XXXVII
Victoria felt as if all her blood were beating in her brain. She couldnot think, and dimly she was glad that Saidee did not speak again. Shecould not have borne more of those hatefully specious arguments.
For a moment she stood still, pressing her hands over her eyes, andagainst her temples. Then, without turning, she walked almost blindly toa window that opened upon Saidee's garden. The little court was a silvercube of moonlight, so bright that everything white looked alive with astrange, spiritual intelligence. The scent of the orange blossoms waslusciously sweet. She shrank back, remembering the orange-court at theCaid's house in Ouargla. It was there that Zorah had prophesied: "Neverwilt thou come this way again."
"I'm tired, after all," the girl said dully, turning to Saidee, butleaning against the window frame. "I didn't realize it before. Theperfume--won't let me think."
"You look dreadfully white!" exclaimed Saidee. "Are you going to faint?Lie down here on this divan. I'll send for something."
"No, no. Don't send. And I won't faint. But I want to think. Can I goout into the air--not where the orange blossoms are?"
"I'll take you on to the roof," Saidee said. "It's my favouriteplace--looking over the desert."
She put her arm round Victoria, leading her to the stairway, and so tothe roof.
"Are you better?" she asked, miserably. "What can I do for you?"
"Let's not speak for a little while, please. I can think now. Soon Ishall be well. Don't be anxious about me, darling."
Very gently she slipped away from Saidee's arm that clasped her waist;and the softness of the young voice, which had been sharp with pain,touched the elder woman. She knew that the girl was thinking more ofher, Saidee, than of herself.
Victoria leaned on the white parapet, and looked down over the desert,where the sand rippled in silvery lines and waves, like water inmoonlight.
"The golden silence!" she thought.
It was silver now, not golden; but she knew that this was the place ofher dream. On a white roof like this, she had seen Saidee stand witheyes shaded from the sun in the west; waiting for her, calling for her,or so she had believed. Poor Saidee! Poor, beautiful Saidee; changed insoul, though so little changed in face! Could it be that she had nevercalled in spirit to her sister?
Victoria bowed her head, and tears fell from her eyes upon her cold barearms, crossed on the white wall.
Saidee did not want her. Saidee was sorry that she had come. Her cominghad only made things worse.
"I wish--" the girl was on the point of saying to herself--"I wish I'dnever been born." But before the words shaped themselves fully in hermind--terrible words, because she had felt the beauty and sacred meaningof life--the desert spoke to her.
"Saidee does want you," the spirit of the wind and the glimmering sandsseemed to say. "If she had not wanted you, do you think you would havebeen shown this picture, with your sister in it, the picture whichbrought you half across the world? She called once, long ago, and youheard the call. You were allowed to hear it. Are you so weak as tobelieve, just because you're hurt and suffering, that such messagesbetween hearts mean nothing? Saidee may not know that she wants you, butshe does, and needs you more than ever before. This is your hour oftemptation. You thought everything was going to be wonderfully easy,almost too easy, and instead, it is difficult, that's all. But be bravefor Saidee and yourself, now and in days to come, for you are here onlyjust in time."
The pure, strong wind blowing over the dunes was a tonic to Victoria'ssoul, and she breathed it eagerly. Catching at the robe of faith, sheheld the spirit fast, and it stayed with her.
Suddenly she felt at peace, sure as a child that she would be taughtwhat to do next. There was her star, floating in the blue lake of thesky, like a water lily, where millions of lesser lilies blossomed.
"Dear star," she whispered, "thank you for coming. I needed you justthen."
"Are you better?" asked Saidee in a choked voice.
Victoria turned away from sky and desert to the drooping figure of thewoman, standing in a pool of shadow, dark as fear and treachery.
"Yes, dearest one, I am well again, and I won't have to worry you anymore." The girl gently wound two protecting arms round her sister.
"What have you decided to do?"
Victoria could feel Saidee's heart beating against her own.
"I've decided to pray about deciding, and then to decide. Whatever'sbest for you, I will do, I promise."
"And for yourself. Don't forget that I'm thinking of you. Don't believeit's _all_ cowardice."
"I don't believe anything but good of my Saidee."
"I envy you, because you think you've got Someone to pray to. I'venothing. I'm--alone in the dark."
Victoria made her look up at the moon which flooded the night with a seaof radiance. "There is no dark," she said. "We're together--in thelight."
"How hopeful you are!" Saidee murmured. "I've left hope so far behind,I've almost forgotten what it's like."
"Maybe it's always been hovering just over your shoulder, only youforgot to turn and see. It can't be gone, because I feel sure that truthand knowledge and hope are all one."
"I wonder if you'll still feel so when you've married a man of anotherrace--as I have?"
Victoria did not answer. She had to conquer the little cold thrill ofsuperstitious fear which crept through her veins, as Saidee's wordsreminded her of M'Barka's sand-divining. She had to find courage againfrom "her star," before she could speak.
"Forgive me, Babe!" said Saidee, stricken by the look in the liftedeyes. "I wish I needn't remind you of anything horrid to-night--yourfirst night with me after all these years. But we have so little time.What else can I do?"
"I shall know by to-morrow what we are to do," Victoria said cheerfully."Because I shall take counsel of the night."
"You're a very odd girl," the woman reflected aloud. "When you were atiny thing, you used to have the weirdest thoughts, and do the quaintestthings. I was sure you'd grow up to be absolutely different from anyother human being. And so you have, I think. Only an extraordinary sortof girl could ever have made her way without help from Potterston,Indiana, to Oued Tolga in North Africa."
"I _had_ help--every minute. Saidee--did you think of me sometimes, whenyou were standing here on this roof?"
"Yes, of course I thought of you often--only not so often lately as atfirst, because for a long time now I've been numb. I haven't thoughtmuch or cared much about anything, or--or any one except----"
"Except----"
"Except--except myself, I'm afraid." Saidee's face was turned away fromVictoria's. She looked toward Oued Tolga, the city, whither thecarrier-pigeon had flown.
"I wondered," she went on hastily, "what had become of you, and if youwere happy, and whether by this time you'd nearly forgotten me. You weresuch a baby child when I left you!"
"I won't believe you really wondered if I could forget. You, andthoughts of you, have made my whole life. I was just living for the timewhen I could earn money enough to search for you--and preparing for it,of course, so as to be ready when it came."
Saidee still looked toward Oued Tolga, where the white domes shimmered,far away in the moonlight, like a mirage. Was love a mirage, too?--thelove that called for her over there, the love whose voice made thestrings of her heart vibrate, though she had thought them broken andsilent for ever. Victoria's arms round her felt strong and warm, yetthey were a barrier. She was afraid of the barrier, and afraid of thegirl's passionate loyalty. She did not deserve it, she knew, and shewould be more at ease--she could not say happier, because there was nosuch word as happiness for her--without it. Somehow she could not bearto talk of Victoria's struggle to come to her rescue. The thought of allthe girl had done made her feel unable to live up to it, or be grateful.She did not want to be called upon to live up to any standard. Shewanted--if she wanted anything--simply to go on blindly, as fate led.But she felt that near her fate hovered, like the carrier-pigeon; andsome terrible fo
rce within herself, which frightened her, seemed readyto push away or destroy anything that might come between her and thatfate. She knew that she ought to question Victoria about the past yearsof their separation, one side of her nature was eager to hear the story.But the other side, which had gained strength lately, forced her todwell upon less intimate things.
"I suppose Mrs. Ray managed to keep most of poor father's money?" shesaid.
"Mrs. Ray died when I was fourteen, and after that Mr. Potter losteverything in speculation," the girl answered.
"Everything of yours, too?"
"Yes. But it didn't matter, except for the delay. My dancing--_your_dancing really, dearest, because if it hadn't been for you I shouldn'thave put my heart into it so--earned me all I needed."
"I said you were extraordinary! But how queer it seems to hear thosenames again. Mrs. Ray. Mr. Potter. They're like names in a dream. Howwretched I used to think myself, with Mrs. Ray in Paris, when she was sojealous and cross! But a thousand times since, I've wished myself backin those days. I was happy, really. I was free. Life was all before me."
"Dearest! But surely you weren't miserable from the very first,with--with Cassim?"
"No-o. I suppose I wasn't. I was in love with him. It seemed veryinteresting to be the wife of such a man. Even when I found that hemeant to make me lead the life of an Arab woman, shut up and veiled, Iliked him too well to mind much. He put it in such a romantic way,telling me how he worshipped me, how mad with jealousy he was even tothink of other men seeing my face, and falling in love with it. Hethought every one must fall in love! All girls like men to bejealous--till they find out how sordid jealousy can be. And I was soyoung--a child. I felt as if I were living in a wonderful Eastern poem.Cassim used to give me the most gorgeous presents, and our house inAlgiers was beautiful. My garden was a dream--and how he made love to mein it! Besides, I was allowed to go out, veiled. It was rather fun beingveiled--in those days, I thought so. It made me feel mysterious, as iflife were a masquerade ball. And the Arab women Cassim let me know--avery few, wives and sisters of his friends--envied me immensely. I lovedthat--I was so silly. And they flattered me, asking about my life inEurope. I was like a fairy princess among them, until--one day--a womantold me a thing about Cassim. She told me because she was spiteful andwanted to make me miserable, of course, for I found out afterwards she'dbeen expressly forbidden to speak, on account of my 'prejudices'--they'dall been forbidden. I wouldn't believe at first,--but it was true--theothers couldn't deny it. And to prove what she said, the woman took meto see the boy, who was with his grandmother--an aunt of Maieddine's,dead now."
"The boy?"
"Oh, I forgot. I haven't explained. The thing she told was, that Cassimhad a wife living when he married me."
"Saidee!--how horrible! How horrible!"
"Yes, it was horrible. It broke my heart." Saidee was tingling withexcitement now. Her stiff, miserable restraint was gone in the feverishsatisfaction of speaking out those things which for years had corrodedher mind, like verdigris. She had never been able to talk to anyone inthis way, and her only relief had been in putting her thoughts on paper.Some of the books in her locked cupboard she had given to a friend, thewriter of to-day's letter, because she had seen him only for a fewminutes at a time, and had been able to say very little, on the oneoccasion when they had spoken a few words to each other. She had wantedhim to know what a martyrdom her life had been. Involuntarily she talkedto her sister, now, as she would have talked to him, and his face roseclearly before her eyes, more clearly almost than Victoria's, which herown shadow darkened, and screened from the light of the moon as theystood together, clasped in one another's arms.
"Cassim thought it all right, of course," she went on. "A Mussulman mayhave four wives at a time if he likes--though men of his rank don't, asa rule, take more than one, because they must marry women of high birth,who hate rivals in their own house. But he was too clever to give me ahint of his real opinions in Paris. He knew I wouldn't have looked athim again, if he had--even if he hadn't told me about the wife herself.She had had this boy, and gone out of her mind afterwards, so she wasn'tliving with Cassim--that was the excuse he made when I taxed him withdeceiving me. Her father and mother had taken her back. I don't knowsurely whether she's living or dead, but I believe she's dead, and herbody buried beside the grave supposed to be Cassim's. Anyhow, the boy'sliving, and he's the one thing on earth Cassim loves better thanhimself."
"When did you find out about--about all this?" Victoria asked, almostwhispering.
"Eight months after we were married I heard about his wife. I thinkCassim was true to me, in his way, till that time. But we had an awfulscene. I told him I'd never live with him again as his wife, and I neverhave. After that day, everything was different. No more happiness--noteven an Arab woman's idea of happiness. Cassim began to hate me, butwith the kind of hate that holds and won't let go. He wouldn't listenwhen I begged him to set me free. Instead, he wouldn't let me go out atall, or see anyone, or receive or send letters. He punished me byflirting outrageously with a pretty woman, the wife of a French officer.He took pains that I should hear everything, through my servants. Buthis cruelty was visited on his own head, for soon there came a dreadfulscandal. The woman died suddenly of chloral poisoning, after a quarrelwith her husband on Cassim's account, and it was thought she'd taken toomuch of the drug on purpose. The day after his wife's death, the officershot himself. I think he was a colonel; and every one knew that Cassimwas mixed up in the affair. He had to leave the army, and it seemed--hethought so himself--that his career was ruined. He sold his place inAlgiers, and took me to a farm-house in the country where we lived for awhile, and he was so lonely and miserable he would have been glad tomake up, but how could I forgive him? He'd deceived me too horribly--andbesides, in my own eyes I wasn't his wife. Surely our marriage wouldn'tbe considered legal in any country outside Islam, would it? Even you, achild like you, must see that?"
"I suppose so," Victoria answered, sadly. "But----"
"There's no 'but.' I thought so then. I think so a hundred times morenow. My life's been a martyrdom. No one could blame me if--but I wastelling you about what happened after Algiers. There was a kind of armedtruce between us in the country, though we lived only like twoacquaintances under the same roof. For months he had nobody else to talkto, so he used to talk with me--quite freely sometimes, about a plansome powerful Arabs, friends of his--Maieddine and his father amongothers--were making for him. It sounded like a fairy story, and I usedto think he must be going mad. But he wasn't. It was all true about theplot that was being worked. He knew I couldn't betray him, so it was arelief to his mind, in his nervous excitement, to confide in me."
"Was it a plot against the French?"
"Indirectly. That was one reason it appealed to Cassim. He'd been proudof his position in the army, and being turned out, or forced to go--muchthe same thing--made him hate France and everything French. He'd havegiven his life for revenge, I'm sure. Probably that's why his friendswere so anxious to put him in a place of power, for they were men whosewatchword was 'Islam for Islam.' Their hope was--and is--to turn Franceout of North Africa. You wouldn't believe how many there are who hopeand band themselves together for that. These friends of Cassim'spersuaded and bribed a wretched cripple--who was next of kin to the lastmarabout, and ought to have inherited--to let Cassim take his place.Secretly, of course. It was a very elaborate plot--it had to be. Threeor four rich, important men were in it, and it would have meant ruin ifthey'd been found out.
"Cassim would really have come next in succession if it hadn't been forthe hunchback, who lived in Morocco, just over the border. If he had anyconscience, I suppose that thought soothed it. He told me that the realheir--the cripple--had epileptic fits, and couldn't live long, anyhow.The way they worked their plan out was by Cassim's starting for apilgrimage to Mecca. I had to go away with him, because he was afraid toleave me. I knew too much. And it was simpler to take me than to put meout of the way."
>
"Saidee--he would never have murdered you?" Victoria whispered.
"He would if necessary--I'm sure of it. But it was safer not. Besides,I'd often told him I wanted to die, so that was an incentive to keep mealive. I didn't go to Mecca. I left the farm-house with Cassim, and hetook me to South Oran, where he is now. I had to stay in the care of amarabouta, a terrible old woman, a bigot and a tyrant, a cousin ofCassim's, on his mother's side, and a sister of the man who invented thewhole plot. The idea was that Cassim should seem to be drowned in theBosphorus, while staying at Constantinople with friends, after hispilgrimage to Mecca. But luckily for him there was a big fire in thehotel where he went to stop for the first night, so he just disappeared,and a lot of trouble was saved. He told me about the adventure, when hecame to Oran. The next move was to Morocco. And from Morocco hetravelled here, in place of the cripple, when the last marabout died,and the heir was called to his inheritance. That was nearly eight yearsago."
"And he's never been found out?"
"No. And he never will be. He's far too clever. Outwardly he's hand inglove with the French. High officials and officers come here to consultwith him, because he's known to have immense influence all over theSouth, and in the West, even in Morocco. He's masked, like a Touareg,and the French believe it's because of a vow he made in Mecca. No onebut his most intimate friends, or his own people, have ever seen theface of Sidi Mohammed since he inherited the maraboutship, and came toOued Tolga. He must hate wearing his mask, for he's as handsome as heever was, and just as vain. But it's worth the sacrifice. Not only is hea great man, with everything--or nearly everything--he wants in theworld, but he looks forward to a glorious revenge against the French,whose interests he pretends to serve."
"How can he revenge himself? What power has he to do that?" the girlasked. She had a strange impression that Saidee had forgotten her, thatall this talk of the past, and of the marabout, was for some one else ofwhom her sister was thinking.
"He has tremendous power," Saidee answered, almost angrily, as if sheresented the doubt. "All Islam is at his back. The French humour him,and let him do whatever he likes, no matter how eccentric his ways maybe, because he's got them to believe he is trying to help the Governmentin the wildest part of Algeria, the province of Oran--and with theTouaregs in the farthest South; and that he promotes French interests inMorocco. Really, he's at the head of every religious secret society inNorth Africa, banded together to turn Christians out of Mussulmancountries. The French have no idea how many such secret societies exist,and how rich and powerful they are. Their dear friend, the good, wise,polite marabout assures them that rumours of that sort are nonsense. Butsome day, when everything's ready--when Morocco and Oran and Algeria andTunisia will obey the signal, all together, then they'll have asurprise--and Cassim ben Halim will be revenged."
"It sounds like the weavings of a brain in a dream," Victoria said.
"It will be a nightmare-dream, no matter how it ends;--maybe a nightmareof blood, and war, and massacre. Haven't you ever heard, or read, howthe Mussulman people expect a saviour, the Moul Saa, as they callhim--the Man of the Hour, who will preach a Holy War, and lead ithimself, to victory?"
"Yes, I've read that----"
"Well, Cassim hopes to be the Moul Saa, and deliver Islam by the sword.I suppose you wonder how I know such secrets, or whether I do reallyknow them at all. But I do. Some things Cassim told me himself, becausehe was bursting with vanity, and simply had to speak. Other things I'veseen in writing--he would kill me if he found out. And still otherthings I've guessed. Why, the boys here in the Zaouia are being broughtup for the 'great work,' as they call it. Not all of them--but the mostimportant ones among the older boys. They have separate classes.Something secret and mysterious is taught them. There are boys fromMorocco and Oran, and sons of Touareg chiefs--all those who most hateChristians. No other zaouia is like this. The place seethes with hiddentreachery and sedition. Now you can see where Si Maieddine's power overCassim comes in. The Agha, his father, is one of the few who helped makeCassim what he is, but he's a cautious old man, the kind who wants torun with the hare and hunt with the hounds. Si Maieddine's cautious too,Cassim has said. He approves the doctrines of the secret societies, buthe's so ambitious that without a very strong incentive to turn againstthem, in act he'd be true to the French. Well, now he has the incentive.You."
"I don't understand," said Victoria. Yet even as she spoke, she began tounderstand.
"He'll offer to give himself, and to influence the Agha and the Agha'speople--the Ouled-Sirren--if Cassim will grant his wish. And it's no usesaying that Cassim can't force you to marry any man. You told meyourself, a little while ago, that if you saw harm coming to me----"
"Oh don't--don't speak of that again, Saidee!" the girl cried, sharply."I've told you--yes--that I'll do anything--anything on earth to saveyou pain, or more sorrow. But let's hope--let's pray."
"There is no hope. I've forgotten how to pray," Saidee answered, "andGod has forgotten me."