slowly, a puzzled look coming into her face. "What could
happen to him?" she asked wonderingly.

He dragged back the flap of the tent and pointed out into the darkness.
"Over there in the south-west, there is an old Sheik whose name is
Ibraheim Omair. His tribe and mine have been at feud for generations.
Lately I have learned that he has been venturing nearer than he has
ever before dared. He hates me. To capture my personal servant would be
more luck than he could have hoped for."

He dropped the flap and began walking up and down again. There was a
sinister tone in his voice that made Diana suddenly comprehend the
little Frenchman's peril. Ahmed Ben Hassan was not the man to be easily
alarmed on any one's behalf. That he was anxious about Gaston was
apparent, and with her knowledge of him she understood his anxiety
argued a very real danger. She had heard tales before she left Biskra,
and since then she had been living in an Arab camp, and she knew
something of the fiendish cruelty and callous indifference to suffering
of the Arabs. Ghastly mental pictures with appalling details crowded
now into her mind. She shuddered.

"What would they do to him?" she asked shakily, with a look of horror.

The Sheik paused beside her. He looked at her curiously and the cruelty
deepened in his eyes. "Shall I tell you what they would do to him?" he
said meaningly, with a terrible smile.

She gave a cry and flung her arms over her head, hiding her face. "Oh,
do not! Do not!" she wailed.

He jerked the ash from his cigarette. "Bah!" he said contemptuously.
"You are squeamish."

She felt sick with the realisation of what could result to Gaston from
her action. She had had no personal feeling with regard to him. On the
contrary, she liked him--she had not thought of him, the man, when she
had stampeded his horse and left him on foot so far from camp. She had
looked upon him only as a jailer, his master's deputy.

The near presence of this hostile Sheik explained many things she had
not understood: Gaston's evident desire daring their ride not to go
beyond a certain distance, the special activity that had prevailed of
late amongst the Sheik's immediate followers, and the speed and silence
that had been maintained during the headlong gallop across the desert
that evening. She had known all along the Arab's obvious affection for
his French servant, and it was confirmed now by the anxiety that he did
not take the trouble to conceal--so unlike his usual complete
indifference to suffering or danger.

She looked at him thoughtfully. There were still depths that she had
not fathomed in his strange character. Would she ever arrive at even a
distant understanding of his complex nature? There was a misty yearning
in her eyes as they followed his tall figure up and down the tent. His
feet made no sound on the thick rugs, and he moved with the long,
graceful stride that always reminded her of the walk of a wild animal.
Her new-found love longed for expression as she watched him. If she
could only tell him! If she had only the right to go to him and in his
arms to kiss away the cruel lines from his mouth! But she had not. She
must wait until she was called, until he should choose to notice the
woman whom he had taken for his pleasure, until the baser part of him
had need of her again. He was an Arab, and to him a woman was a slave,
and as a slave she must give everything and ask for nothing.

And when he did turn to her again the joy she would feel in his embrace
would be an agony for the love that was not there. His careless kisses
would scorch her and the strength of his arms would be a mockery. But
would he ever turn to her again? If anything happened to Gaston--if
what he had suggested became a fact and the servant fell a victim to
the blood feud between the two tribes? She knew he would be terribly
avenged, and what would her part be? She wondered dully if he would
kill her, and how. If the long, brown fingers with their steely
strength would choke the life out of her. Her hands went up to her
throat mechanically. He stopped near her to light a fresh cigarette,
and she was trying to summon up courage to speak to him of Gaston when
the covering of the doorway was flung open and Gaston himself stood in
the entrance.

"Monseigneur--" he stammered, and with his two hands outstretched, palm
uppermost, he made an appealing gesture.

The Sheik's hand shot out and gripped the man's shoulder. "Gaston!
_Enfin, mon ami!_" he said slowly, but there was a ring in his low
voice that Diana had never heard before.

For a moment the two men stared at each other, and then Ahmed Ben
Hassan gave a little laugh of great relief. "Praise be to Allah, the
Merciful, the Compassionate," he murmured.

"To his name praise!" rejoined Gaston softly, then his eyes roved
around the tent towards Diana, and there was no resentment in them, but
only anxiety.

"Madame is----" he hesitated, but the Sheik cut him short.

"Madame is quite safe," he said dryly, and pushed him gently towards
the door with a few words in rapid Arabic. He stood some time after
Gaston had gone to his own quarters looking out into the night, and
when he came in, lingered unusually over closing the flap. Diana stood
hesitating. She was worn out and her long riding-boots felt like lead.
She was afraid to go and afraid to stay. He seemed purposely ignoring
her. The relief of Gaston's return was enormous, but she had still to
reckon with him for her attempted flight. That he said no word about it
at the moment meant nothing; she knew him too well for that. And there
was Silver Star, the finest of all his magnificent horses--she had yet
to pay for his death. The strain that she had gone through since the
morning was tremendous, she could not bear much more. His silence
aggravated her breaking nerves until she felt that her nerves would go.
He had moved over to the writing-table and was tearing the wrapping off
a box of cartridges preparatory to refilling the magazine of his
revolver. The little operation seemed to take centuries. She started at
each separate click. She gripped her hands and passed her tongue over
her dry lips. If he would not speak she must, she could endure it no
longer.

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