XI
Stephen and Nevill Caird were in the cypress avenue when Victoria Raydrove up in a ramshackle cab, guided by an Arab driver who squintedhideously. She wore a white frock which might have cost a sovereign, andhad probably been made at home. Her wide brimmed hat was of cheap straw,wound with a scarf of thin white muslin; but her eyes looked out likeblue stars from under its dove-coloured shadow, and a lily was tuckedinto her belt. To both young men she seemed very beautiful, and radiantas the spring morning.
"You aren't superstitious, engaging a man with a squint," said Nevill.
"Of course not," she laughed. "As if harm could come to me because thepoor man's so homely! I engaged him because he was the worst looking,and nobody else seemed to want him."
They escorted her indoors to Lady MacGregor, and Stephen wondered if shewould be afraid of the elderly fairy with the face of a child and themanner of an autocrat. But she was not in the least shy; and indeedStephen could hardly picture the girl as being self-conscious in anycircumstances. Lady MacGregor took her in with one look; white hat, redhair, blue eyes, lily at belt, simple frock and all, and--somewhat toStephen's surprise, because she was to him a new type of oldlady--decided to be charmed with Miss Ray.
Victoria's naive admiration of the house and gardens delighted her hostand hostess. She could not be too much astonished at its wonders toplease them, and, both being thoroughbred, they liked her the betterfor saying frankly that she was unused to beautiful houses. "You can'tthink what this is like after school in Potterston and cheapboarding-houses in New York and London," she said, laughing when theothers laughed.
Stephen was longing to see her in the lily-garden, which, to his mind,might have been made for her; and after luncheon he asked Lady MacGregorif he and Nevill might show it to Miss Ray.
The garden lay to the east, and as it was shadowed by the house in theafternoon, it would not be too hot.
"Perhaps you won't mind taking her yourself," said the elderly fairy."Just for a few wee minutes I want Nevill. He is to tell me aboutaccepting or refusing some invitations. I'll send him to you soon."
Stephen was ashamed of the gladness with which he could not help hearingthis proposal. He had nothing to say to the girl which he might not saybefore Nevill, or even before Lady MacGregor, yet he had been feelingcheated because he could not be alone with Victoria, as on the boat.
"Gather Miss Ray as many lilies as she can carry away," were Nevill'sparting instructions. And it was exactly what Stephen had wished for. Hewanted to give her something beautiful and appropriate, something hecould give with his own hands. And he longed to see her holding massesof white lilies to her breast, as she walked all white in the whitelily-garden. Now, too, he could tell her what Mademoiselle Soubise hadsaid about the Kabyle girl, Mouni. He was sure Nevill wouldn't grudgehis having that pleasure all to himself. Anyway he could not resist thetemptation to snatch it.
He began, as soon as they were alone together in the garden, by askingher what she had done, whether she had made progress; and it seemed thatshe retired from his questions with a vague suggestion of reserve shehad not shown on the ship. It was not that she answered unwillingly, buthe could not define the difference in her manner, although he felt thata difference existed.
It was as if somebody might have been scolding her for a lack ofreserve; yet when he inquired if she had met any one she knew, or madeacquaintances, she said no to the first question, and named onlyMademoiselle Soubise in reply to the second.
That was Stephen's opportunity, and he began to tell of his call at thecuriosity-shop. He expected Victoria to cry out with excitement when hecame to Mouni's description of the beautiful lady with "henna-coloured,gold-powdered hair"; but though she flushed and her breath came and wentquickly as he talked, somehow the girl did not appear to be enrapturedwith a new hope, as he had expected.
"My friend Caird proposes that he and I should motor to Tlemcen, whichit seems is near the Moroccan border, and interview Mouni," he said. "Wemay be able to make sure, when we question her, that it was your sistershe served; and perhaps we can pick up some clue through what she letsdrop, as to where Ben Halim took his wife when he left Algiers--though,of course, there are lots of other ways to find out, if this shouldprove a false clue."
"You are both more than good," Victoria answered, "but I mustn't let yougo so far for me. Perhaps, as you say, I shall be able to find out inother ways, from some one here in Algiers. It does sound as if it mightbe my sister the maid spoke of to Mademoiselle Soubise. How I shouldlove to hear Mouni talk!--but you must wait, and see what happens,before you think of going on a journey for my sake."
"If only there were some woman to take you, you might go with us," saidStephen, more eagerly than he was aware, and thinking wild thoughtsabout Lady MacGregor as a chaperon, or perhaps Mademoiselle Soubise--ifonly she could be persuaded to leave her beloved shop, and wouldn't drawthose black brows of hers together as though tabooing a forbidden idea.
"Let's wait--and see," Victoria repeated. And this patience, in the faceof such hope, struck Stephen as being strange in her, unlike hisconception of the brave, impulsive nature, ready for any adventure ifonly there were a faint flicker of light at the end. Then, as if she didnot wish to talk longer of a possible visit to Tlemcen, Victoria said:"I've something to show you: a picture of my sister."
The white dress was made without a collar, and was wrapped across herbreast like a fichu which left the slender white stem of her throatuncovered. Now she drew out from under the muslin folds a thin goldchain, from which dangled a flat, open-faced locket. When she hadunfastened a clasp, she handed the trinket to Stephen. "Saidee had thephotograph made specially for me, just before she was married," the girlexplained, "and I painted it myself. I couldn't trust any one else,because no one knew her colouring. Of course, she was a hundred timesmore beautiful than this, but it gives you some idea of her, as shelooked when I saw her last."
The face in the photograph was small, not much larger than Stephen'sthumb-nail, but every feature was distinct, not unlike Victoria's,though more pronounced; and the nose, seen almost in profile, wasperfect in its delicate straightness. The lips were fuller thanVictoria's, and red as coral. The eyes were brown, with a suggestion ofcoquetry absent in the younger girl's, and the hair, parted in themiddle and worn in a loose, wavy coil, appeared to be of a darker red,less golden, more auburn.
"That's exactly Saidee's colouring," repeated Victoria. "Her lips werethe reddest I ever saw, and I used to say diamonds had got caught behindher eyes. Do you wonder I worshipped her--that I just _couldn't_ let hergo out of my life forever?"
"No, I don't wonder. She's very lovely," Stephen agreed. The coquetry inthe eyes was pathetic to him, knowing the beautiful Saidee's history.
"She was eighteen then. She's twenty-eight now. Saidee twenty-eight! Ican hardly realize it. But I'm sure she hasn't changed, unless to growprettier. I used always to think she would." Victoria took back theportrait, and gazed at it. Stephen was sorry for the child. He thoughtit more than likely that Saidee had changed for the worse, physicallyand spiritually, even mentally, if Mademoiselle Soubise were right inher surmises. He was glad she had not said to Victoria what she had saidto him, about Saidee having to live the life of other harem women.
"I bought a string of amber beads at that curiosity-shop yesterday," thegirl went on, "because there's a light in them like what used to be inSaidee's eyes. Every night, when I've said my prayers and am ready to goto sleep, I see her in that golden silence I told you about, lookingtowards the west--that is, towards me, too, you know; with the sunsetting and streaming right into her eyes, making that jewelled kind oflight gleam in them, which comes and goes in those amber beads. When Ifind her, I shall hold up the beads to her eyes in the sunlight andcompare them."
"What is the golden silence like?" asked Stephen. "Do you see moreclearly, now that at last you've come to Africa?"
"I couldn't see more clearly than I did before," the girl answeredslowly, lookin
g away from him, through the green lace of the trees thatveiled the distance. "Yet it's just as mysterious as ever. I can't guessyet what it can be, unless it's in the desert. I just see Saidee,standing on a large, flat expanse which looks white. And she's dressedin white. All round her is a quivering golden haze, wave after wave ofit, endless as the sea when you're on a ship. And there's silence--notone sound, except the beating which must be my own heart, or the bloodthat sings in my ears when I listen for a long time--the kind of singingyou hear in a shell. That's all. And the level sun shining in her eyes,and on her hair."
"It is a picture," said Stephen.
"Wherever Say was, there would always be a picture," Victoria said withthe unselfish, unashamed pride she had in her sister.
"How I hope Saidee knows I'm near her," she went on, half to herself."She'd know that I'd come to her as soon as I could--and she may haveheard things about me that would tell her I was trying to make moneyenough for the journey and everything. If I hadn't hoped she _might_ seethe magazines and papers, I could never have let my photograph bepublished. I should have hated that, if it hadn't been for the thoughtof the portraits coming to her eyes, with my name under them; 'VictoriaRay, who is dancing in such and such a place.' _She_ would know why Iwas doing it; dancing nearer and nearer to her."
"You darling!" Stephen would have liked to say. But only as he mighthave spoken caressingly to a lovely child whose sweet soul had won him.She seemed younger than ever to-day, in the big, drooping hat, with thelight behind her weaving a gold halo round her hair and the slim whitefigure, as she talked of Saidee in the golden silence. When she lookedup at him, he thought that she was like a girl-saint, painted on abackground of gold. He felt very tender over her, very much older thanshe, and it did not occur to him that he might fall in love with thisyoung creature who had no thought for anything in life except thefinding of her sister.
A tiny streak of lily-pollen had made a little yellow stain on the whitesatin of her cheek, and under her blue eyes were a few faint freckles,golden as the lily-pollen. He had seen them come yesterday, on the ship,in a bright glare of sunlight, and they were not quite gone yet. He hada foolish wish to touch them with his finger, to see if they would ruboff, and to brush away the lily-pollen, though it made her skin lookpure as pearl.
"You are an inspiration!" was all he said.
"I? But how do you mean?" she asked.
He hardly knew that he had spoken aloud; yet challenged, he tried toexplain. "Inspiration to new life and faith in things," he answeredalmost at random. But hearing the words pronounced by his own voice,made him realize that they were true. This child, of whose existence hehad not known a week ago, could give him--perhaps was already givinghim--new faith and new interests. He felt thankful for her, somehow,though she did not belong to him, and never would--unless a gleam ofsunshine can belong to one on whom it shines. And he would alwaysassociate her with the golden sunshine and the magic charm of Algeria.
"I told you I'd given you half my star," she said, laughing and blushinga little.
"Which star is it?" he wanted to know. "When I don't see you any more, Ican look up and hitch my thought-wagon to Mars or Venus."
"Oh, it's even grander than any planet you can see, with your real eyes.But you can look at the evening star if you like. It's so thrilling inthe sunset sky, I sometimes call it my star."
"All right," said Stephen, with his elder-brother air. "And when I lookI'll think of you."
"You can think of me as being with Saidee at last."
"You have the strongest presentiment that you'll find her withoutdifficulty."
"When _I_ say 'presentiment,' I mean creating a thing I want, making apicture of it happening, so it _has_ to happen by and by, as God madepictures of this world, and all the worlds, and they came true."
"By Jove, I wish I could go to school to you!" Stephen said thislaughing; but he meant every word. She had just given him two new ideas.He wondered if he could do anything with them. Yet no; his life was cutout on a certain plan. It must now follow that plan.
"If you should have any trouble--not that you _will_--but just 'if,'you know," he went on, "and if I could help you, I want you to rememberthis, wherever you are and whatever the trouble may be; there's nothingI wouldn't do for you--nothing. There's no distance I wouldn't travel."
"Why, you're the kindest man I ever met!" Victoria exclaimed,gratefully. "And I think you must be one of the best."
"Good heavens, what a character to live up to!" laughed Stephen.Nevertheless he suddenly lost his sense of exaltation, and felt sad andtired, thinking of life with Margot, and how difficult it would be notto degenerate in her society.
"Yes. It's a good character. And I'll promise to let you know, if I'm inany trouble and need help. If I can't write, I'll _call_, as I saidyesterday."
"Good. I shall hear you over the wireless telephone." They both laughed;and Nevill Caird, coming out of the house was pleased that Stephenshould be happy.
It had occurred to him while helping his aunt with the invitations, thatsomething of interest to Miss Ray might be learned at the Governor'shouse. He knew the Governor more or less, in a social way. Now he askedVictoria if she would like him to make inquiries about Ben Halim's pastas a Spahi?
"I've already been to the Governor," replied Victoria. "I got a letterto him from the American Consul, and had a little audience with him--isthat what I ought to call it?--this morning. He was kind, but could tellme nothing I didn't know--any way, he would tell nothing more. He wasn'tin Algiers when Saidee came. It was in the day of his predecessor."
Nevill admired her promptness and energy, and said so. He sharedStephen's chivalrous wish to do something for the girl, so alone, socourageous, working against difficulties she had not begun tounderstand. He was sorry that he had had no hand in helping Victoria tosee the most important Frenchman in Algiers, a man of generous sympathyfor Arabs; but as he had been forestalled, he hastened to think ofsomething else which he might do. He knew the house Ben Halim had ownedin Algiers, the place which must have been her sister's home. The peoplewho lived there now were acquaintances of his. Would she like to seeDjenan el Hadj?
The suggestion pleased her so much that Stephen found himself envyingNevill her gratitude. And it was arranged that Mrs. Jewett should beasked to appoint an hour for a visit next day.