XXXVI
For ten years Victoria had been waiting for this moment, dreaming of itat night, picturing it by day. Now it had come.
There was Saidee standing before her, found at last. Saidee, well andsafe, and lovely as ever, hardly changed in feature, and yet--there wassomething strange about her, something which stopped the joyous beatingof the girl's heart. It was almost as if she had died and come toHeaven, to find that Heaven was not Heaven at all, but a cold place offear.
She was shocked at the impression, blaming herself. Surely Saidee didnot know her yet, that was all; or the surprise was too great. Shewished she had sent word by the negress. Though that would have seemedbanal, it would have been better than to see the blank look on Saidee'sface, a look which froze her into a marble statue. But it was too latenow. The only thing left was to make the best of a bad beginning.
"Oh, darling!" Victoria cried. "Have I frightened you? Dearest--mybeautiful one, it's your little sister. All these years I've beenwaiting--waiting to find a way. You knew I would come some day, didn'tyou?"
Tears poured down her face. She tried to believe they were tears of joy,such as she had often thought to shed at sight of Saidee. She had beensure that she could not keep them back, and that she would not try. Theyshould have been sweet as summer rain, but they burned her eyes and hercheeks as they fell. Saidee was silent. The girl held out her arms,running a step or two, then, faltering, she let her arms fall. They feltheavy and stiff, as if they had been turned to wood. Saidee did notmove. There was an expression of dismay, even of fear on her face.
"You don't know me!" Victoria said chokingly. "I've grown up, and I mustseem like a different person--but I'm just the same, truly. I've lovedyou so, always. You'll get used to seeing me changed. You--you don'tthink I'm somebody else pretending to be Victoria, do you? I can tellyou all the things we used to do and say. I haven't forgotten one. Oh,Saidee, dearest, I've come such a long way to find you. Do be glad tosee me--do!"
Her voice broke. She put out her hands pleadingly--the childish handsthat had seemed pathetically pretty to Stephen Knight.
A look of intense concentration darkened Saidee's eyes. She appeared toquestion herself, to ask her intelligence what was best to do. Then thetense lines of her face softened. She forced herself to smile, andleaning towards Victoria, clasped the slim white figure in her arms,holding it tightly, in silence. But over the girl's shoulder, her eyesstill seemed to search an answer to their question.
When she had had time to control her voice and expression, she spoke,releasing her sister, taking the wistful face between her hands, andgazing at it earnestly. Then she kissed lips and cheeks.
"Victoria!" she murmured. "Victoria! I'm not dreaming you?"
"No, no, darling," the girl answered, more hopefully. "No wonder you'redazed. This--finding you, I mean--has been the object of my life, eversince your letters stopped coming, and I began to feel I'd lost you.That's why I can't realize your being struck dumb with the surprise ofit. Somehow, I've always felt you'd be expecting me. Weren't you? Didn'tyou know I'd come when I could?"
Saidee shook her head, looking with extraordinary, almost feverish,interest at the younger girl, taking in every detail of feature andcomplexion, all the exquisite outlines of extreme youth, which she hadlost.
"No," she said slowly. "I thought I was dead to the world. I didn'tthink it would be possible for anyone to find me, even you."
"But--you are glad--now I'm here?" Victoria faltered.
"Of course," Saidee answered unhesitatingly. "I'mdelighted--enchanted--for my own sake. If I'm frightened, if you thinkme strange--_farouche_--it's because I'm so surprised, and because--canyou believe it?--this is the first time I've spoken English with anyhuman being for nine years--perhaps more. I almost forget--it seems acentury. I talk to myself--so as not to forget. And every night I writedown what has happened, or rather what I've thought, because thingshardly ever do happen here. The words don't come easily. They sound soodd in my own ears. And then--there's another reason why I'm afraid.It's on your account. I'd better tell you. It wouldn't be fair not totell. I--how are you going to get away again?"
She almost whispered the last words, and spoke them as if she wereashamed. But she watched the girl's face anxiously.
Victoria slipped a protecting arm round her waist. "We are going awaytogether, dearest," she said. "Unless you're too happy and contented.But, my Saidee--you don't look contented."
Saidee flushed faintly. "You mean--I look old--haggard?"
"No--no!" the girl protested. "Not that. You've hardly changed at all,except--oh, I hardly know how to put it in words. It's your expression.You look sad--tired of the things around you."
"I am tired of the things around me," Saidee said. "Often I've felt likea dead body in a grave with no hope of even a resurrection. What werethose lines of Christina Rossetti's I used to say over to myself atfirst, while it still seemed worth while to revolt? Some one was buried,had been buried for years, yet could think and feel, and cry out againstthe doom of lying 'under this marble stone, forgotten, alone.' Doesn'tit sound agonizing--desperate? It just suited me. But now--now----"
"Are things better? Are you happier?" Victoria clasped her sisterpassionately.
"No. Only I'm past caring so much. If you've come here, Babe, to take meaway, it's no use. I may as well tell you now. This is prison. And youmust escape, yourself, before the gaoler comes back, or it will be alife-sentence for you, too."
It warmed Victoria's heart that her sister should call her "Babe"--theold pet name which brought the past back so vividly, that her eyesfilled again with tears.
"You shall not be kept in prison!" she exclaimed. "It'smonstrous--horrible! I was afraid it would be like this. That's why Ihad to wait and make plenty of money. Dearest, I'm rich. Everything'sfor you. You taught me to dance, and it's by dancing I've earned such alot--almost a fortune. So you see, it's yours. I've got enough to bribeCassim to let you go, if he likes money, and isn't kind to you. Because,if he isn't kind, it must be a sign he doesn't love you, really."
Saidee laughed, a very bitter laugh. "He does like money. And he doesn'tlike me at all--any more."
"Then--" Victoria's face brightened--"then he will take the ten thousanddollars I've brought, and he'll let you go away with me."
"Ten thousand dollars!" Saidee laughed again. "Do you know whoCassim--as you call him--is?"
The girl looked puzzled. "Who he is?"
"I see you don't know. The secret's been kept from you, somehow, by hisfriend who brought you here. You'll tell me how you came; but first I'llanswer your question. The Cassim ben Halim you knew, has been dead foreight years."
"They told me so in Algiers. But--do you mean--have you married again?"
"I said the Cassim ben Halim you knew, is dead. The Cassim _I_ knew, andknow now, is alive--and one of the most important men in Africa, thoughwe live like this, buried among the desert dunes, out of the world--orwhat you'd think the world."
"My world is where you are," Victoria said.
"Dear little Babe! Mine is a terrible world. You must get out of it assoon as you can, or you'll never get out at all."
"Never till I take you with me."
"Don't say that! I must send you away. I _must_--no matter how hard itmay be to part from you," Saidee insisted. "You don't know what you'retalking about. How should you? I suppose you must have heard_something_. You must anyhow suspect there's a secret?"
"Yes, Si Maieddine told me that. He said, when I talked of my sister,and how I was trying to find her, that he'd once known Cassim. I had toagree not to ask questions,--and he would never say for certain whetherCassim was dead or not, but he promised sacredly to bring me to theplace where my sister lived. His cousin Lella M'Barka Bent Djellab waswith us,--very ill and suffering, but brave. We started from Algiers,and he made a mystery even of the way we came, though I found out thenames of some places we passed, like El Aghouat and Ghardaia----"
Saidee's eyes widened with a s
udden flash. "What, you came here by ElAghouat and Ghardaia?"
"Yes. Isn't that the best way?"
"The best, if the longest is the best. I don't know much about NorthAfrica geographically. They've taken care I shouldn't know! But I--I'velately found out from--a person who's made the journey, that one can gethere from Algiers in a week or eight days. Seventeen hours by train toBiskra: Biskra to Touggourt two long days in a diligence, or carriagewith plenty of horses; Touggourt to Oued Tolga on camel or horse, ormule, in three or four days going up and down among the great dunes. Youmust have been weeks travelling."
"We have. I----"
"How very queer! What could Si Maieddine's reason have been? Rich Arabslove going by train whenever they can. Men who come from far off to seethe marabout always do as much of the journey as possible by rail. Ihear things about all important pilgrims. Then why did Si Maieddinebring you by El Aghouat and Ghardaia--especially when his cousin's aninvalid? It couldn't have been just because he didn't want you to beseen, because, as you're dressed like an Arab girl no one could guess hewas travelling with a European."
"His father lives near El Aghouat," Victoria reminded her sister. AndMaieddine had used this fact as one excuse, when he admitted that theymight have taken a shorter road. But in her heart the girl had guessedwhy the longest way had been chosen. She did not wish to hide fromSaidee things which concerned herself, yet Maieddine's love was hissecret, not hers, therefore she had not meant to tell of it, and she wasangry with herself for blushing. She blushed more and more deeply, andSaidee understood.
"I see! He's in love with you. That's why he brought you here. How_clever_ of him! How like an Arab!"
For a moment Saidee was silent, thinking intently. It could not bepossible, Victoria told herself, that the idea pleased her sister. Yetfor an instant the white face lighted up, as if Saidee were relieved ofheavy anxiety.
She drew Victoria closer, with an arm round her waist. "Tell me aboutit," she said. "How you met him, and everything."
The girl knew she would have to tell, since her sister had guessed, butthere were many other things which it seemed more important to say andhear first. She longed to hear all, all about Saidee's existence, eversince the letters had stopped; why they had stopped; and whether thereason had anything to do with the mystery about Cassim. Saidee seemedwilling to wait, apparently, for details of Victoria's life, since shewanted to begin with the time only a few weeks ago, when Maieddine hadcome into it. But the girl would not believe that this meantindifference. They must begin somewhere. Why should not Saidee becurious to hear the end part first, and go back gradually? Saidee'ssilence had been a torturing mystery for years, whereas about her, hersimple past, there was no mystery to clear up.
"Yes," she agreed. "But you promised to tell me about yourselfand--and----"
"I know. Oh, you shall hear the whole story. It will seem like a romanceto you, I suppose, because you haven't had to live it, day by day, yearby year. It's sordid reality to me--oh, _how_ sordid!--most of it. Butthis about Maieddine changes everything. I must hear what'shappened--quickly--because I shall have to make a plan. It's veryimportant--dreadfully important. I'll explain, when you've told me more.But there's time to order something for you to eat and drink, first, ifyou're tired and hungry. You must be both, poor child--poor, prettychild! You _are_ pretty--lovely. No wonder Maieddine--but what will youhave. Which among our horrid Eastern foods do you hate least?"
"I don't hate any of them. But don't make me eat or drink now, please,dearest. I couldn't. By and by. We rested and lunched this side of thecity. I don't feel as if I should ever be hungry again. I'm so----"Victoria stopped. She could not say: "I am so happy," though she oughtto have been able to say that. What was she, then, if not happy? "I'm soexcited," she finished.
Saidee stroked the girl's hand, softly. On hers she wore no ring, noteven a wedding ring, though Cassim had put one on her finger, Europeanfashion, when she was a bride. Victoria remembered it very well, amongthe other rings he had given during the short engagement. Now all weregone. But on the third finger of the left hand was the unmistakable marka ring leaves if worn for many years. The thought passed throughVictoria's mind that it could not be long since Saidee had ceased towear her wedding ring.
"I don't want to be cruel, or frighten you, my poor Babe," she said,"but--you've walked into a trap in coming here, and I've got to try andsave you. Thank heaven my husband's away, but we've no time to lose.Tell me quickly about Maieddine. I've heard a good deal of him, fromCassim, in old days; but tell me all that concerns him and you. Don'tskip anything, or I can't judge."
Saidee's manner was feverishly emphatic, but she did not look atVictoria. She watched her own hand moving back and forth, restlessly,from the girl's finger-tips, up the slender, bare wrist, and down again.
Victoria told how she had seen Maieddine on the boat, coming to Algiers;how he had appeared later at the hotel, and offered to help her,hinting, rather than saying, that he had been a friend of Cassim's, andknew where to find Cassim's wife. Then she went on to the story of thejourney through the desert, praising Maieddine, and hesitating only whenshe came to the evening of his confession and threat. But Saideequestioned her, and she answered.
"It came out all right, you see," she finished at last. "I knew it must,even in those few minutes when I couldn't help feeling a little afraid,because I seemed to be in his power. But of course I wasn't really.God's power was over his, and he felt it. Things always _do_ come outright, if you just _know_ they will."
Saidee shivered a little, though her hand on Victoria's was hot. "I wishI could think like that," she half whispered. "If I could, I----"
"What, dearest?"
"I should be brave, that's all. I've lost my spirit--lost faith, too--asI've lost everything else. I used to be quite a good sort of girl; butwhat can you expect after ten years shut up in a Mussulman harem? It'ssomething in my favour that they never succeeded in 'converting' me, asthey almost always do with a European woman when they've shut herup--just by tiring her out. But they only made me sullen and stupid. Idon't believe in anything now. You talk about 'God's power.' He's neverhelped me. I should think 'things came right' more because Maieddinefelt you couldn't get away from him, then and later, and because hedidn't want to offend the marabout, than because God troubled tointerfere. Besides, things _haven't_ come right. If it weren't forMaieddine, I might smuggle you away somehow, before the maraboutarrives. But now, Maieddine will be watching us like a lynx--or like anArab. It's the same thing where women are concerned."
"Why should the marabout care what I do?" asked Victoria. "He's nothingto us, is he?--except that I suppose Cassim must have some high positionin his Zaouia."
"A high position! I forgot, you couldn't know--since Maieddine hideverything from you. An Arab man never trusts a woman to keep a secret,no matter how much in love he may be. He was evidently afraid you'd tellsome one the great secret on the way. But now you're here, he won't carewhat you find out, because he knows perfectly well that you can neverget away."
Victoria started, and turned fully round to stare at her sister withwide, bright eyes. "I can and I will get away!" she exclaimed. "Withyou. Never without you, of course. That's why I came, as I said. To takeyou away if you are unhappy. Not all the marabouts in Islam can keepyou, dearest, because they have no right over you--and this is thetwentieth century, not hundreds of years ago, in the dark ages."
"Hundreds of years in the future, it will still be the dark ages inIslam. And this marabout thinks he _has_ a right over me."
"But if you know he hasn't?"
"I'm beginning to know it--beginning to feel it, anyhow. To feel thatlegally and morally I'm free. But law and morals can't break downwalls."
"I believe they can. And if Cassim----"
"My poor child, when Cassim ben Halim died--at a very convenient timefor himself--Sidi El Hadj Mohammed ben Abd-el-Kadr appeared to claimthis maraboutship, left vacant by the third marabout in the line, anold, old man whose
death happened a few weeks before Cassim's. Thispresent marabout was his next of kin--or so everybody believes. Andthat's the way saintships pass on in Islam, just as titles and estatesdo in other countries. Now do you begin to understand the mystery?"
"Not quite. I----"
"You heard in Algiers that Cassim had died in Constantinople?"
"Yes. The Governor himself said so."
"The Governor believes so. Every one believes--except a wretchedhump-backed idiot in Morocco, who sold his inheritance to save himselftrouble, because he didn't want to leave his home, or bother to be amarabout. Perhaps he's dead by this time, in one way or another. Ishouldn't be surprised. If he is, Maieddine and Maieddine's father, anda few other powerful friends of Cassim's, are the only ones left whoknow the truth, even a part of it. And the great Sidi El Hadj Mohammedhimself."
"Oh, Saidee--Cassim is the marabout!"
"Sh! Now you know the secret that's kept me a prisoner in his houselong, long after he'd tired of me, and would have got rid of me if he'ddared--and if he hadn't been afraid in his cruel, jealous way, that Imight find a little happiness in my own country. And worse still, it'sthe secret that will keep you a prisoner, too, unless you make up yourmind to do the one thing which can possibly help you."
"What thing?" Victoria could not believe that the answer which dartedinto her mind was the one Saidee really meant to give.
Saidee's lips opened, but with the girl's eyes gazing straight intohers, it was harder to speak than she had thought. Out of them looked ahighly sensitive yet brave spirit, so true, so loving and loyal, thatdisloyalty to it was a crime--even though another love demanded it.
"I--I hate to tell you," she stammered. "Only, what can I do? IfMaieddine hadn't loved you--but if he hadn't, you wouldn't be here. Andbeing here, we--we must just face the facts. The man who calls himselfmy husband--I can't think of him as being that any more--is like a kingin this country. He has even more power than most kings have nowadays.He'll give you to Maieddine when he comes home, if Maieddine asks him,as of course he will. Maieddine wouldn't have given you up, there in thedesert, if he hadn't been sure he could bribe the marabout to do exactlywhat he wanted."
"But why can't I bribe him?" Victoria persisted, hopefully. "If he'struly tired of you, my money----"
"He'd laugh at you for offering it, and say you might keep it for a_dot_. He's too rich to be tempted with money, unless it was far morethan you or I have ever seen. From his oasis alone he has an income ofthousands and thousands of dollars; and presents--large ones and smallones--come to him from all over North Africa--from France, even. All theFaithful in the desert, for hundreds of miles around, give him theirfirst and best dates of the year, their first-born camels, their firstfoals, and lambs, and mules, in return for his blessing on their palmsand flocks. He has wonderful rugs, and gold plate, and jewels, more thanhe knows what to do with, though he's very charitable. He's obliged tobe, to keep up his reputation and the reputation of the Zaouia.Everything depends on that--all his ambitions, which he thinks I hardlyknow. But I do know. And that's why I know that Maieddine will be ableto bribe him. Not with money: with something Cassim wants and values farmore than money. You wouldn't understand what I mean unless I explaineda good many things, and it's hardly the time for explaining more now.You must just take what I say for granted, until I can tell youeverything by and by. But there are enormous interests mixed up with themarabout's ambitions--things which concern all Africa. Is it likelyhe'll let you and me go free to tell secrets that would ruin him and hishopes for ever?"
"We wouldn't tell."
"Didn't I say that an Arab never trusts a woman? He'd kill us soonerthan let us go. And you've learned nothing about Arab men if you thinkMaieddine will give you up and see you walk out of his life after allthe trouble he's taken to get you tangled up in it. That's why we've gotto look facts in the face. You meant to help me, dear, but you can't.You can only make me miserable, because you've spoiled your happinessfor my sake. Poor little Babe, you've wandered far, far out of the zoneof happiness, and you can never get back. All you can do is to make thebest of a bad bargain."
"I asked you to explain that, but you haven't yet."
"You must--promise Maieddine what he asks, before Cassim comes back fromSouth Oran."
This was the thing Victoria had feared, but could not believe Saideewould propose. She shrank a little, and Saidee saw it. "Don'tmisunderstand," the elder woman pleaded in the soft voice whichpronounced English almost like a foreign language. "I tell you, we can'tchoose what we _want_ to do, you and I. If you wait for Cassim to behere, it will come to the same thing, but it will be fifty times worse,because then you'll have the humiliation of being forced to do what youmight seem to do now of your own free will."
"I can't be forced to marry Maieddine. Nothing could make me do it. Heknows that already, unless----"
"Unless what? Why do you look horrified?"
"There's one thing I forgot to tell you about our talk in the desert. Ipromised him I would say 'yes' in case something happened--something Ithought then couldn't happen."
"But you find now it could?"
"Oh, no--no, I don't believe it could."
"You'd better tell me what it is."
"That you--I said, I would promise to marry him if _you wished_ it. Heasked me to promise that, and I did, at once."
A slow colour crept over Saidee's face, up to her forehead. "You trustedme," she murmured.
"And I do now--with all my heart. Only you've lived here, out of theworld, alone and sad for so long, that you're afraid of things I'm notafraid of."
"I'm afraid because I know what cause there is for fear. But you'reright. My life has made me a coward. I can't help it."
"Yes, you can--I've come to help you help it."
"How little you understand! They'll use you against me, me against you.If you knew I were being tortured, and you could save me by marryingMaieddine, what would you do?"
Victoria's hand trembled in her sister's, which closed on it nervously."I would marry him that very minute, of course. But such things don'thappen."
"They do. That's exactly what will happen, unless you tell Maieddineyou've made up your mind to say 'yes'. You can explain that it's by myadvice. He'll understand. But he'll respect you, and won't be furious atyour resistance, and want to revenge himself on you in future, as hewill if you wait to be forced into consenting."
Victoria sprang up and walked away, covering her face with her hands.Her sister watched her as if fascinated, and felt sick as she saw howthe girl shuddered. It was like watching a trapped bird bleeding todeath. But she too was in the trap, she reminded herself. Really, therewas no way out, except through Maieddine. She said this over and over inher mind. There was no other way out. It was not that she was cruel orselfish. She was thinking of her sister's good. There was no doubt ofthat, she told herself: no doubt whatever.