LI
Saidee, down in the courtyard, shrieked as she saw her sister's danger."Fire!--wound him--make him fall!" she screamed to Rostafel. But to firewould be at risk of the girl's life, and the Frenchman danced aboutaimlessly, yelling to the men in the watch-towers.
In the tower, Stephen heard a woman's cry and thought the voice wasVictoria's. His work was done. He had signalled for help, and, thoughthis apparatus was a battered stable lantern, a kitchen-lamp reflector,and a hand-mirror, he had got an answer. Away to the north, a man whomperhaps he would never see, had flashed him back a message. He could notunderstand all, for it is easier to send than to receive signals; butthere was something about soldiers at Bordj Azzouz, changing garrison,and Stephen believed that they meant marching to the rescue. Now, hisleft arm wounded, his head cut, and eyes half blinded with a rain ofrubble brought down by an Arab bullet, he had made part of the descentwhen Saidee screamed her high-pitched scream of terror.
He was still far above the remnant of stairway, broken off thirty feetabove ground level. But, knowing that the descent would be moredifficult than the climb, he had torn into strips the stout tableclothwhich had wrapped his heliographing apparatus. Knotting the lengthstogether, he had fastened one end round a horn of shattered adobe, andtied the other in a slip-noose under his arms. Now, he was thankful forthis precaution. Instead of picking his way, from foothold to foothold,at the sound of the cry he lowered himself rapidly, like a man who goesdown a well on the chain of a bucket, and dropped on a pile of brickswhich blocked the corkscrew steps. In a second he was free of thestretched rope, and, half running, half falling down the rubbish-blockedstairway, he found himself, giddy and panting, at the bottom. A rushtook him across the courtyard to the gate; snatching Rostafel's rifleand springing up the wall stairway, a bullet from Maieddine's revolverstruck him in the shoulder. For the space of a heart-beat his brain wasin confusion. He knew that the Arab had a knee on the wall, and that hehad pulled Victoria to him by her dress, which was smeared with blood.But he did not know whether the blood was the girl's or Maieddine's, andthe doubt, and her danger, and the rage of his wound drove him mad. Itwas not a sane man who crashed down Rostafel's rifle on Maieddine'shead, and laughed as he struck. The Arab dropped over the wall and fellon the ground outside the gate, like a dead man, his body rolling alittle way down the slope. There it lay still, in a crumpled heap, butthe marabout and two of his men made a dash to the rescue, dragging thelimp form out of rifle range. It was a heroic act, and the Highlandersadmired it while they fired at the heroes. One fell, to rise no more,and already two masked corpses had fallen from the wall into thecourtyard, daring climbers shot by Rostafel as they tried to drop.Sickened by the sight of blood, dazed by shots and the sharp "ping" ofbullets, frenzied with horror at the sight of Victoria struggling in thegrasp of Maieddine, Saidee sank down unconscious as Stephen beat theArab off the wall.
"Darling, precious one, for God's sake say you're not hurt!" hestammered, as he caught Victoria in his arms, holding her against hisheart, as he carried her down. He was still a madman, mad with fear forher, and love for her--love made terrible by the dread of loss. It wasnew life to hold her so, to know that she was safe, to bow his foreheadon her hair. There was no Margot or any other woman in existence. Onlythis girl and he, created for each other, alone in the world.
Victoria clung to him thankfully, sure of his love already, and glad ofhis words.
"No, my dearest, I'm not hurt," she answered. "But you--you arewounded!"
"I don't know. If I am, I don't feel it," said Stephen. "Nothing mattersexcept you."
"I saw him shoot you. I--I thought you were killed. Put me down. I wantto look at you."
She struggled in his arms, as they reached the foot of the stairs, andgently he put her down. But her nerves had suffered more than she knew.Strength failed her, and she reached out to him for help. Then he puthis arm round her again, supporting her against his wounded shoulder. Sothey looked at each other, in the light of the bonfires, their hearts intheir eyes.
"There's blood in your hair and on your face," she said. "Oh, and onyour coat. Maieddine shot you."
"It's nothing," he said. "I feel no pain. Nothing but rapture thatyou're safe. I thought the blood on your dress might be----"
"It was his, not mine. His hands were bleeding. Oh, poor Maieddine--Ican't help pitying him. What if he is killed?"
"Don't think of him. If he's dead, I killed him, not you, and I don'trepent. I'd do it again. He deserved to die."
"He tried to kill you!"
"I don't mean for that reason. But come, darling. You must go into thehouse, I have to take my turn in the fighting now----"
"You've done more than any one else!" she cried, proudly.
"No, it was little enough. And there's the wall to defend. I--but look,your sister's fainting."
"My Saidee! And I didn't see her lying there!" The girl fell on herknees beside the white bundle on the ground. "Oh, help me get her intothe house."
"I'll carry her."
But Victoria would help him. Together they lifted Saidee, and Stephencarried her across the courtyard, making a detour to avoid passing thetwo dead Arabs. But Victoria saw, and, shuddering, was speechless.
"This time you'll promise to stay indoors!" Stephen said, when he hadlaid Saidee on the pile of blankets in a corner of the room.
"Yes--yes--I promise!"
The girl gave him both hands. He kissed them, and then, without turning,went out and shut the door. It was only at this moment that heremembered Margot, remembered her with anguish, because of the echo ofVictoria's voice in his ears as she named him her "dearest."
As Stephen came from behind the barricade which screened the dining-roomfrom the courtyard, he found Rostafel shooting right and left at men whotried to climb the rear wall, having been missed by Nevill's fire.Rostafel had recovered the rifle snatched by Stephen in his stampede tothe stairway, and, sobered by the fight, was making good use of it.Stephen had now armed himself with his own, left for safety behind thebarrier while he signalled in the tower; and together the two men hadhot work in the quadrangle. Here and there an escalader escaped the firefrom the watch-towers, and hung half over the wall, but dropped aliveinto the courtyard, only to be bayoneted by the Frenchman. Thesignalling-tower gave little shelter against the enemy, as most of theouter wall had fallen above the height of twenty feet from the ground;but, as without it only three sides of the quadrangle could be fullydefended, once again Stephen scrambled up the choked and brokenstairway. Screening himself as best he could behind a jagged ledge ofadobe, he fired through a crack at three or four Arabs who made a humanladder for a comrade to mount the wall. The man at the top fell. Thenext mounted, to be shot by Nevill from a watch-tower. The bulletpierced the fellow's leg, which was what Nevill wished, for he, whohated to rob even an insect of its life, aimed now invariably at arms orlegs, never at any vital part. "All we want," he thought half guiltily,"is to disable the poor brutes. They must obey the marabout. We've nospite against 'em!"
But every one knew that it was a question of moments only before someArab, quicker or luckier than the rest, would succeed in firing thetrail of gunpowder already laid. The gate would be blown up. Then wouldfollow a rush of the enemy and the second stand of the defenders behindthe barricade. Last of all, the retreat to the dining-room.
Among the first precautions Stephen had taken was that of locking thedoors of all rooms except the dining-room, and pulling out the keys, sothat, when the enemy got into the quadrangle, they would find themselvesforced to stay in the open, or take shelter in the watch-towers vacatedby the defenders. From the doorways of these, they could not do muchharm to the men behind the barricade. But there was one thing they mightdo, against which Stephen had not guarded. The idea flashed into hishead now, too late. There were the stalls where the animals were tied.The Arabs could use the beasts for a living barricade, firing over theirbacks. Stephen grudged this advantage, and was puzzling his brain how toprevent t
he enemy from taking it, when a great light blazed into thesky, followed by the roar of an explosion.
The tower shook, and Stephen was thrown off his feet. For half a secondhe was dazed, but came to himself in the act of tumbling down stairs,still grasping his rifle.
A huge hole yawned where the gate had stood. The iron had shrivelled andcurled like so much cardboard, and the gap was filled with circlingwreaths of smoke and a crowd of Arabs. Mad with fear, the camels andhorses tethered in the stables of the bordj broke their halters andplunged wildly about the courtyard, looming like strange monsters inthe red light and belching smoke. As if to serve the defenders, theygalloped toward the gate, cannoning against each other in the struggleto escape, and thus checked the first rush of the enemy. Nearly all wereshot down by the Arabs, but a few moments were gained for the Europeans.Firing as he ran, Stephen made a dash for the barricade, where he foundRostafel, and as the enemy swarmed into the quadrangle, pouring overdead and dying camels, the two Highlanders burst with yells like theslogans of their fighting ancestors, out from the watch-towers nearestthe gateway.
The sudden apparition of these gigantic twin figures, bare-legged,dressed in kilts, appalled the Arabs. Some, who had got farthest intothe courtyard, were taken in the rear by Angus and Hamish; and as theHighlanders laid about them with clubbed rifles, the superstitiousEasterners wavered. Imagining themselves assailed by giant women withthe strength of devils, they fell back dismayed, and for some wildseconds the twins were masters of the quadrangle. They broke heads withcrushing blows, and smashed ribs with trampling feet, yelling theirfearsome yells which seemed the cries of death and war. But it was thetriumph of a moment only, and then the Arabs--save those who would fightno more--rallied round their leader, a tall, stout man with a majesticpresence. Once he had got his men in hand--thirteen or fourteen he hadleft--the open courtyard was too hot a place even for the Highland men.They retreated, shoulder to shoulder, towards the barricade, and soonwere firing viciously from behind its shelter. If they lived throughthis night, never again, it would seem, could they be satisfied with thedaily round of preparing an old lady's bath, and pressing upon herdishes which she did not want. And yet--their mistress was anexceptional old lady.
Now, all the towers were vacant, except the one defended by Nevill, andit had been agreed from the first that he was to stick to his postuntil time for the last stand. The reason of this was that the door ofhis tower was screened by the barricade, and the two rear walls of thebordj (meeting in a triangle at this corner) must be defended while thebarricade was held. These walls unguarded, the enemy could climb themfrom outside and fire down on the backs of the Europeans, behind thebarrier. Those who attempted to climb from the courtyard (thegate-stairway being destroyed by the explosion) must face the fire ofthe defenders, who could also see and protect themselves against any onemounting the wall to pass over the scattered debris of the ruinedsignal-tower. Thus every contingency was provided for, as well as mightbe by five men, against three times their number; and the Europeansmeant to make a stubborn fight before that last resort--the dining-room.Nevertheless, it occurred to Stephen that perhaps, after all, he neednot greatly repent the confession of love he had made to Victoria. Hehad had no right to speak, but if there were to be no future for eitherin this world, fate need not grudge him an hour's happiness. And he wasconscious of a sudden lightness of spirit, as of an exile nearing home.
The Arabs, sheltering behind the camels and horses they had shot, firedcontinuously in the hope of destroying a weak part of the barricade orkilling some one behind it. Gradually they formed of the dead animals abarricade of their own, and now that the bonfires were dying it wasdifficult for the Europeans to touch the enemy behind cover. Consultingtogether, however, and calculating how many dead each might put to hiscredit, the defenders agreed that they must have killed or disabled morethan a dozen. The marabout, whose figure in one flashing glimpse Stephenfancied he recognized, was still apparently unhurt. It was he who seemedto be conducting operations, but of Si Maieddine nothing had been seensince his unconscious or dead body was dragged down the slope by hisfriends. Precisely how many Arabs remained to fight, the Europeans werenot sure, but they believed that over a dozen were left, counting theleader.
By and by the dying fires flickered out, leaving only a dull red glow onthe roofs. The pale light of the stars seemed dim after the blaze whichhad lit the quadrangle, and in the semi-darkness, when each side watchedthe other as a cat spies at a rat-hole, the siege grew wearisome. Yetthe Europeans felt that each moment's respite meant sixty seconds of newhope for them. Ammunition was running low, and soon they must fall backupon the small supply kept by Rostafel, which had already been placed inthe dining-room; but matters were not quite desperate, since each minutebrought the soldiers from Bordj Azzouz nearer, even if the carrierpigeon had failed.
"Why do they not blow us up?" asked the Frenchman, sober now, andextremely pessimistic. "They could do it. Or is it the women they areafter?"
Stephen was not inclined to be confidential. "No doubt they have theirown reasons," he answered. "What they are, can't matter to us."
"It matters that they are concocting some plan, and that we do not knowwhat it is," said Rostafel.
"To get on to the roof over our heads is what they'd like best, nodoubt," said Stephen. "But my friend in the tower here is saving us fromthat at the back, and they can't do much in front of our noses."
"I am not sure they cannot. They will think of something," grumbled thelandlord. "We are in a bad situation. I do not believe any of us willsee to-morrow. I only hope my brother will have the spirit to revengeme. But even that is not my luck."
He was right. The Arabs had thought of something--"a something" whichthey must have prepared before their start. Suddenly, behind the moundof dead animals arose a fitful light, and while the Europeans wonderedat its meaning, a shower of burning projectiles flew through the air atthe barricade. All four fired a volley in answer, hoping to wing thethrowers, but the Arab scheme was a success. Tins of blazing pitch wererolling about the courtyard, close to the barrier, but before fallingthey had struck the piled mattresses and furniture, splashing fire andtrickles of flame poured over the old bedticking, and upholstered chairsfrom the dining-room. At the same instant Nevill called from the door ofhis tower: "More cartridges, quick! I'm all out, and there are two chapstrying to shin up the wall. Maieddine's not dead. He's there, directing'em."
Stephen gave Nevill his own rifle, just reloaded. "Fetch the cartridgesstored in the dining-room," he said to Rostafel, "while we beat the fireout with our coats." But there was no need for the Frenchman to leavehis post. "Here are the cartridges," said Victoria's voice, surprisingthem. She had been at the door, which she held ajar, and behind thisscreen had heard and seen all that passed. As Stephen took the box ofcartridges, she caught up the large pail of water which early in theevening had been placed in the dining-room in case of need. "Take thisand put out the fire," she cried to Hamish, who snatched the bucketwithout a word, and dashed its contents over the barricade.
Then she went back to Saidee, who sat on the blankets in a far corner,shivering with cold, though the night was hot, and the room, with itsbarred wooden shutters, close almost beyond bearing. They had kept butone tallow candle lighted, that Victoria might more safely peep out fromtime to time, to see how the fight was going.
"What if our men are all killed," Saidee whispered, as the girl stoleback to her, "and nobody's left to defend us? Cassim and Maieddine willopen the door, over their dead bodies, and then--then----"
"You have a revolver," said Victoria, almost angrily. "Not for them, Idon't mean that. Only--they mustn't take us. But I'm not afraid. Ourmen are brave, and splendid. They have no thought of giving up. And ifCaptain Sabine got our message, he'll be here by dawn."
"Don't forget the shot we heard."
"No. But the pigeon isn't our only hope. The signals!"
"Who knows if an answer came?"
"I know, because I know S
tephen. He wouldn't have come down alive unlesshe'd got an answer."
Saidee said no more, and they sat together in silence, Victoria holdingher sister's icy hand in hers, which was scarcely warmer, though ittingled with the throbbing of many tiny pulses. So they listened to thefiring outside, until suddenly it sounded different to Victoria's ears.She straightened herself with a start, listening even more intensely.
"What's the matter? What do you hear?" Saidee stammered, dry-lipped.
"I'm not sure. But--I think they've used up all the cartridges I tookthem. And there are no more."
"But they're firing still."
"With their revolvers."
"God help us, then! It can't last long," the older woman whispered, andcovered her face with her hands.
Victoria did not stop for words of comfort. She jumped up from the couchof blankets and ran to the door, which Stephen had shut. It must be keptwide open, now, in case the defenders were obliged to rush in for thelast stand. She pressed close to it, convulsively grasping the handlewith her cold fingers.
Then the end came soon, for the enemy had not been slow to detect thedifference between rifle and revolver shots. They knew, even beforeVictoria guessed, exactly what had happened. It was the event they hadbeen awaiting. With a rush, the dozen men dashed over the mound ofcarcasses and charged the burning barricade.
"Quick, Wings," shouted Stephen, defending the way his friend must take.The distance was short from the door of the watch-tower to the door ofthe dining-room, but it was just too long for safety. As Nevill ranacross, an Arab close to the barricade shot him in the side, and hewould have fallen if Stephen had not caught him round the waist, andflung him to Hamish, who carried him to shelter.
A second more, and they were all in the dining-room. Stephen and Angushad barred the heavy door, and already Hamish and Rostafel were firingthrough the two round ventilating holes in the window shutters. Therewere two more such holes in the door, and Stephen took one, Angus theother. But the enemy had already sheltered on the other side of thebarricade, which would now serve them as well as it had served theEuropeans. The water dashed on to the flames had not extinguished all,but the wet mattresses and furniture burned slowly, and the Arabs beganbeating out the fire with their gandourahs.
Again there was a deadlock. For the moment neither side could harm theother: but there was little doubt in the minds of the besieged as to thenext move of the besiegers. The Arabs were at last free to climb thewall, beyond reach of the loopholes in door or window, and could make ahole in the roof of the dining-room. It would take them some time, butthey could do it, and meanwhile the seven prisoners were almost ashelpless as trapped rats.
Of the five men, not one was unwounded, and Stephen began to fear thatNevill was badly hurt. He could not breathe without pain, and though hetried to laugh, he was deadly pale in the wan candlelight. "Don't mindme. I'm all right," he said when Victoria and Saidee began tearing uptheir Arab veils for bandages. "Not worth the bother!" But the sisterswould not listen, and Victoria told him with pretended cheerfulness whata good nurse she was; how she had learned "first aid" at the school atPotterston, and taken a prize for efficiency.
In spite of his protest, Nevill was made to lie down on the blankets inthe corner, while the two sisters played doctor; and as the firing ofthe Arabs slackened, Stephen left the twins to guard door and window,while he and Rostafel built a screen to serve when the breaking of theroof should begin. The only furniture left in the dining-room consistedof one large table (which Stephen had not added to the barricade becausehe had thought of this contingency) and in addition a rough unpaintedcupboard, fastened to the wall. They tore off the doors of thiscupboard, and with them and the table made a kind of penthouse toprotect the corner where Nevill lay.
"Now," said Stephen, "if they dig a hole in the roof they'll find----"
"Flag o' truce, sir," announced Hamish at the door. And Stephenremembered that for three minutes at least there had been no firing. Ashe worked at the screen, he had hardly noticed the silence.
He hurried to join Hamish at the door, and, peeping out, saw a tall man,with a bloodstained bandage wrapped round his head, advancing from theother side of the barricade, with a white handkerchief hanging from thebarrel of his rifle. It was Maieddine, and somehow Stephen was glad thatthe Arab's death did not lie at his door. His anger had cooled, now, andhe wondered at the murderous rage which had passed.
As Maieddine came forward, fearlessly, he limped in spite of an effortto hide the fact that he was almost disabled.
"I have to say that, if the ladies are given up to us, no harm shallcome to them or to the others," he announced in French, in a clear, loudvoice. "We will take the women with us, and leave the men to go theirown way. We will even provide them with animals in place of those wehave killed, that they may ride to the north."
"Do not believe him!" cried Saidee. "Traitors once, they'll be traitorsagain. If Victoria and I should consent to go with them, to save allyour lives, they wouldn't spare you really. As soon as we were in theirhands, they'd burn the house or blow it up."
"There can be no question of our allowing you to go, in any case," saidStephen. "Our answer is," he replied to Maieddine, "that the ladiesprefer to remain with us, and we expect to be able to protect them."
"Then all will die together, except one, who is my promised wife,"returned the Arab. "Tell that one that by coming with me she can saveher sister, whom she once seemed to love more than herself, more thanall the world. If she stays, not only will her eyes behold the death ofthe men who failed to guard her, but the death of her sister. One whohas a right to decide the lady's fate, has decided that she must die inpunishment of her obstinacy, unless she gives herself up."
"Tell Si Maieddine that before he or the marabout can come near us, weshall be dead," Victoria said, in a low voice. "I know Saidee and I cantrust you," she went on, "to shoot us both straight through the heartrather than they should take us. That's what you wish, too, isn't it,Saidee?"
"Yes--yes, if I have courage or heart enough to wish anything," hersister faltered.
But Stephen could not or would not give that message to Maieddine. "Go,"he said, the fire of his old rage flaming again. "Go, you Arab dog!"
Forgetting the flag of truce in his fury at the insult, Maieddine liftedhis rifle and fired; then, remembering that he had sinned against a codeof honour he respected, he stood still, waiting for an answering shot,as if he and his rival were engaged in a strange duel. But Stephen didnot shoot, and with a quick word forbade the others to fire. ThenMaieddine moved away slowly and was lost to sight behind the barricade.
As he disappeared, a candle which Victoria had placed near Nevill'scouch on the floor, flickered and dropped its wick in a pool of grease.There was only one other left, and the lamp had been forgotten in thekitchen: but already the early dawn was drinking the starlight. It wasthree o'clock, and soon it would be day.
For some minutes there was no more firing. Stillness had fallen in thequadrangle. There was no sound except the faint moaning of some woundedanimal that lived and suffered. Then came a pounding on the roof, not inone, but in two or three places. It was as if men worked furiously, withpickaxes; and somehow Stephen was sure that Maieddine, despite hiswounds, was among them. He would wish to be the first to see Victoria'sface, to save her from death, perhaps, and keep her for himself. Still,Stephen was glad he had not killed the Arab, and he felt, though theysaid nothing of it to each other, that Victoria, too, was glad.
They must have help soon now, if it were to come in time. The knockingon the roof was loud.
"How long before they can break through?" Victoria asked, leaving Nevillto come to Stephen, who guarded the door.
"Well, there are several layers of thick adobe," he said, cheerfully.
"Will it be ten minutes?"
"Oh, more than that. Much more than that," Stephen assured her.
"Please tell me what you truly think. I have a reason for asking. Willit be half an hour?
"
"At least that," he said, with a tone of grave sincerity which she nolonger doubted.
"Half an hour. And then----"
"Even then we can keep you safe for a little while, behind the screen.And help may come."
"Have you given up hope, in your heart?"
"No. One doesn't give up hope."
"I feel the same. I never give up hope. And yet--we may have to die, allof us, and for myself, I'm not afraid, only very solemn, for death mustbe wonderful. But for you--to have you give your life for ours----"
"I would give it joyfully, a hundred times for you."
"I know. And I for you. That's one thing I wanted to tell you, incase--we never have a chance to speak to each other again. That, andjust this beside: one reason I'm not afraid, is because I'm with you. IfI die, or live, I shall be with you. And whichever it's to be, I shallfind it sweet. One will be the same as the other, really, for death'sonly a new life."
"And I have something to tell you," Stephen said. "I worship you, and tohave known you, has made it worth while to have existed, though Ihaven't always been happy. Why, just this moment alone is worth all therest of my life. So come what may, I have lived."
The pounding on the roof grew louder. The sound of the picks with whichthe men worked could be heard more clearly. They were rapidly gettingthrough those layers of adobe, of whose thickness Stephen had spoken.
"It won't be half an hour now," Victoria murmured, looking up.
"No. Promise me you'll go to your sister and Nevill Caird behind thescreen, when I tell you."
"I promise, if----"
The pounding ceased. In the courtyard there was a certain confusion--thesound of running feet, and murmur of excited voices, though eyes thatlooked through the holes in the door and window could not see past thebarricade.
Then, suddenly, the pounding began again, more furiously than ever. Itwas as if demons had taken the place of men.
"It is Maieddine, I'm sure!" cried Victoria. "I seem to know what is inhis mind. Something has made him desperate."
"There's a chance for us," said Stephen. "What I believe has happened,is this. They must have stationed a sentinel or two outside the bordj incase of surprise. The raised voices we heard, and the stopping of thework on the roof for a minute, may have meant that a sentinel ran inwith news--good news for us, bad news for the Arabs."
"But--would they have begun to work again, if soldiers were coming?"
"Yes, if help were so far off that the Arabs might hope to reach usbefore it came, and get away in time. Ben Halim's one hope is to make anend of--some of us. It was well enough to disguise the whole band asTouaregs, in case they were seen by nomads, or the landlord here shouldescape, and tell of the attack. But he'd risk anything to silence usmen, and----"
"He cares nothing for Saidee's life or mine. It's only Maieddine whocares," the girl broke in. "I suppose they've horses and meharis waitingfor them outside the bordj?"
"Yes. Probably they're being got ready now. The animals have had anight's rest."
As he spoke, the first bit of ceiling fell in, rough plaster droppingwith a patter like rain on the hard clay floor.
Saidee cried out faintly in her corner, where Nevill had fallen intosemi-unconsciousness behind the screen. Rostafel grumbled a "sapriste!"under his breath, but the Highlanders were silent.
Down poured more plaster, and put out the last candle. Though a faintdawn-light stole through the holes in door and window, the room was dim,almost dark, and with the smell of gunpowder mingled the stench of hottallow.
"Go now, dearest, to your sister," Stephen said to the girl, in a lowvoice that was for her alone.
"You will come?"
"Yes. Soon. But the door and window must be guarded. We can't have thembreaking in two ways at once."
"Give me your hand," she said.
He took one of hers, instead, but she raised his to her lips and kissedit. Then she went back to her sister, and the two clung together insilence, listening to the patter of broken adobe on the floor. At firstit was but as a heavy shower of rain; then it increased in violencelike the rattle of hail. They could hear men speaking on the roof, and agleam of daylight silvered a crack, as Stephen looked up, a finger onthe trigger of his revolver.
"Five minutes more," were the words which repeated themselves in hismind, like the ticking of a watch. "Four minutes. Three. Can I keep mypromise to her, when the time comes!"
A shout broke the question short, like a snapped thread.
He remembered the voice of the marabout, and knew that the sisters mustrecognize it also.
"What does he say?" Stephen called across the room to Victoria, speakingloudly to be heard over voices which answered the summons, whatever itmight be.
"He's ordering Maieddine to come down from the roof. He says fiveseconds' delay and it will be too late--they'll both be ruined. I can'thear what Maieddine answers. But he goes on working still--he won'tobey."
"Fool--traitor! For thy sentimental folly wilt thou sacrifice thypeople's future and ruin my son and me?" Cassim shouted, as the girlstood still to listen. "Thou canst never have her now. Stay, and thoucanst do naught but kill thyself. Come, and we may all be saved. Icommand thee, in the name of Allah and His Prophet, that thou obey me."
The pounding stopped. There was a rushing, sliding sound on the roof.Then all was quiet above and in the courtyard.
Saidee broke into hysterical sobbing, crying that they were rescued,that Honore Sabine was on his way to save them. And Victoria thoughtthat Stephen would come to her, but he did not. They were to live, notto die, and the barrier that had been broken down was raised again.
* * * * * * *
"What if it's only a trap?" Saidee asked, as Stephen opened the door."What if they're behind the barricade, watching?"
"Listen! Don't you hear shots?" Victoria cried.
"Yes. There are shots--far away," Stephen answered. "That settles it.There's no ambush. Either Sabine or the soldiers marching from Azzouzare after them. They didn't go an instant too soon to save their skins."
"And ours," murmured Nevill, roused from his stupor. "Queer, how naturalit seems that we should be all right after all." Then his mind wandereda little, leading him back to a feverish dream. "Ask Sabine, when hecomes--if he's got a letter for me--from Josette."
Stephen opened the door, and let in the fresh air and morning light, butthe sight in the quadrangle was too ugly for the eyes of women. "Don'tcome out!" he called sharply over his shoulder as he turned past thebarricade, with Rostafel at his back.
The courtyard was hideous as a slaughter-house. Only the sky of rose andgold reminded him of the world's beauty and the glory of morning, afterthat dark nightmare which wrapped his spirit like the choking folds of ablack snake.
Outside the broken gate, in the desert, there were more traces of thenight's work; blood-stains in the sand, and in a shadowy hollow here andthere a huddled form which seemed a denser shadow. But it would not movewhen other shadows crept away before the sun.
Far in the distance, as Stephen strained his eyes through thebrightening dawn, he saw flying figures of men on camels and horses; andsounds of shooting came faintly to his ears. At last it ceasedaltogether. Some of the figures had vanished. Others halted. Then itseemed to Stephen that these last were coming back, towards the bordj.They were riding fast, and all together, as if under discipline.Soldiers, certainly: but were they from the north or south? Stephencould not tell; but as his eyes searched the horizon, the doubt wassolved. Another party of men were riding southward, toward Toudja, fromthe north.
"It's Sabine who has chased the Arabs. The others are just too late," hethought. And he saw that the rescuers from Oued Tolga must reach thebordj half an hour in advance of the men from Azzouz.
He was anxious to know what news Sabine had, and the eagerness he feltto hear details soothed the pain and shame which weighed upon his heart.
"How am I to explain--to beg
her forgiveness?" was the question thatasked itself in his mind; but he had no answer to give. Only this hecould see: after last night, he was hers, if she would take him. But hebelieved that she would send him away, that she would despise him whenshe had heard the whole story of his entanglement. She would say that hebelonged to the other woman, not to her. And though he was sure shewould not reproach him, he thought there were some words, some lookswhich, if she could not forget, it would be hard for even her sweetnature to forgive.
He went back to the dining-room with the news of what he had seen. Andas there was no longer any need of protection for the women, theHighlanders came out with him and Rostafel. All four stood at the gateof the bordj as the party of twelve soldiers rode up, on tired horses;but Stephen was in advance, and it was he who answered Sabine's firstbreathless question.
"She's safe. They're both safe, thank God. So are we all, except poorCaird, who's damaged a good deal worse than any of us. But notdangerously, I hope."
"I brought our surgeon," said Sabine, eagerly. "He wanted to be in thiswith me. I had to ask for the command, because you know I'm on specialduty at Tolga. But I had no trouble with Major Duprez when I told himhow friends of mine were attacked by Arab robbers, and how I had got themessage."
"So that's what you told him?"
"Yes. I didn't want a scandal in the Zaouia, for _her_ sake. Nobodyknows that the marabout is for anything in this business. But, ofcourse, if you've killed him----"
"We haven't. He's got clear away. Unless your men have nabbed him andhis friend Maieddine."
"Not we. I'm not sure I cared to--unless we could kill him. But we didhonestly try--to do both. There were six we chased----"
"Only six. Then we must have polished off more than we thought."
"We can find out later how many. But the last six didn't get off withouta scratch, I assure you. They must have had a sentinel watching. We sawno one, but as we were hoping to surprise the bordj these six men, wholooked from a distance like Touaregs, rushed out, mounted horses andcamels and dashed away, striking westward."
"They dared not go north. I'd been signalling----"
"From the broken tower?"
"Yes. As you came, you must have sighted the men from Azzouz. But tellme the rest."
"There's little to tell, and I want your news more than you can wantmine. The Arabs' animals were fresh, and ours tired, for I'd given themno rest. The brutes had a good start of us and made the best of it, butat first I thought we were gaining. We got within gunshot, and firedafter them. Two at least were hit. We came on traces of fresh bloodafterward, but the birds themselves were flown. In any case, it was tobring help I came, not to make captures. Do you think _she_ would likeme to see her now?"
"Come with me and try, before the other rescue party arrives. I'm gladthe surgeon's with you. I'm worried about Caird, and we're all a bitdilapidated. How we're to get him and the ladies away from this place, Idon't know. Our animals are dead or dying."
"You will probably find that the enemy has been generous in spite ofhimself and left you some--all that couldn't be taken away. Strange howthose men looked like Touaregs! You are sure of what they really were?"
"Sure. But since no one else knows, why should the secret leak out?Better for the ladies if the Touareg disguise should hide the truth, asit was meant to do."
"Why not indeed? Since we weren't lucky enough to rid his wife--and theworld of the marabout."
"Then we're agreed: unless something happens to change our minds, wewere attacked by Touaregs."
Sabine smiled grimly. "Duprez bet," he answered, "that I should findthey were not Arabs, but Touaregs. He will enjoy saying 'I told youso.'"
* * * * * * *
That night, and for many nights to come, there was wailing in theZaouia. The marabout had gone out to meet his son, who had been awayfrom school on a pilgrimage, and returning at dark, to avoid the greatheat of the day, had been bitten by a viper. Thus, at least, pronouncedthe learned Arab physician. It was of the viper bite he died, so it wassaid, and no one outside the Zaouia knew of the great man's death untildays afterwards, when he was already buried. Even in the Zaouia it wasnot known by many that he had gone away or returned from a journey, orthat he lay ill. In spite of this secrecy and mystery, however, therewas no gossip, but only wild wailing, of mourners who refused to becomforted. And if certain persons, to the number of twenty or more, weremissing from their places in the Zaouia, nothing was said, after SiMaieddine had talked with the holy men of the mosque. If these missingones were away, and even if they should never come back, it was becausethey were needed to carry out the marabout's wishes, at a vast distance.But now, the dearest wishes of Sidi Mohammed would never be fulfilled.That poignant knowledge was a knife in every man's heart; for men ofripe age or wisdom in the Zaouia knew what these wishes were, and howsome day they were to have come true through blood and fire.
All were sad, though no tongue spoke of any other reason for sadness,except the inestimable loss of the Saint. And sadder than the saddestwas Si Maieddine, who seemed to have lost his youth.
LII
It is a long cry from the bordj of Toudja among the dunes of thesouthern desert, to Algiers, yet Nevill begged that he might be takenhome. "You know why," he said to Stephen, and his eyes explained, ifStephen needed explanations. Nevill thought there might be some chanceof seeing Josette in Algiers, if he were dying. But the army surgeonfrom Oued Tolga pronounced it unsafe to take him so far.
Yet away from Toudja he must go, since it was impossible to care for himproperly there, and the bullet which had wounded him was still in hisside.
Fortunately the enemy had left plenty of camels. They had untetheredall, hoping that the animals might wander away, too far to be caught bythe Europeans, but more than were needed remained in the neighbourhoodof Toudja, and Rostafel took possession of half a dozen good meharis,which would help recoup him for his losses in the bordj. Not one animalhad any mark upon it which could identify the attackers, and saddles andaccoutrements were of Touareg make. The dead men, too, were impossibleto identify, and it was not likely that much trouble would be taken inprosecuting inquiries. Among those whose duty it is to govern Algeria,there is a proverb which, for various good reasons, has come to be muchesteemed: "Let sleeping dogs lie."
Not a man of the five who defended the bordj but had at least one woundto show for his night's work. Always, however, it is those who attack,in a short siege, who suffer most; and the Europeans were not proud ofthe many corpses they had to their credit. There was some patching forthe surgeon to do for all, but Nevill's was the only serious case. TheFrench doctor, De Vigne, did not try to hide the truth from the woundedman's friend; there was danger. The best thing would have been to getNevill to Algiers, but since that was impossible, he must travel in abassour, by easy stages, to Touggourt. Instead of two days' journey theymust make it three, or more if necessary, and he--De Vigne--would gowith them to put his patient into the hands of the army surgeon atTouggourt.
They had only the one bassour; that in which Saidee and Victoria hadcome to Toudja from Oued Tolga, but Nevill was delirious more often thannot, and had no idea that a sacrifice was being made for him. Blankets,and two of the mattresses least damaged by fire in the barricade, werefastened on to camels for the ladies, after the fashion in use forBedouin women of the poorest class, or Ouled Nails who have not yet madetheir fortune as dancers; and so the journey began again.
There was never a time during the three days it lasted, for Stephen toconfess to Victoria. Possibly she did not wish him to take advantage ofa situation created as if by accident at Toudja. Or perhaps she thought,now that the common danger which had drawn them together, was over, itwould be best to wait until anxiety for Nevill had passed, beforetalking of their own affairs.
At Azzouz, where they passed a night full of suffering for Nevill, theyhad news of the marabout's death. It came by telegraph to the operator,just before the party was rea
dy to start on; yet Saidee was sure thatSabine had caused it to be sent just at that time. He had been obligedto march back with his men--the penalty of commanding the force forwhich he had asked; but a letter would surely come to Touggourt, andSaidee could imagine all that it would say. She had no regrets for BenHalim, and said frankly to Victoria that it was difficult not to beindecently glad of her freedom. At last she had waked up from a blackdream of horror, and now that it was over, it hardly seemed real. "Ishall forget," she said. "I shall put my whole soul to forgettingeverything that's happened to me in the last ten years, and every oneI've known in the south--except one. But to have met him and to have himlove me, I'd live it all over again--all."
She kept Victoria with her continually, and in the physical weakness andnervous excitement which followed the strain she had gone through, sheseemed to have forgotten her interest in Victoria's affairs. She did notknow that her sister and Stephen had talked of love, for at Toudja afterthe fight began she had thought of nothing but the danger they shared.
Altogether, everything combined to delay explanations between Stephenand Victoria. He tried to regret this, yet could not be as sorry as hewas repentant. It was not quite heaven, but it was almost paradise tohave her near him, though they had a chance for only a few wordsoccasionally, within earshot of Saidee, or De Vigne, or the twins, whowatched over Nevill like two well-trained nurses. She loved him, since aword from her meant more than vows from other women. Nothing hadhappened yet to disturb her love, so these few days belonged to Stephen.He could not feel that he had stolen them. At Touggourt he would find atime and place to speak, and then it would be over forever. But one joyhe had, which never could have come to him, if it had not been for theperil at Toudja. They knew each other's hearts. Nothing could changethat. One day, no doubt, she would learn to care for some other man, butperhaps never quite in the same way she had cared for him, becauseStephen was sure that this was her first love. And though she might behappy in another love--he tried to hope it, but did not succeedsincerely--he would always have it to remember, until the day of hisdeath, that once she had loved him.
As far out from Touggourt as Temacin, Lady MacGregor came to meet them,in a ramshackle carriage, filled with rugs and pillows in case Nevillwished to change. But he was not in a state to wish for anything, and DeVigne decided for him. He was to go on in the bassour, to the villawhich had been let to Lady MacGregor by an officer of the garrison. Itwas there the little Mohammed was to have been kept and guarded by theHighlanders, if the great scheme had not been suddenly changed in someof its details. Now, the child had inherited his father's high place.Already the news had reached the marabout of Temacin, and flashed on toTouggourt. But no one suspected that the viper which had bitten theSaint had taken the form of a French bullet. Perhaps, had all been knownto the Government, it would have seemed poetical justice that the archplotter had met his death thus. But his plots had died with him; and ifIslam mourned because the Moul Saa they hoped for had been snatched fromthem, they mourned in secret. For above other sects and nations, Islamknows how to be silent.
When they were settled in the villa near the oasis (Saidee and Victoriatoo, for they needed no urging to wait till it was known whether NevillCaird would live or die) Lady MacGregor said with her usual briskness toStephen: "Of course I've telegraphed to that _creature_."
Stephen looked at her blankly.
"That hard-hearted little beast, Josette Soubise," the fairy auntexplained.
Stephen could hardly help laughing, though he had seldom felt lessmerry. But that the tiny Lady MacGregor should refer to tall Josette,who was nearly twice her height, as a "little beast," struck him assomewhat funny. Besides, her toy-terrier snappishness was comic.
"I've nothing _against_ the girl," Lady MacGregor felt it right to goon, "except that she's an idiot to bite off her nose to spite her ownface--and Nevill's too. I don't approve of her at all as a wife for him,you must understand. Nevill could marry a _princess_, and she's nothingbut a little school-teacher with a dimple or two, whose mother andfather were less than _nobody_. Still, as Nevill wants her, she mighthave the grace to show appreciation of the honour, by not spoiling hislife. He's never been the same since he went and fell in love with her,and she refused him."
"You've telegraphed to Tlemcen that Nevill is ill?" Stephen ventured.
"I've telegraphed to the creature that she'd better come here at once,if she wants to see him alive," replied Lady MacGregor. "I suppose sheloves him in her French-Algerian way, and she must have saved up enoughmoney for the fare. Anyhow, if Nevill doesn't live, I happen to knowhe's left her nearly everything, except what the poor boy imagines Iought to have. That's pouring coals of fire on her head!"
"Don't think of his not living!" exclaimed Stephen.
"Honestly I believe he won't live unless that idiot of a girl comes andpurrs and promises to marry him, deathbed or no deathbed."
Again Stephen smiled faintly. "You're a matchmaker, Lady MacGregor," hesaid. "You are one of the most subtle persons I ever saw."
The old lady took this as a compliment. "I haven't lived among Arabs,goodness knows how many years, for nothing," she retorted. "Itelegraphed for her about five minutes after you wired from Azzouz. Infact, my telegram went back by the boy who brought yours."
"She may be here day after to-morrow, if she started at once," Stephenreflected aloud.
"She did, and she will," said Lady MacGregor, drily.
"You've heard?"
"The day I wired."
"You have quite a nice way of breaking things to people, you dear littleladyship," said Stephen. And for some reason which he could not in theleast understand, this speech caused Nevill's aunt to break into tears.
That evening, the two surgeons extracted the bullet from Nevill's side.Afterwards, he was extremely weak, and took as little interest aspossible in things, until Stephen was allowed to speak to him for amoment.
Most men, if told that they had just sixty seconds to spend at thebedside of a dear friend, would have been at a loss what to say in aspace of time so small yet valuable. But Stephen knew what he wished tosay, and said it, as soon as Nevill let him speak; but Nevill beganfirst.
"Maybe--going to--deserve name of Wings," he muttered. "Shouldn'twonder. Don't care much."
"Is there any one thing in this world you want above everything else?"asked Stephen.
"Yes. Sight of--Josette. One thing I--can't have."
"Yes, you can," said Stephen quietly. "She's coming. She started theminute she heard you were ill, and she'll be in Touggourt day afterto-morrow."
"You're not--pulling my leg?"
"To do that would be very injurious. But I thought good news would bebetter than medicine."
"Thank you, Legs. You're a great doctor," was all that Nevill answered.But his temperature began to go down within the hour.
"He'll get the girl, of course," remarked Lady MacGregor, when Stephentold her. "That is, if he lives."
"He will live, with this hope to buoy him up," said Stephen. "And shecan't hold out against him for a minute when she sees him as he is.Indeed, I rather fancy she's been in a mood to change her mind this lastmonth."
"Why this last month?"
"Oh, I think she misunderstood Nevill's interest in Miss Ray, and thathelped her to understand herself. When she finds out that it's for herhe still cares, not some one else, she'll do anything he asks."Afterwards it proved that he was right.
The day after the arrival at Touggourt, the house in its garden nearthe oasis was very quiet. The Arab servants, whom Lady MacGregor hadtaken with the place, moved silently, and for Nevill's sake voices werelowered. There was a brooding stillness of summer heat over the onelittle patch of flowery peace and perfumed shade in the midst of thefierce golden desert. Yet to the five members of the oddly assembledfamily it was as if the atmosphere tingled with electricity. There was acurious, even oppressive sense of suspense, of waiting for something tohappen.
They did not speak of this feel
ing, yet they could see it in eachother's eyes, if they dare to look.
It was with them as with people who wait to hear a clock begin strikingan hour which will bring news of some great change in their lives, forgood or evil.
The tension increased as the day went on; still, no one had said toanother, "What is there so strange about to-day? Do you feel it? Is itonly our imagination--a reaction after strain, or is it that apresentiment of something to happen hangs over us?"
Stephen had not yet had any talk with Victoria. They had seen each otheralone for scarcely more than a moment since the night at Toudja; but nowthat Nevill was better, and the surgeons said that if all went well,danger was past, it seemed to Stephen that the hour had come.
After they had lunched in the dim, cool dining-room, and Lady MacGregorhad proposed a siesta for all sensible people, Stephen stopped the girlon her way upstairs as she followed her sister.
"May I talk to you for a little while this afternoon?" he asked.
Voice and eyes were wistful, and Victoria wondered why, because she wasso happy that she felt as if life had been set to music. She had hopedthat he would be happy too, when Nevill's danger was over, and he hadtime to think of himself--perhaps, too, of her.
"Yes," she said, "let's talk in the garden, when it's cooler. I lovebeing in gardens, don't you? Everything that happens seems morebeautiful."
Stephen remembered how lovely he had thought her in the lily garden atAlgiers. He was almost glad that they were not to have this talk there;for the memory of it was too perfect to mar with sadness.
"I'm going to put Saidee to sleep," she went on. "You may laugh, buttruly I can. When I was a little girl, she used to like me to stroke herhair if her head ached, and she would always fall asleep. And once she'sasleep I shan't dare move, or she'll wake up. She has such happy dreamsnow, and they're sure to come true. Shall I come to you about half-pastfive?"
"I'll be waiting," said Stephen.
It was the usual garden of a villa in the neighbourhood of a deserttown, but Stephen had never seen one like it, except that of the Caid,in Bou-Saada. There were the rounded paths of hard sand, the colour ofpinkish gold in the dappling shadows of date palms and magnolias, andthere were rills of running water that whispered and gurgled as theybathed the dark roots of the trees. No grass grew in the garden, and theflowers were not planted in beds or borders. Plants and trees sprang outof the sand, and such flowers as there were--roses, and pomegranateblossoms, hibiscus, and passion flowers--climbed, and rambled, andpushed, and hung in heavy drapery, as best they could without attentionor guidance. But one of the principal paths led to a kind of arbour, ortemple, where long ago palms had been planted in a ring, and had formeda high green dome, through which, even at noon, the light filtered as ifthrough a dome of emerald. Underneath, the pavement of gold was hard andsmooth, and in the centre whispered a tiny fountain ornamented with oldAlgerian tiles. It trickled rather than played, but its delicate musicwas soothing and sweet as a murmured lullaby; and from the shaded seatbeside it there was a glimpse between tree trunks of the burning desertgold.
On this wooden seat by the fountain Stephen waited for Victoria, andsaw her coming to him, along the straight path that led to the roundpoint. She wore a white dress which Lady MacGregor had brought her, andas she walked, the embroidery of light and shadow made it look like laceof a lovely pattern. She stopped on the way, and, gathering a red rosewith a long stem, slipped it into her belt. It looked like a spot ofblood over her heart, as if a sword had been driven in and drawn out.Stephen could not bear to see it there. It was like a symbol of thewound that he was waiting to inflict.
She came to him smiling, looking very young, like a child who expectshappiness.
"Have I kept you waiting long?" she asked. Her blue eyes, with theshadow of the trees darkening them, had a wonderful colour, almostpurple. A desperate longing to take her in his arms swept over Stephenlike a wave. He drew in his breath sharply and shut his teeth. He couldnot answer. Hardly knowing what he did, he held out his hands, and veryquietly and sweetly she laid hers in them.
"Don't trust me--don't be kind to me," he said, crushing her hands foran instant, then putting them away.
She looked up in surprise, as he stood by the fountain, very tall andpale, and suddenly rather grim, it seemed to her, his expression out oftune with the peace of the garden and the mood in which she had come.
"What is the matter?" she asked, simply.
"Everything. I hardly know how to begin to tell you. Yet I must. Perhapsyou'll think I shouldn't have waited till now. But there's been nochance--at least, I----"
"No, there's been no chance for us to talk, or even to think very muchabout ourselves," Victoria tried to reassure him. "Begin just as youlike. Whatever you say, whatever you have to tell, I won'tmisunderstand."
"First of all, then," Stephen said, "you know I love you. Only you don'tknow how much. I couldn't tell you that, any more than I could tell howmuch water there is in the ocean. I didn't know myself that it waspossible to love like this, and such a love might turn the world intoheaven. But because I am what I am, and because I've done what I havedone, it's making mine hell. Wait--you said you wouldn't misunderstand!The man who loves you ought to offer some sort of spiritual gold anddiamonds, but I've got only a life half spoiled to offer you, if you'lltake it. And before I can even ask you to take it, I'll have to explainhow it's spoiled."
Victoria did not speak, but still looked at him with that look of anexpectant, anxious child, which made him long to snatch her up and turnhis back forever on the world where there was a Margot Lorenzi, andgossiping people, and newspapers.
But he had to go on. "There's a woman," he said, "who--perhaps she caresfor me--I don't know. Anyhow, she'd suffered through our family. I feltsorry for her. I--I suppose I admired her. She's handsome--or peoplethink so. I can hardly tell how it came about, but I--asked her to marryme, and she said yes. That was--late last winter--or the beginning ofspring. Then she had to go to Canada, where she'd been brought up--herfather died in England, a few months ago, and her mother, when she was achild; but she had friends she wanted to see, before--before shemarried. So she went, and I came to Algiers, to visit Nevill. Goodheavens, how banal it sounds! How--how different from the way I feel!There aren't words--I don't see how to make you understand, withoutbeing a cad. But I must tell you that I didn't love her, even at first.It was a wish--a foolish, mistaken wish, I see now--and I saw long ago,the moment it was too late--to make up for things. She was unhappy,and--no, I give it up! I can't explain. But it doesn't change thingsbetween us--you and me. I'm yours, body and soul. If you can forgive mefor--for trying to make you care, when I had no right--if, after knowingthe truth, you'll take me as I am, I----"
"Do you mean, you'd break off your engagement?"
Perhaps it was partly the effect of the green shadows, but the girllooked very pale. Except for her eyes and hair, and the red rose thatwas like a wound over her heart, there was no colour about her.
"Yes, I would. And I believe it would be right to break it," Stephensaid, forcefully. "It's abominable to marry some one you don't love, anda crime if you love some one else."
"But you must have cared for her once," said Victoria.
"Oh, cared! I cared in a way, as a man cares for a pretty woman who'shad very hard luck. You see--her father made a fight for a title that'sin our family, and claimed the right to it. He lost his case, and hismoney was spent. Then he killed himself, and his daughter was leftalone, without a penny and hardly any friends----"
"Poor, poor girl! I don't wonder you were sorry for her--so sorry thatyou thought your pity was love. You couldn't throw her over now, youknow in your heart you couldn't. It would be cruel."
"I thought I couldn't, till I met you," Stephen answered frankly. "Sincethen, I've thought--no, I haven't exactly thought. I've only felt. Thatnight at Toudja, I knew it would be worse than death to have to keep myword to her. I wouldn't have been sorry if they'd killed me then, afteryou
said--that is, after I had the memory of a moment or two ofhappiness to take to the next world."
"Ah, that's because I let you see I loved you," Victoria explainedsoftly, and a little shyly. "I told you I wouldn't misunderstand, and Idon't. Just for a minute I was hurt--my heart felt sick, because Icouldn't bear to think--to think less highly of you. But it was only fora minute. Then I began to understand--so well! And I think you are evenbetter than I thought before--more generous, and chivalrous. You weresorry for _her_ in those days of her trouble, and then you were engaged,and you meant to marry her and make her happy. But at Toudja I showedyou what was in my heart--even now I'm not ashamed that I did, becauseI knew you cared for me."
"I worshipped you, only less than I do now," Stephen broke in. "Everyday I love you more--and will to the end of my life. You can't send meaway. You can't send me to another woman."
"I can, for my sake and yours both, because if I kept you, feeling thatI was wronging some one, neither of us could be happy. But I want you toknow I understand that you have _me_ to be sorry for now, as well asher, and that you're torn between us both, hardly seeing which wayhonour lies. I'm sure you would have kept true to her, if you hadn'thated to make me unhappy. And instead of needing to forgive you, I willask you to forgive me, for making things harder."
"You've given me the only real happiness I've ever known since I was aboy," Stephen said.
"If that's true--and it must be, since you say it--neither of us is tobe pitied. I shall be happy always because you loved me enough to bemade happy by my love. And you must be happy because you've done right,and made me love you more. I don't think there'll be any harm in our nottrying to forget, do you?"
"I could as easily forget to breathe."
"So could I. Ever since the first night I met you, you have seemeddifferent to me from any other man I ever knew, except an ideal man whoused to live in the back of my mind. Soon, that man and you grew to beone. You wouldn't have me separate you from him, would you?"
"If you mean that you'll separate me from your ideal unless I marryMargot Lorenzi, then divide me from that cold perfection forever. I'mnot cold, and I'm far from perfect. But I can't feel it a decent thingfor a man to marry one woman, promising to love and cherish her, if hiswhole being belongs to another. Even you can't----"
"I used to believe it wrong to marry a person one didn't love,"Victoria broke in, quickly. "But it's so different when one talks of animaginary case. This poor girl loves you?"
"I suppose she thinks she does."
"She's poor?"
"Yes."
"And she depends upon you."
"Of course she counts on me. I always expected to keep my word."
"And now you'd break it--for me! Oh, no, I couldn't let you do it. Wereyou--does she expect to be married soon?"
Stephen's face grew red, as if it had been struck. "Yes," he answered,in a low voice.
"Would you mind--telling me how soon?"
"As soon as she gets back from Canada."
Victoria's bosom rose and fell quickly.
"Oh!--and when----"
"At once. Almost at once."
"She's coming back immediately?"
"Yes. I--I'm afraid she's in England now."
"How dreadful! Poor girl, hoping to see you--to have you meet her,maybe, and--you're here. You're planning to break her heart. It breaksmine to think of it. I _couldn't_ have you fail."
"For God's sake don't send me away from you. I can't go. I won't."
"Yes, if I beg you to go. And I do. You must stand by this poor girl,alone in the world except for you. I see from what you tell me, that sheneeds you and appeals to your chivalry by lacking everything except whatcomes from you. It can't be wrong to protect her, after giving yourpromise, even though you mayn't love her in the way you once thought youdid: but it _would_ be wrong to abandon her now----"
A rustling in the long path made Stephen turn. Some one was coming. Itwas Margot Lorenzi.
He could not believe that it was really she, and stared stupidly,thinking the figure he saw an optical illusion.
She had on a grey travelling dress, and a grey hat trimmed with blackribbon, which, Stephen noted idly, was powdered with dust. Her blackhair was dusty, too, and her face slightly flushed with heat,nevertheless she was beautiful, with the luscious beauty of those womenwho make a strong physical appeal to men.
Behind her was an Arab servant, whom she had passed in her eagerness. Helooked somewhat troubled, but seeing Stephen he threw up his hands inapology, throwing off all responsibility. Then he turned and went backtowards the house.
Margot, too, had seen Stephen. Her eyes flashed from him to the figureof the girl, which she saw in profile. She did not speak, but walkedfaster; and Victoria, realizing that their talk was to be interrupted bysomebody, looked round, expecting Lady MacGregor or Saidee.
"It is Miss Lorenzi," Stephen said, in a low voice. "I don't knowhow--or why--she has come here. But for your sake--it will be better ifyou go now, at once, and let me talk to her."
There was another path by which Victoria could reach the house. Shemight have gone, thinking that Stephen knew best, and that she had nomore right than wish to stay, but the tall young woman in grey began towalk very fast, when she saw that the girl with Stephen was going.
"Be kind enough to stop where you are, Miss Ray. I know you must be MissRay," Margot called out in a loud, sharp voice. She spoke as if Victoriawere an inferior, whom she had a right to command.
Surprised and hurt by the tone, the girl hesitated, looking from thenewcomer to Stephen.
At first glance and at a little distance, she had thought the youngwoman perfectly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful creature she hadever seen--even more glorious than Saidee. But when Miss Lorenzi camenearer, undisguisedly angry and excited, the best part of her beauty wasgone, wiped away, as a face in a picture may be smeared before the paintis dry. Her features were faultless, her hair and eyes magnificent. Herdress was pretty, and exquisitely made, if too elaborate for deserttravelling; her figure charming, though some day it would be too stout;yet in spite of all she looked common and cruel. The thought thatStephen Knight had doomed himself to marry this woman made Victoriashiver, as if she had heard him condemned to imprisonment for life.
She had thought before seeing Miss Lorenzi that she understood thesituation, and how it had come about. She had said to Stephen, "Iunderstand." Now, it seemed to her that she had boasted in a silly,childish way. She had not understood. She had not begun to understand.
Suddenly the girl felt very old and experienced, and miserably wise inthe ways of the world. It was as if in some other incarnation she hadknown women like this, and their influence over men: how, if they tried,they could beguile chivalrous men into being sorry for them, and doingalmost anything which they wished to be done.
A little while ago Victoria had been thinking and speaking of MargotLorenzi as "poor girl," and urging Stephen to be true to her for his ownsake as well as hers. But now, in a moment, everything had changed. Astrange flash of soul-lightning had shown her the real Margot, unworthyof Stephen at her best, crushing to his individuality and aspirations ather worst. Victoria did not know what to think, what to do. In place ofthe sad and lonely girl she had pictured, here stood a woman alreadyselfish and heartless, who might become cruel and terrible. No one hadever looked at Victoria Ray as Miss Lorenzi was looking now, not evenMiluda, the Ouled Nail, who had stared her out of countenance, curiouslyand maliciously at the same time.
"I have heard a great deal about Miss Ray in Algiers," Margot went on."And I think--you will _both_ understand why I made this long, tiresomejourney to Touggourt."
"There is no reason why Miss Ray should understand," said Stephenquickly. "It can't concern her in the least. On your own account itwould have been better if you had waited for me in London. But it's toolate to think of that now. I will go with you into the house."
"No," Margot answered. "Not yet. And you're not to put on such a tonewith
me--as if I'd done something wrong. I haven't! We're engaged, and Ihave a perfect right to come here, and find out what you've been doingwhile I was at the other side of the world. You promised to meet me atLiverpool--and instead, you were here--with _her_. You never even sentme word. Yet you're surprised that I came on to Algiers. Of course, whenI was _there_, I heard everything--or what I didn't hear, I guessed. Youhadn't bothered to hide your tracks. I don't suppose you so much asthought of me--poor me, who went to Canada for your sake really. Yes!I'll tell you why I went now. I was afraid if I didn't go, a man who wasin love with me there--he's in love with me now and always will be, forthat matter!--would come and kill you. He used to threaten that he'dshoot any one I might marry, if I dared throw him over; and he's thekind who keeps his word. So I didn't want to throw him over. I wentmyself, and stayed in his mother's house, and argued and pleaded withhim, till he'd promised to be good and let me be happy. So you see--thejourney was for you--to save you. I didn't want to see him again formyself, though _his_ is real love. You're cold as ice. I don't believeyou know what love is. But all the same I can't be jilted by you--foranother woman. I won't have it, Stephen--after all I've gone through. Ifyou try to break your solemn word to me, I'll sue you. There'll beanother case that will drag your name before the public again, and notonly yours----"
"Be still, Margot," said Stephen.
She grew deadly pale. "I will not be still," she panted. "I _will_ havejustice. No one shall take you away from me."
"No one wishes to take me away," Stephen flung at her hotly. "Miss Rayhas just refused me. You've spared me the trouble of taking heradvice----"
"What was it?" Margot looked suddenly anxious, and at the same timeself-assertive.
"That I should go at once to England--and to you."
Victoria took a step forward, then paused, pale and trembling. "Oh,Stephen!" she cried. "I take back that advice. I--I've changed my mind.You can't--you can't do it. You would be so miserable that she'd bewretched, too. I see now, it's not right to urge people to do things,especially when--one only _thinks_ one understands. She doesn't love youreally. I feel almost sure she cares more for some one else, if--if itwere not for things you have, which she wants. If you're rich, as Isuppose you must be, don't make this sacrifice, which would crush yoursoul, but give her half of all you have in the world, so that she can behappy in her own way, and set you free gladly."
As Victoria said these things, she remembered M'Barka, and the prophecyof the sand; a sudden decision to be made in an instant, which wouldchange her whole life.
"I'll gladly give Miss Lorenzi more than half my money," said Stephen."I should be happy to think she had it. But even if you begged me tomarry her, Victoria, I would not now. It's gone beyond that. Her waysand mine must be separate forever."
Margot's face grew eager, and her eyes flamed.
"What I want and insist on," she said, "is that I must have my rights.After all I've hoped for and expected, I _won't_ be thrown over, and goback to the old, dull life of turning and twisting every shilling. Ifyou'll settle thirty thousand pounds on me, you are free, so far as Icare. I wouldn't marry a man who hated me, when there's one who adoresme as if I were a saint--and I like him better than ever I did you--alot better. I realize that more than I did before."
The suggestion of Margot Lorenzi as a saint might have made a looker-onsmile, but Victoria and Stephen passed it by, scarcely hearing.
"If I give you thirty thousand pounds, it will leave me a poor man," hesaid.
"Oh, _do_ give her the money and be a poor man," Victoria implored. "Ishall be so happy if we are poor--a thousand times happier than shecould be with millions."
Stephen caught the hand that half unconsciously the girl held out tohim, and pressed it hard. "If you will go back to your hotel now," hesaid to Margot, in a quiet voice, "I will call on you there almost atonce, and we can settle our business affairs. I promise that you shallbe satisfied."
Margot looked at them both for a few seconds, without speaking. "I'llgo, and send a telegram to Montreal which will make somebody therehappier than any other man in Canada," she answered. "And I'll expectyou in an hour."
When she had gone, they forgot her.
"Do you really mean, when you say we--_we_ shall be happy poor, thatyou'll marry me in spite of all?" Stephen asked.
"Oh, yes, if you want me still," Victoria said.
"Does a man want Heaven!" He took her in his arms and held her close,closer than he had held her the night at Toudja, when he had thoughtthat death might soon part them. "You've brought me up out of thedepths."
"Not I," the girl said. "Your star."
"Your star. You gave me half yours."
"Now I give it to you all," she told him. "And all myself, too. Oh,isn't it wonderful to be so happy--in the light of our star--and toknow that the others we love will be happy, too--my Saidee, and your Mr.Caird----"
"Yes," Stephen answered. "But just at this moment I can't think muchabout any one except ourselves, not even your sister and my best friend.You fill the universe for me."
"It's filled with love--and it _is_ love," said Victoria. "The music issweeter for us, though, because we know it's sweet for others. I_couldn't_ let her spoil your life, Stephen."
"My life!" he echoed. "I didn't know what life was or might be till thismoment. Now I know."
"Now we both know," she finished.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
Page and line numbers in these notes refer to the original printed text.
Obvious punctuation corrections have been applied silently whereapplicable.
As much as possible, the original spelling in the book has beenpreserved. The authors commonly use different hyphenation for severalwords throughout (for example, "note-book" on page 283, line 9, asopposed to "notebook" on page 285, line 16). There are mixes of English,American, and French spelling. The spelling of some names that appearonly once or twice is ambiguous (for example, "Cheikh" on page 55, line27, and "Cheik" on page 143, line 5). In cases like these, the text hasbeen left as in the printed version.
The following appear to be typographical errors and have been correctedin this text.
Page 40, line 20: "Christo" (Cristo).
Page 62, line 1: "dribge" (bridge).
Page 77, line 4: "hautes" (hauts).
Page 92, line 20: "filagree" (filigree).
Page 99, line 9: "ecole" (ecole).
Page 184, line 8: "khol" (kohl).
Page 217, line 1: "Michelet" (Michelet).
Page 235, line 16: "Neville's" (Nevill's).
Page 235, line 34: "Neville" (Nevill).
Page 425, line 26: "massage" (message).
Page 430, line 11: "usuper" (usurper).
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