BRIDE FROM
THE DESERT
BY
GRANT ALLEN
AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN WHO DID "
NEW YORK
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
II2 FIFTH AVENUE


Kenaga
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Jain b 1959
56*24
COPYRIGHT, 1896
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
A Bride from the Desert





8
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
.
ter-deck after dinner, enjoying their cigarettes
and the fresh breeze from eastward. The ladies
were lounging at ease in long wicker chairs, and
watching the stars come out one by one in the
pale sky above them.
“ Beautiful evening !" said the women, look-
ing up at the countless host of heaven.
“ Beautiful evening !" echoed the men, strik-
ing a fresh wax vesta, and looking down at
their boots, as they puffed away vigorously at
the cigarettes they were lighting.
For it's the way of women to look up on their
path through life ; while it's the way of men, to
look down, or, at the very best, to look round
about them.
“To-morrow morning,” Mona Wallace ob-
served at last, wreathing her loose, white woolen
shawl lightly about her hatless head, "we shall
get to Aden."
“If nothing happens to us meanwhile,” the
croaky old gentleman in the pith helmet inter-
posed, with a very wise nod. “Most dangerous
coast, this—most dangerous-most dangerous.
And if once you run ashore-click, click ; click,
click. Nothing but this to expect from those
wretched Somanlis.” And the croaky old gen-
tleman drew his open hand across his throat
with a gently gurgling noise, intended to repre-
sent with dramatic force the probable action of


10
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
merea out, half betraying herself as she spoke.
“At least ... that is to say. ... Well,
Wilfrid Moyle's there, don't you know. You
remember, of course, about Wilfrid Moyle ?
I'm sure you must have heard Geraldine speak
of him often."
Geraldine was Mona's married sister at
Moozuffernugger, to whom she had been paying
a long visit in what is politely known in India as
“ the cool season.” The younger bachelors on
board, indeed, somewhat rudely described their
pretty fellow-passenger as a “returned empty,”
which is the vulgar and reprehensible Anglo-
India name for any marriageable girl who runs
out to Calcutta or Bombay on a visit, and then
goes back unmarried; for so conceited is that
noble specimen of our race and culture, the
covenanted civil servant in up-country stations,
that he fancies every woman who comes within
fifty miles of his distinguished presence must be
devoured with the insane and incomprehensible
ambition of winning him for her husband. It
was strange, however, that anybody, even a
Deputy Collector—that perfect embodiment of
the purest cynicism-could look at Mona
Wallace's frank young face, and yet credit her
for a moment with such a fatuous endeavor.
Just turned nineteen, and as fresh as an English
primrose, Mona possessed that crowing charm


OFF CAPE GUARDAFUI.
of utter feminine unconsciousness, which puts
the last finishing touch of perfection on a pretty
girl's prettiness. So Mrs. D'Arcy thought, as
she gazed admiringly at her blushing charge,
with that tell-tale crimson spot starring the very
centre of her soft round cheek. “Oho," she
said quietly, in a low, still voice, “ so that's
how the wind blows, is it, Mona ? But, my
dear, if I understood Geraldine right, this Mr.
Moyle is nothing but a common soldier."
“He's our rector's son at Whittingham," Mona
answered, bridling up with very pretty indigna-
tion. “And he's a Rugby boy, and an Oxford
man, and a perfect gentleman."
“But he ran away from home and enlisted,
didn't he ?" Mrs. D'Arcy persisted, drawing
her on, of malice prepense, and tapping one
pretty little foot half impatiently on the quarter-
deck. As a conscientious chaperon, the Deputy
Collector's wife desired to find out how far
things had gone already between Mona Wallace
and this very undesirable and ineligible young
man, before deciding whether or not she'd
allow her to see him at Aden.
Mona spoke up bravely, like a solider's
daughter and sister that she was, in defense of
her friend. “ His father and he had differ-
ences," she said, still bridling, “about his
expenses at Oxford. I believe Mr. Moyle's a


12
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
very strict man-clergymen sometimes are with
their sons, you know-and Wilfrid was high-
spirited and full of energy, and couldn't bear to
be kept down. So at last, when he'd taken his.
degree, he didn't like to be ordained, as his
father wished, because he felt he had no special
call for the Church; and there I think he was
quite right, you know, though his uncle Fred
would have given him a fat family living. But
Wilfrid said no man ought to go into the Church
just for the sake of the loaves and fishes ; he
wouldn't take orders as a mere means of liveli-
hood-nor at all-unless he was really convinced
he had a vocation that way, instead of which, as
it happened, he'd always had a burning desire
for entering the army. And as he was too old
to get a commission in the regular course, why,
he did what he could, and enlisted as a private.
And now he means to work his way up till he's
promoted from the ranks; and he will do it, too,
of that I'm certain, for he has plenty of pluck,
and perseverance, and energy.
" I see,” Mrs. D'Arcy said blandly, smiling the
wise little smile of the comely British matron, as
Mona ceased abruptly, quite flushed with her
enthusiasm. “And now, dear, how long has this
been going on between you and Wilfrid ?"
Mona looked up at her astonished.
“How long has what been going on ?" she


OFF CAPE GUARDAFUI.
15
very fond indeed of Wilfrid. She would never
accept any other man till Wilfrid was at least
in a position to ask her. And he would be,
some day. She felt sure of that. Wilfrid would
rise ; he would conquer all difficulties. He was
a good fellow at heart, common soldier or not,
and she believed he loved her. Though he'd
never said so, to be sure ; he'd never quite said
so; but looks mean often far more than words,
and Mona believed Wilfrid Moyle's looks. She
was certain he would come home some day to
claim her.
They lingered long on deck that evening,
pacing up and down, the bachelor civilian and
Mona Wallace, for it was a tempting night, and
nobody was in any hurry to go below from that
soft, fresh air to the stuffy confinement of a
stateroom in the Indian Ocean. It can be pretty
hot, I can tell you, between decks when it tries,
off the Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. As they
walked up and down they caught from time to
time vague murmurs of a conversation going
briskly on upon the bridge, between the captain
of the ship and the second officer. It was a
nautical conversation, of no general interest. It
seemed to have something to do with the course
the Lord Mayo was taking.
“What land's that ahead ?" the Captain asked
sharply, looking out past the bows into the dim,


16
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
starlit night-for there was no moon as yet.
“Oughtn't to be any land so high, surely, any-
where hereabouts, Talbot.”
“No, sir," the second officer answered, staring
ahead in his turn, and shading his eyes carefully
from the glare of the starboard light. “I can't
make it out at all. Looks precious unfamiliar.
The coast seems to have gone wrong on our
port bow somehow. Isn't that an island, too, on
our weather side ? No island over there. No
right to be an island. But perhaps it's only
clouds. We shall make it all out better when
the moon rises."
The captain tramped up and down the bridge
in evident doubt. “Very queer," he said slowly,
taking a glance at his compass as he passed, with
a puzzled and screwed-up face.“ Left the Guard-
afui light behind more than a knot and a half.
We're making about fourteen knots an hour now.
Shouldn't be any land in front at all. Never
heard of anything so odd in my born days.
Nothing wrong with the compass. We're steer-
ing the straight course right enough for Aden."
“ Must be clouds, sir," the second officer sug-
gested, scrutinizing the binnacle in turn, and
scanning the horizon hard. Then he shouted
aloud to the look-out man in the forecastle, “Do
you make that out dust-storm or only fog-bank
to starboard, Jenkins ?”


OFF CAPE GUARDAFUI.
17
“ Neither, sir," the man answered, suddenly,
with a somewhat tremulous voice, “ Breakers
on the port bow-high land on starboard. ...
Hold hard ! ... What's this? ... We're
out of our course, sir! Look out! Breakers
ahead! Breakers ahead on all sides of us !"
The captain gave a start. His face turned
white as a sheet. “I tell you what it is, Tal-
bot," he cried, seizing the officer's arm and grip-
ping it hard," that wasn't the Guardafui light
we passed a while ago at all. We've been
shamefully taken in. These Somanlis have
been tricking us. It must have been a false
light on a point a good bit south by west of
Guardafui. Those are mountains in front.
We're in for a pretty mess." His hand touched
the electric bell with a quick signal to the en-
gine-room. He rang twice ; then three times.
“Easy! Stop her! Back her !”
It wasn't a moment too soon. Even Mona
Wallace, pausing all unconcerned on the civil-
ian's arm, saw a white line of breakers just
abreast of their bow, lighted up by a dim beam
- from the green and red lamps of the steamer's
signals. In another second, with marvellous
speed, the engines had slowed-stopped dead
short-reversed. Mrs. D'Arcy ran up with a
face like a ghost's. “Where are we?" she cried,
terrified. “Oh, Mona-Mr. Walters-what does


OFF CAPE GUARDAFUI.
more in number two! Stop there! No one
else! Now go! Steady, boys, steady!” His
voice was as free from any quiver of fear, as if
he were engaged in entering a friendly port.
But on the shore just beyond, gazing blankly
through the gloom, Mona dimly descried a ter-
rible sight that made her full heart first quail
and then stand still with terror within her-a
sight a thousand times worse than the sea or the
breakers.
For on the beach, right in front, she could
make out with her sharp eyes row upon row of
dusky faces, girt round with white hoods, and
draped below in long, Arab robes, just visible in
grey line against the darker background. Here
and there among the groups flitted still duskier,
and almost unclad figures ; in the rear, many
bare heads of negro warriors made themselves
vaguely felt more by motion and turmoil than
by any visible color. All alike were gazing
eagerly in front of them, at the sinking ship.
Not a hand was stretched to save ; not a voice
was raised to cheer them. Low murmurs and
hoarse curses rose faintly, at times above the roar
and crash of the curling waves. But that was
all. With a shudder of horror Mona recognized
what it all meant. They had fallen into the
cruel and remorseless hands of Arab and African
wreckers.


A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
CHAPTER II
LANDING AT MATAFU.
On shore meanwhile, that night, there were
fierce joy and hushed suspense, in a certain So-
manli village among the fanatic band of Mah-
dist and Wahabee warriors. A strange intoxi-
cation of religious frenzy had broken like a flood
over the whole east coast of Africa. For those
were the days just after the fall of Khartoum ;
and dervishes from the Mahdi's camp-wild
preachers of a Holy War-scattered east and
west north and south to spread the tidings of his
victory, had stirred up the savage tribesmen
with their fiery words to an extraordinary pitch
of bigotry and enthusiasm. Incredible rumors
spread like wildfire through the bazaars. The
day of revenge had come. The infidels were to
be extirpated. Allah in his mercy had been
pleased to þegin the regeneration of Islam.
The Mahdi, his prophet, had slain Gordon Pasha,
the great leader of the Nazarenes—the viper of
mankind—and cut off five hundred thousand of
the enemy's army. The Feringhees, the Eng-


LANDING AT MATAFU.
lish, the despised and hated Franks, had been
delivered into his hands to slay and spare not.
Elsewhere, men said in those days, the Mussul-
man faith was equally active. Another great
mutiny had broken out in the Land of Hind.
The Faithful of Agra and Delhi, it was whis-
pered abroad, had risen in their might, like a
strong man refreshed, and flung the generals of
the unbelievers, as in 1857, into the wells and
ditches. No tale was too wild or too fantastic
for these naked devotees to swallow whole.
They were drunk with Moslem zeal ; they were
maddened and stung by unearthly visions.
On this particular evening, then, when the
Lord Mayo hove in sight upon the gray horizon,
at first a mere long, black line of trailing smoke,
then a great hull dimly descried amid the dark
waves to eastward-Hadji Daood of Nejd, one
of the fiercest and wildest of the Mahdi's emis-
saries, was haranguing a villageful of Somanli
warriors in battle array, under a spreading bao-
bab.
“ There is no God but Allah," he cried, with
his black locks streaming free in the evening
breeze, and his tawny breast bare, like an as-
cetic that he was.
“No God but Allah, and Mohammed is his
prophet. And as Mohammed was in days gone
by, so is now in the ends of the earth his suc-


A BRIKE FROM THE DESERT,
cessor, the Mahdi. Who would earn the joys of
Paradise, who would enter into his rest, who
would sup with the houris in the bowers of bliss
—that man must cast in his lot with the Mahdi
to-day in the great and terrible fight for Islam.
This is a Jehad, a Holy War, a war of extermin-
ation. No infidel on earth must be left alive.
Slay, slay, and spare not. Slay man, woman
and child. Slay every Frank, every Nazarene
on whom you can lay your hand. This is Allah's
command. It is Allah who has willed it. Now
is his chosen time. Now is his day of vengeance.
Death, death to the Giaour-man, woman and
child-and let the Faithful of Islam inherit the
kingdom !"
Even as he shrieked out these fiery words,
writhing his body, and foaming fiercely at the
mouth, he drew his gleaming knife, and gashed
his own bare flesh with the blade till the blood
flowed from the wound freely. “So must we
shed our blood,” he cried, clapping his hand to
the gash, and holding it up before their eyes all
red and dripping. “ So must we pour forth our
blood, if we would be true to Islam and inherit
Paradise.”
At the word one of his followers stretched his
hand towards the horizon.
“It is well !” he cried. See, see! A ship !


LANDING AT MATAFU.
23
They are coming. Allah sends them to our
shore! One of the steamers of the infidel !”
The dervish turned round and stared hard at
it with eyes starting wildly from his head.
“Good, good,” he murmured, half to himself.
“He speaks true indeed. This is the finger
of Allah.... I know that ship well. I
know who sail upon her. ... She comes
from the land of India. Those are fugitives
from Bombay, from Delhi, from Hyderabad.
The Moslems of Sind and the Moslems of Hind
have rallied to the Prophet and to the Mahdi
his messenger. They have cut every throat of
the Nazarenes in Calcutta. A miserable rem-
nant alone has escaped from the massacre.
They sail on that ship. And even those our
Allah has sent hither for us to plunder."
At the sound of that fierce hint, which prom-
ised them not only Paradise, but present and
temporal booty, the Somanlis with one accord
shouted,
“How, how, O Dervish ?"
Hadji Daood of Nejd paused for one oratorical
moment to survey, with a quiet smile, the fierce
mass of eager eyes and mouths and upturned
faces before him. Then he continued, with
slow emphasis,
“A light. A false light. A revolving light.


24
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
Let it lead them astray. Let them take it for
Cape Guardafui."
At the suggestion, a wild shout of joy went
careering through all that tumultuous crowd.
“ Hadji Daood speaks well!" they cried. “He
speaks well, by Allah. Quick, quick! A false
light! Raise it high on the headland. To the
glory of Allah ! To the safety of Islam !"
In a minute or two the whole surging mob had
rushed headlong to the top of the jutting cliff,and
reared up on a low whitewashed and flat-roofed
house a tall frame of big timbers, tied loosely
together. Then, with a few square mirrors, col-
lected hastily from the women's quarters, and a
great ball of pitched tow, steeped through and
through in petroleum, they manufactured in an
.incredibly short space of time a very tolerable
imitation of the Guardafui lighthouse. Hadji
Daood was the proud possessor of a European
watch-looted some weeks before from the dead
body of an English officer at Khartoum. By
its aid the savage wreckers shifted the mirrors
at intervals of three minutes, so as to mimic the
revolving light on the one recognized headland
of the ocean highway. It was an ingenious
enough imitation to deceive the captain of the
Lord Mayo himself ; all the more so as lights are
few and far between indeed on that desert stretch
of wild African coastland.


LANDING AT MATAFU.
“For Heaven's sake, land no more, boats !
The Somanlis are killing us. Take care of
your own lives. Put out to sea for Aden, and
send troops to avenge us !”
It was all he had time to say. Scarcely were
the words well out of his mouth when those
blood-begrimed black hands seized the gunwale
by the bows; and the occupants of the boat felt
themselves drawn hastily up by twenty strong
black arms to the high ridge of shingle. Then
in the glare of the torches began once more a
ghastly carnival of slaughter. Mona cowered
close to Mrs. D'Arcy and shut her eyes tight
with terror, bending her head to await the fatal
blow she felt sure was coming. Mrs. D'Arcy
held her little friend's hand clasped in hers, and
with her lips closed hard, sat bolt upright in her
place, prepared to die like a true-hearted Eng-
lish woman. For a minute or two they sat still
there, and felt as if the bitterness of death were
surely past. Then a horrible noise fell on
Mona's ear ; she knew perfectly what it was;
some savage had cleft their officer's skull in two,
and that sound was the swish of the short sword
crashing through it. Something hot and thick
spattered on her cheek at the self same moment ;
that was the officer's blood spurting fresh from
the wound, and sprinkled all around him. Mona
cowered and shrank, and drew her breath even


30
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
deeper and slower than before. Would her turn
come next? . . . Would her turn never
come? ... How long did the savages mean
to continue this unspeakable torture ?
One by one, the Somanlis fell fiercely on the
men in the boat and killed them. They mangled
them in their rage; they hacked the lifeless
bodies with strange curses into a thousand
pieces. Only the women now remained, and
one or two of those too the savages hewed dowu
with remorseless weapons. At last there came
a lull, they paused for a moment and spoke hast-
ily with one another. Mona and Mrs. D'Arcy
could not hear or understand the words they
said, but even in the vague terror of that awful
hour they were dimly aware from the varying
tones of expostulation and rage that the Soman.
lis were discussing or quarreling among them-
selves. One loud voice in particular gave com-
mand above the rest. It was a guttural Arab
voice, very clear and imperative-it belonged, in
point of fact, to Hadji Daood of Nejd, the
Mahdi's dervish.
“Kill all ! Kill all !" it said in strident Ara-
bic. “ This is a Holy War! Kill every man,
woman, or child of the infidels ?"
Mona shuddered as she heard. Though she
understood not a single word of that hateful
tongue, she felt sure from the very tone and


LANDING AT MATAFU.
manner of his speech that the person in com-
mand was exhorting his followers to go on and
murder them.
But still, for some unknown reason, the So-
manlis hesitated. Their first wild thirst for
blood was partially satisfied now; their very
arms were tired ; and their cupidity and love of
plunder were beginning to assert themselves.
“ The women are good marketable, personable
bodies," one naked wretch said, eyeing them
askance, as they crouched there in speechless
terror. “Very sound young women! They'd
fetch a good price. Why waste and destroy
such good, useful cattle ?”.
For to your African a woman is as much a
piece of goods as a cow or a camel.
But Hadji Daood of Nejd was not a man to
be gainsaid or to stick at trifles.
“ Allah has willed it,” he cried aloud, step-
ping forward himself, and lifting his own curved
sword to strike the deadly blow. “This is a
Holy War. Death, death to the infidels !"
He swung it round with a loud swish, ready
to bring it down with terrible effect on Mona's
defenceless head. But even before he could do
so, half-a-dozen black Somanlis, now eager for
gain, interposed their strong arms to prevent
such culpable waste of good saleworthy slave
stuff. “No, no," one naked warrior cried, push-


34 .
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
gone. They had started in hot pursuit of the
last boat from the Lord Mayo.
And she and Mrs. D'Arcy sat huddled to-
gether in a heap upon the blood-stained beach,
alone with a dozen or so of half-naked black
Africans, beside the hacked and bleeding and
mutilated corpses of their murdered fellow-
countrymen. It was a ghastly sight. They hid
their faces in their hands, and refused to behold


AWAY TO ADEN!
CHAPTER III.
A WAY TO A DEN!
The third and largest boat that put off from
the wreck, was the only one of the lot that car-
ried firearms. It was armed to the teeth, in
fact. The captain, last of the officers, as usual,
to quit the deck of the sinking steamer, had
taken the precaution of slipping his revolver
into his pocket before he left the ship; and sev-
eral of the sailors had provided themselves hast-
ily in the hurry of the moment with knives or
short cutlasses. In the first aların of the ground-
ing, indeed, the one thought of the authorities
had been to get the women and children and the
elder passengers into the boats with safety; the
immediate danger from the sea was too fierce
and too pressing to allow time for reflection on
the remoter danger of hostilities from those
wild and savage African tribesmen. But as
soon as the passengers had all been safely
housed, and the boats had been lowered in due
course from the davits, the captain bethought
him on a sudden, of the less obvious risk.


36
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
“Take your arms, men,” he cried. “Jones,
get out the revolvers. These brutes may attack
us and prevent us from landing. We must be
prepared for the worst. We may have to fight
for the women and children."
Before they left the deck, however, a warning
voice from the crest of the wave had reached
them where they stood the voice of the first
officer standing up in his place and shouting
above the roar of these deafening breakers, as
only a sailor can shout:
“Land no more boats. The Somanlis' are
killing us. Take care of your own lives. Put
out to sea to Aden, and send troops to avenge
us !"
Thus warned the captain looked ahead, and
peering deep through the gloom, saw aghast
with his own eyes, the horrible tragedy that was
being enacted then and there on the high beach
before him. It was useless to interpose ; so
much, he saw at a glance. Most, if not all of
his passengers were already massacred in cold
blood by those infuriated savages; the mere
handful of men he had left with him on the ship,
if they tried to land at all in the face of such an
armed mob could only share the fate of their
unhappy countrymen. The disproportion in
numbers was simply overwhelming. There re-
mained but one chance now, as the first officer


AWAY TO ADEN!
said, to make straight for Aden, and rouse to
revenge the British garrison. They would be
pursued, of course, perhaps overtaken and
slaughtered; but their sole hope of safety, all
the same, lay there ; they must put straight out
to sea and grope their way across the water in
an open boat to Aden.
In three minutes the sailors were fully armed
for a fight; the boat was manned and lowered,
and impelled by sturdy British arms over the
unruffled sea, was making off at full speed, from
the scene of that deadly massacre.
Perhaps if they'd known that Mona and Mrs.
D'Arcy sat crouching there still on the blood-
stained beach, between little pools of gore in
abject misery, they might have landed in spite
of everything and sold their lives dear in de-
fence of their countrywomen. But even if they
had, it would have availed them little. The
savages, fifty to one, could have overpowered
them at a blow by mere numerical superiority.
In their present drunken rage of fanaticism and
bloodthirstiness, no power on earth would have
restrained them from attacking the infidel; they
would have blotted out the Lord Mayo's crew
from the face of the earth as ruthlessly as a
farmer destroys a brood of rats in an infested
rick-yard.
For three or four minutes the Englishmen


38
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
rowed on across the bay unperceived. The
quarrel with the Hadji over Mona's fate and
Mrs. D'Arcy's kept the Somanlis for the time
being from perceiving their departure. At the
end of that short breathing space, however, a
loud shout from shoreward rent the sky. They
knew well what it meant. It was the Hadji ex-
horting his pack of wolves to man the boat and
follow them. Two minutes later a dark object
glided out past the wreck upon the gray waters
of the bay. . A boat had been launched! It was
hand to hand now! The Somanlis were after
them !
Then began a fierce and exciting chase over
the still evening waters, the Englishmen at first
flying hard as if for their lives across the silent
sea; the Africans pressing on, mad with loot
and religion, in desperate haste to overtake and
destroy them. For several minutes at the start
the captain's one idea was to get away off and
run safe to Aden; all ideas of revenge he put
aside for the present till they could land with a
regular armed force at the offending village,
which he believed to be a place of the name of
Matafu. But after a time, as they rowed on,
silent and calm, but straining every nerve of
their bodies to make the heavy life-boat travel
fast through the rippling water, a change began
to come over the spirit of their project. It be-


AWAY TO ADEN !
39
gan to strike them that the pursuit was inade-
quate. The captain looked back-rubbed his
eyes-leaned forward. “Hullo! what was this?
Only one boat following ?" He peered once more
across the abyss of darkness to see if perchance
yet others might be coming up slower through
the gloom from behind. But no; not an oar.
Not a sign or a sound of one. Quick as light-
ning his tactics changed ; his mind was made
up for open war. “Easy all !” he cried aloud,
in a voice of sudden resolve. “Don't waste
your strength rowing, boys! Go gently ahead.
Draw them on. Let them follow us. There's
only one boat, I see. We're more than a match
for it. It may catch us up if it likes. Once
we're well away from land and out of reach of
their neighbors, we'll fight these fellows to the
death. They shall pay with their lives for it.”
“ All right, sir," the officer in front made
answer, with true nautical promptitude, seizing
the cue at once. “We're ready when they come.
We'll give 'em pepper. Don't fear that. They
shall have a warm reception."
In obedience to the order, they slowed off their
pace gradually, and let the Somanlis in the other
boat approach by gentle degrees almost within
hailing distance. The savages, unaccustomed to
ouch wily tactics, leaped at once at the conclu-
sion that the Englishmen were tiring. Hadji


40
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
Daood himself, mad with blood and excitement,
stood up eagerly in the stern and exhorted his
followers with fierce gestures to still greater
exertions.
“Row, row, sons of the faithful !" he cried, in
his ringing tones. “ The infidels are failing.
Their arms are like wax. Allah has delivered
them as a prey into our hands. Fall upon them!
Cut their throats! Let not a man of the hateful
horde escape alive to Aden !"
He pointed forward as he spoke, with a wild
wave of triumph. The Somanlis, so adjured,
rose on their oars once more, and raising a loud
cry of “ Allah is great! Bismillah !" pressed
eagerly forward across the intervening distance.
But the unaccustomed English rowlocks and the
weight of the heavy boat distressed and wearied
them. Though powerful men of their sort, big
built and bony, after the true African pat-
tern, and well used to the surf, they were
but clumsy rowers on the open, for lack
of skill and science. The English tars,
on the other hand, thoroughly trained to their
work and keeping perfect time, like a piece of
cunning clockwork, could have distanced them
easily if they wished, in a long row for life, by
many minutes in the hour. But to say the truth
they didn't care to. On the contrary, making
little spurts every now and again as a feint, and


AWAY TO ADEN !
then dawdling in turn as if tired, they encour-
aged the savages to strain every nerve and
muscle in the fierce endeavor to overtake and
run into them. Hadji Daood fell into the easy
trap like a lamb. He followed up their retreat
as readily as they could have desired.
“Row, row, for your lives, friends !” he cried,
time after time. “We're gaining on them now!
We're gaining every stroke on them ! Allah
fights for Islam ! Death, death to the infidel!"
All on fire the negroes rowed on dripping hot
with sweat in the warm tropical night, and wore
out their coarse muscles in the intensity of their
efforts. At last, as they drew near the English-
men still cool and unfatigued with their row, the
savages ready to drop with the unfamiliar exer-
tion-on a sudden the captain gave the calm
short word, “ Easy all! Ship your oars ! Now,
steady boys, and fire at 'em !"
In a moment, almost before the Somanlis
were aware what was happening, the white
men's boat had come quickly to a standstill as if
by magic, and a deadly fire of revolver bullets
raked them fore and aft with such terrible ef-
fect as they had never before dreamed of. The
English sailors well drilled to render prompt
obedience to a word of command, had shipped
their oars silently in a great deal less time than
it takes to tell it, and had discharged their fire-


42
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
arms point-blank at the heads of the enemy.
Hardly twenty yards now separated the boats.
The Somanlis taken by surprise and unexpect-
ing any attack were still leaning on their blades
and pressing eagerly forward. At the very first
volley Hadji Daood himself, tall and erect in the
stern, fell prone on his face with a loud groan in
the bottom. Blood gushed from his mouth; he
tried to speak, but his words were lost in inartic-
ulate gurglings. Half a dozen more of the pur-
suers were disabled or dead.
Overwhelmed at the sudden attack the Soman-
lis were panic stricken. The captain saw his
advantage and seized the decisive moment.
“ Fire again, boys !” he said quietly. And before
ever the astonished savages could recover their
presence of mind sufficiently to seize their own
rifles—for they had no revolvers—a second
deadly shower of bullets rained in upon them
full in front, and sent five or six more of them
howling to the boat's bottom.
“Waste no more of your ammunition now,
boys !" the captain continued coolly. “We may
need it at close quarters. . . . But, in with
your oars again, and forward all straight at 'em !',
On the word, a dozen blades struck the water
together at once, and the lifeboat, deftly answer-
ing to the tiller in the captain's own hand, swung


AWAY TO ADEN!
round like a flash, and charged full pelt at the
amazed and demoralized savages.
As for the Somanlis, now deprived of their one
cool head, the Hadji, and left to their own unaided
African devices they gave way at once to the
panic terror of the vanquished barbarian mind
before a civilized enemy. With the Arab der-
vish to lead them, indeed they had been capable
of a certain rough sort of irregular discipline ;
but cast upon their own savage resources, they
were like sheep without a shepherd, and their
loud cries of fear as they saw the Englishmen
sweep down upon them in perfect order were
more like the frantic shrieks of little children in
distress than any common sound of grown men
and warriors. In the awe and horror of the
moment not a few of them leaped overboard
with wild prayers for mercy to escape the deadly
fire of the English revolvers, and swam away for
their lives in an impossible attempt to make the
dim coast which now lay invisible in the dark,
miles and miles behind them. Of the others, the
greater part crouched panic-stricken in a hud-
dled mass on the floor of the boat, among the
dead and dying, or shammed death in their
craven fear, to save their wretched lives for one
moment longer. Only one or two of the whole
crowd showed fight with true Moslem fanati-
cism ; and these last were Wahabees, who leaped


AWAY TO ADEN!
45
them, and propped them up, wounded as they
were, against the thwarts. “We must take
them along with us," the captain murmured, in
the cold, calm voice of a man who means busi-
ness, and knows his duty ; "if possible, we must
keep these prisoners alive till we get into port.
This isn't the end of our day's work. They'll
be useful to show a gunboat the way back to
their village."
“Yes; they'll pay for this," the officer an-
swered, pausing to bind up the few wounds of
their own men received in the last hand to hand
conflict ; " they'll pay for it when we get ashore
again. It's all very well for to-day ; but they
don't know what it means to rouse the anger of
Englishmen."
As for the captain, he said nothing. His
wrath was too deep and too still for words. He
waited a minute or two in solemn silence till all
was in good trim again. They tied the other
boat to their stern, and put two sailors at the
bow to look after the prisoners, each armed
with a knife and a loaded revolver. “Shoot
them promptly if they try to rise," the captain
said at last in a very dogged voice. “Shoot
them down like dogs. No attempt at a rescue.
Now, boys, forward all, again ! We must inake
for Aden !"
It was a long and desperate row, and they had


46
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
little but water and a few biscuits on board to
live upon. But the consciousness of an import-
ant duty to perform kept them up to their work
through that weary voyage. It wasn't their own
lives alone that were at stake that day. It was
the dignity of England and the lives of un-
known and unnumbered Englishmen. For the
honor of the British flag, for the safety of all
future British vessels, they felt they must reach
a British port, and read these treacherous sav-
ages a terrible lesson. No wreckers in future
on that African coast could afford to insult and
mislead an English steamer,


A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
47
CHAPTER IV.
A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
To Mona Wallace and Mrs. D'Arcy, huddled
up in a noisome native hut at Matafu, it
seemed indeed for the time as though Eng-
land and Englishinen had ceased to exist–as
though Britain were blotted out, and only black
savages or Arab deryishes were left anywhere
in existence. They had hardly even a hope or
expectation of release. All looked black before
them. So far as they knew, every living soul
save themselves on the ill-fated Lord Mayo had
been massacred in cold blood by the ruthless
Somanlis; no messenger had escaped to tell the
tale of the disaster ; and with the ghastly picture
of that awful scene still burned as with a brand
into their reeling brains—with the shrieks of the
murdered still ringing in their outraged ears-
even the question what was to become of them-
selves in their future slavery seemed relatively
unimportant. In some vague way they gathered
that they were reserved for the harem of some
very powerful king or chief up country ; more
than that they know not; and in that, awful as


48
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
it was, they acquiesced with the calmness of
utter despair. They were helpless and hope-
less. They had no power to defend themselves.
They sat down and let things go as the Soman-
lis might take them.
There wasn't even a fair chance of release by
suicide. Some fates are worse than death,
theirs seemed to be one of them. And yet-so
irrational are women-Mona Wallace at least had
a single wild hope of her own. I wouldn't give
you twopence, indeed, for the girl who, in spite
of all reason, doesn't believe to the end-madly,
wildly, foolishly—that her lover, if she has one,
will somehow rush in to rescue and save her.
And Mona Wallace did believe it. She knew it
was impossible, she knew it was silly ; but still
in some vague way, she felt certain Wilfrid
would hear of it, and Wilfrid would turn up be-
fore long to deliver them. How, when, or
where, she hadn't the faintest idea. It was pure
irrational feminine faith. The days of chivalry,
we all know on good authority, are past.
Knight-errants are no more. Doughty deeds are
at a discount. Yet she felt sure for all that in
her own heart of hearts, Wilfrid Moyle would
come in the end and free them from this slavery.
Once even in the still night she ventured to say
so to Mrs. D'Arcy. “I'd give up all hope," she
cried passionately, “ if it weren't for Wilfrid."


A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
49
Mrs. D'Arcy hadn't the heart to crush her
girlish dream, but she smiled to herself bitterly,
for she, too, in her time had been there.
At Aden, meanwhile, strange things were
happening. The normal sleepy calm of that
hottest and drowsiest of Oriental military stations
-a mere British outpost and coaling place on
the Arabian coast-had been rudely interrupted
by a most unexpected occurrence. As a rule,
things go tolerably slow at Aden. But one
morning early, while the garrison was on parade,
the lookout man on the hill signalled suddenly a
startling message from the lightship. “ Boat of
castaways in the offing shows sign of distress.
Send out tender to meet her.”
In breathless haste the tender was dispatched
from the strange submarine crater which forms
that marvelous harbor ; and in less than half an
hour, all Aden was agog with the surprising
news that an English steamer had been wrecked
and plundered on the Somanli coast by a body
of lawless Mahdist dervishes. The passengers
and several officers had been murdered in cold
blood ; only the captain and a few sailors had
got away safe with their lives, and after a fight
at sea, and many days tossing on the Arabian
Gulf, half starved and tortured with thirst, had
at last reached Aden, more dead than alive, with
news of the disaster.


50
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
In a moment there was taking down of arms
and preparation for active service. All was
bustle and hurry in the guard room and the
harbor. Not a day must be lost. The British
power must be vindicated. A gun boat would
be dispatched forth with to the offending shore,
and a primitive force of soldiers landed on the spot
to demand the extradition of the guilty and to
exact signal vengeance for the wrong that had
been perpetrated.
But there was one simple private of a line
regiment in the garrison of Aden to whom this
strange, bad news came home all at once with
crushing and terrible significance. Wilfrid Moyle
heard with horror that the wrecked and plun-
dered steamer was none other than the Lord
Mayo, on which Mona Wallace was to have
sailed from Bombay for Southampton.
In a minute he had made up his mind. He
stepped up to the non-commissioned officer in
charge of his squad, and in a tremulous voice
asked for leave to speak with the commandant.
The commandant, though busy with the ex-
pedition, received him kindly. It was well
known in the garrison, indeed, that Moyle was a
“come down gentleman," as the soldiers phrased
it, who had enlisted in the ranks to work his
way up to a commission ; and the diligent way
in which he had studied Arabic ever since his


A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
51
arrival at Aden-for he was born a linguist, and
he wished to be employed on frontier service-
had attracted no little attention among his su-
perior officers.
“Well, Moyle," the commandant said cheerily
looking up from the bundle of charts and papers
on which he was busily engaged with the Lord
Mayo's captain, “and what do you want to-day?
Quick, out with it ! I'm hurried.”
Wilfrid Moyle's lips were ashy white, for the
news had come home to him as a terrible shock.
But he spoke up with an effort. “If there's an
expedition going off to the Somanli coast, sir,"
he said slowly, “to avenge this massacre, I
should very much like leave to volunteer for
service with it. I'd take it as a great favor if
you allowed me to accompany the forces you
send there."
The commandant eyed him keenly. He was
a spare, stern man.
“We must have no favoritism here, you
know," he answered in a sharp tone of author-
ity. “Why should you have a better chance
of distinguishing yourself, my man, than any
other soldier ? I've no doubt the whole garri-
son would like to volunteer, if they could, for
such a job as this. But if I let one soldier
offer himself, what can I say to the others ?”
Wilfrid's lip trembled visibly.


52
A BRIDE. FROM THE DESERT.
“It isn't only that, sir," he replied, trying hard
to be calm. “It isn't merely or even mainly that
I want a chance to distinguish myself—though I
hope in a soldier such a wish is no blame-but
... I had a friend on the Lord Mayo, and I
want to know the worst. I want to help in
rescuing her, if I can; and if not, to avenge her.”
The commandant whistled low, and took a
good long hard stare at him.
“I see,” he answered curtly ; after a moment's
pause. “I think I understand. It makes a dif-
ference, certainly. So that's the way the wind
blows in your quarter, is it? ... Well, Moyle,
I'm sorry to say, let that be as it may, I can't
make you any definite promise one way or the
other. It would be destructive of discipline, you
see—destructive of discipline—if men were
allowed to choose their own posts as they like
themselves. They must go where they're
ordered. All I can say for the present is, I'll
select for active service some sixty or seventy
trustworthy fellows." He paused once more for
a moment. Then he added significa ntly, with an
after thought, “ And, of course, I shall choose for
a piece of work like this the men I think most
likely to carry out our plans with zeal and valor
as well as with discretion and a distinction
may be made in favor of soldiers acquainted
with Arabic.”


A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
-
55
of a big gun, roaring fiercely forth for war, an-
nounced to the villagers that the temporary
armistice was now fairly over. As its sound
died away, the natives, scattered by its grape,
rushed headlong from the shore to defend their
homesteads; and the English, lowering their
boats, made landward to attack them. They
preferred this course to a cannonade of the huts,
on the bare chance that some of their friends
might still perhaps be kept there as prisoners.
As they landed and marched up in good order
to the village of mud-built huts clustering round
a squalid little whitewashed mosque, a sharp
hand-to-hand fight was kept up continuously.
The Somanlis were brave with the reckless
bravery of the savage fanatic. But the invad-
ers, strong in their civilized discipline, soon
carried the low stockade by storm, and were
struggling inch by inch for possession of the
narrow roadways. In the skirmish that ensued,
by some casual mistake Wilfrid Moyle soon
found himself separated from the main body,
and fighting on his own account for very life
down a wretched side alley. There a dervish
sprang out at him suddenly from under a dark
doorway-a bronzed and bearded man, half-
naked to the waist, armed with an English sword
and an old rusty pistol. The attack was so un-
expected that Wilfrid, though walking along


56
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
warily, was taken wholly by surprise. And as
he looked at the dervish in his haste, even in
that moment of danger—for the man's sword
was raised to strike, and Wilfrid had hard work
with his own to parry it-he saw a sight all at
once that made his blood run cold, and realized
his worst fears for Mona's safety.
The wretch was wearing round his bare neck
a little gold locket. He knew it at a glance. It
was a locket that he recognized with a shock of
horror. He had given it to Mona, himself, three
years ago in England.
Goaded and maddened by the sight, he sprang
like a wildcat at the fellow's throat. The der-
vish, taken aback, fell a pace or two into the
doorway again, and shouted aloud with all his
voice to his comrades for assistance.
Wilfrid dashed on, however, conscious only
now of Mona's fate and that tell-tale locket. In
a perfect frenzy of just rage, he rushed blindly
at the Arab, and struck him twice with his
sword, till the blood spurted lustily. But he was
too blinded with grief and wrath to perceive at
the same time what was happening behind him.
One moment later, a dozen stout Somanlis had
surrounded him on all sides. Before he knew
what was going on, he was overpowered and
hurried away. His sword and pistol were taken
from him by main force, he was seized by either


A PRIMITIVE EXPEDITION.
59
till he tells. Otherwise, we might have hacked
him at once into little pieces.”
“Good,” the sheikh answered, never stirring
from his place. “You are faithful servants.
Take him on, then, and guard him with the
The Somanlis passed on, still holding Wilfrid
between them, to another similar cave, some
twenty yards further up the rocky valley. At
the mouth they halted; then they pushed Wil-
frid in, not unaided by the blunt spear, with
very little ceremony. The cave was in gloom,
like most of these old tombs, hewn deep into the
living rock of the desert hills, and it was a mo-
selves to the darkness. All he could see just at
first was a couple of women in native Arab cos-
tume, with veiled faces and white robes, cower-
ing timidly in a corner, and watched by a small
squad of villainous armed natives. But before
he could make out any more, one of the women
had risen up with a sudden cry of surprise ; and,
rushing wildly forward, was clinging to his neck
in a perfect transport of joy and affection. “Oh!
Wilfrid,” she cried in English, “I knew you'd
come, I knew you'd come to save us! See,
there, Mrs. D'Arcy, I told you so! I knew it !
This is Wilfrid Moyle, come alone to deliver
us?"


60
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
CHAPTER V.
UP COUNTRY TO DARO,
It's all very well to be welcomed in a rock
tomb by a pretty girl in Oriental costume, who
assures herself the moment she sees you that
you've come to deliver her ; but how to make
such painful circumstances, there's the rub,
that's the question ; and Wilfrid Moyle was fain
to confess after the first wild burst of joy at
finding Mona still alive, against all hope and ex-
pectation, was fairly over, that his chances of
saving her seemed unpleasantly precarious. A
prisoner himself in the hands of the Somanlis,
he had a very slender idea of getting away alone
and still less of carrying Mona and Mrs. D'Arcy
along with him. For one thing, however, he
was profoundly grateful, and that was the good-
luck that had made him think instinctively of
concealing from his captors his intimate know-
ledge of Arabic. He saw at once that the fact
of his understanding their conversation, without
a suspicion of it on their part, gave him just one
feeble hope of escaping from captivity.


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
61
“Mona,” he cried, accepting her natural
caress as frankly as she gave it, “ I've come
as you thought I would ; but I came to avenge
you, not to deliver you. We heard you were all
killed. Are there any more left alive of you ?”
Mona clung to him still, with a natural im-
pulse of affection, but shook her head mourn-
fully. “ No, not one," she answered hanging on
his neck like a child on her brother's. “Only
Mrs. D'Arcy and me. Oh, Wilfrid, it was hor-
rible! They killed all the rest of them in cold
blood before us."
She was very much unnerved, it was clear, by
this terrible episode. Wilfrid could see that
much at a glance. It had stunned and dazed
her. “But how did you come here," he asked,
“and in these dresses, too? What have they
done with your own things and your friend's,
dear Mona ?"
The poor child clung to him in a speechless
agony of mingled joy and shame and fear. “I
don't know," she answered, sobbing. “I don't
know, what they mean. I'm half dead with
fright. They brought us here like you see.
They threatened us they'd kill us if we didn't
come along quietly with them.”
Mrs. D'Arcy, more calm, was a little more
explicit. “They kept us under guard in a hut
in the village from the wreck till this morning,"


62
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
she put in hurriedly, for she hardly knew how
long their jailors would allow them to converse
like this; "and then, about nine o'clock, we
heard a great noise and commotion outside.
The men who had charge of us rushed in to us
then, and brought us these native clothes for
up till that time we'd worn our own—and made
signs to us that we must make haste and change
them instantly. We were afraid to put them on,
though, and shook our heads and refused; so
after that, the men went away and sent in three
or four great strong built Somanli women, who
held us down with their big black hands, and
undressed us forcibly. As soon as we were
undressed, they put these things on us, and made
us look like Arab women. Then they took our
own clothes, and sprinkled them with goat's
blood, and left them on the floor in the hut, as
if we'd been killed and buried there. Mona's
locket and my rings, the men divided amongst
themselves ; and one of the wonien had my
brooch and bracelet. As soon as all was
finished, they blindfolded us, partly, and hurried
us out by a bare path across the open desert,
and then by winding ravines away to this cave
here. As we came along, however, we heard the
boom of a ship's gun behind us, and we knew
then the English were coming to rescue us. But
we couldn't turn and join them ; they hurried


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
63
us away here so fast, and they've kept us here
all day in suspense and terror while we've heard
the firing."
Wilfrid drew' a deep breath. This was very
hard luck. He felt sure the attacking party,
after burning the village and finding no sign of
white prisoners in the huts, would go back to
the gunboat ; and even if it didn't, without good
knowledge of the country, it would be impos-
sible for them to discover these remote rock-
caves in so intricate a ravine of the desert
ranges. No one knows who hasn't seen them,
how trackless they can be. He drew a deep
breath. It was all up with them clearly. They
must all be taken up country to Daro, that was
certain now; and he must trust to the chapter
of accidents for saving Mona.
As he stood there, still soothing her, but inuch
troubled in soul, a terrible idea rose up suddenly
in his mind. At any moment the Arabs might
step forward and separate them. It was now or
never. He mightn't see her again. Was it his
duty to save her from disgrace and dishonor ?
They might hurry him away, to death or tor-
ture; they might carry off his Mona to the
Imam of Daro. That thought made his blood
boil with rage and horror. Mona, his Mona, that
spotless Mona, a slave in the harem of some vile
African princeling! It was more than Euro-


64
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
pean flesh and blood can stand. Dishonor or
death ? One second he hesitated.
What was that the old sheikh in the other
cave had said ? “We will take this prisoner up
country to the Imam of Daro. We can ask him
questions there about his people's plans. For
there are prisoners with the Imam, refugees
from Khartoum, who speak the tongue of the
Franks and who will question him straitly."
Then they were going up country to Daro, that
much at least was certain ; and hadn't the old
sheikh added also to his captors : “ Take him on
and guard him with the other prisoners." Why
hadn't they killed Mrs. D'Arcy and Mona when
they killed the rest of the Lord Mayo's passen-
gers ? Clearly because they were the two young-
est and prettiest of the women, reserved as a
prize for the hateful chief of Daro. When Wil-
frid thought what that prospect meant, his blood
ran alternately hot and cold within him. Could
he let Mona fall into this vile wretch's hands ?
Was it not rather his duty then and there to
save her—to save her from that fate by falling
upon her at once and choking her with his
kindly English hands—those strong, brave hands
—those tender hands that loved her ?
For an instant he trembled in fear and per-
plexity; his fingers twitched doubtfully. Then
the men in the cave, who had fallen back just at


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
67
scendant of the Prophet ?" the nearest Somanli
asked of the white-robed Arab. And Wilfrid
awaited the reply with profound interest. It
might make all the difference on earth to their
chance of escape whether he were bound hand
and foot, or had his limbs at liberty.
The sheikh deliberated a moment.
“ Let him go free,” he answered, slowly.
“He'll be less trouble so, for the present, on the
camel. And we can guard him well. Don't
hurt the women, either ; but if the man tries to
escape, or if you even suspect it, don't hesitate
for a second-shoot him down immediately."
As he spoke, the camels came sauntering
round, with their stately tread, to the mouth of
the cave, and, obedient to the word of command,
after their clumsy fashion, knelt down one leg at
a time to receive their riders. The sheikh
mounted first and composed himself for his
march ; then the Somanlis brought out Mrs.
D'Arcy and Mona. The two terrified women
cast a mute glance at Wilfrid, but didn't dare to
speak. The natives helped them on to the
camels, bundling them up unceremoniously,
with no inore sense of chivalry or consideration
for their feelings than if those English ladies
had been bags of dates or bales of cotton. It
made Wilfrid's blood boil to look at such brutal-
ity. But for their own sakes, he endured. To


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
69
not, as most people falsely picture it, a vast plain
of sand, but a district of absolutely bare and
rock-built mountains. Behind lay the ravine
through which they had already wound their
toilsome way; in front, the ravine through
which they were still to wind it.
The stillness of the night grew painfully op-
pressive. Not a sound could be heard for the
most part save the padded footfall of the camels
on the bare ground beneath their feet. Here
and there, where the valleys opened out a little
wider, lay great beds of sand, which the wind
whirled round at intervals into columns in the
shape of waterspouts. As Mona looked at thein
gliding from place to place like so many dark
spectres, her heart misgave her. They looked
like angry fiends. She wrapped her Arab dress
round her face in her terror, and cried to herself
silently.
About midnight they halted for a while in a
big hollow basin, ringed round by black hills,
and strewn with volcanic boulders. The soil
was gravelly, very rough and arid. But the
sheikh gave the word: “The wells of Belad-
yssa !" In a moment the caravan stood still
through all its length, and the camels stretching
their necks awaited their first drink since the
day before yesterday.
The Somanlis began to scrape away the sand


70
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
in some shallow depressions in front of the halt,
and soon came to an oozy bed of very dirty and
half-brackish water. Of this, the camels drank
first, and when their thirst was quenched, the
Arabs and natives helped themselves in turn.
Last of all, they handed up a cup or two of the
noisome liquid to Wilfrid, and then to Mona and
her companion. It was bitter and nauseous, but
still, one must drink; after five hours of desert
dust it refreshed them slightly.
And so ceaselessly till morning they threaded
on and on those intricate defiles, without sight
of a human home or a green plant on any side.
As they marched along through the desert, the
camels lifting leisurely feet all the while over
the stones and boulders that strewed the uncer-
tain trail, Wilfrid Moyle had plenty of time to
recall to himself in his awe all the facts or
rumors he had heard in the guard-room at Aden
about the Imam of Daro, that wild Arab ma-
rauder, towards whose rude court they were now
making their slow way through the mountains.
Thirty years before, he remembered to have
heard a fierce adventurer from Nejd on the
opposite mainland, professing the faith of the
fanatical Wahabi sect of Mahommedans, had
crossed over to Africa, and by a series of bloody
crimes had made himself Sultan of the oasis of
Daro and the half-heathen Somanlis, But only


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
71
ten years before the time when Wilfrid and
Mona were taken prisoners at Matafu, the
nephew of this fillibustering chief, a sort of
Arab Richard III., had succeeded to his uncle's
throne among the desert hills by the simple pro-
cess of assassinating his predecessor, and all
other possible claimants to the Imamship of
Daro. Wilfrid recollected to have heard that
the present Imam had murdered in cold blood
with his own hand his two brothers and his
nephew, besides strangling in prison by the
hands of his servants sixteen alternative rivals.
And now he ruled undisputed in the inland
town of Daro, a half African, half Arab city of
mosques and mud walls, girt round by an oasis
of waving palms where his word was law, and
his cruelties were un bounded.
As the night wore on, and the camels stepped
wearier over the burning stones, Wilfrid's heart
began to sink ever lower and lower at the
fate in store for his spotless Mona. His con-
science smote him now that he hadn't had the
courage to kill her innocently while he could.
Such a chance as that mightn't occur again.
And the alternative was really too terrible to
face. At each step across the desert, Wilfrid
bethought him afresh of some further and more
hideous story he had heard at Aden of the
Imam's atrocities. The man was a monster of


72
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
crime, kept in his place by fanaticism ; a de-
bauched, worn-out, inhuman tyrant, a ruler who
outraged every feeling even of his savage sub-
jects, but made up for his excesses by his relig-
ious intolerance. And Mona as a Christian would
be all the more exposed to the twofold dangers
of the man's evil passions. Wilfrid reproached
himself bitterly for having let slip last night a
chance that perhaps might never come back
again.
At last dawn began to crimson the bare hill-
tops to eastward. Slowly the sun rose, and as
the first rays of his light struck the crest of the
mountains, the caravan stopped and all the
Moslems of the escort fell prone on their knees
and engaged in their devotions. The very
beasts stood still, with their heads bent low;
and the Somanlis and Arabs, all ranged on the
sand in a line, with their faces towards Mecca,
lifted up their voices together in one long wail-
ing cry of “ Allah Ekber, Allah Ekber !" When
they started on their way again, the desert sun
shone mercilessly on their heads; but still the
camels plodded on-plodded on unwearied.
About eight o'clock, the heat became unendur-
able. By that time, however, they had reached
a point which was clearly a familiar stopping
place for the worst part of the day. A huge
pinnacle of sandstone cast a shade in whose shel-


UP COUNTRY TO DARO.
ter the Somanlis raised a rough tent of skins.
They dismounted and lay down. It was "the
shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land." In
spite of all the dangers and difficulties ahead,
Wilfrid and his companions were too weary with
their long ride not to fall asleep at once on the
open desert. Mona was breathing peacefully
almost as soon as she laid her head on the rough
pillow of her saddle. Wilfrid Moyle took a little
longer to escape his own thoughts. But before
half an hour was over, he was sleeping like a
child with his head propped on bare stone and
his bed the desert. The Somanlis slept, too ;
but with a rifle by their side. If Wilfrid had
attempted for one moment to move, they would
have shot him down ruthlessly.


78
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
meaning passed rapidly between them. Mona
asked with her eyes :
“Are there more than these two ?”
And Wilfrid answered her promptly in the
same dumb language.
“No, none but just these. Keep awake and
watch them,"
More long hours went by. Presently the
Somanlis dozed off again, with their hands still
nervously grasping their rifles. Their heads
dropped on their breasts, and they breathed
deep and slow like a pair of tired children. The
moment for action had surely come....
Whisht! Whisht ! Not a sound now! ...
Cautiously and stealthily, Wilfrid raised himself
on his elbows from the ground till he sat, half
erect, looking across towards Mona. Without
uttering a word, without making an unnecessary
movement, he held out one palm very straight
in front of him. Then, with the forefinger of
the other hand, he began to trace on it slowly
in dumb show various letters of the alphabet-
W, H, E, N, I, S, E, and so forth. With breath-
less attention, Mona and Mrs. D'Arcy leant
eagerly forward and followed his hand while he
proceeded to trace capital after capital. As
they read each letter, they nodded a noiseless
assent; at the end of each word, which Wilfrid
emphasized by closing his palm in silence for a
-
---
-
-
--
--
-
--


A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
short, native dagger, sprang forward upon the
white man. There was a short hand to hand
struggle. It was a life and death fight. Releas-
ing himself with an effort, Wilfrid fired full at
him. The ball entered the negro's chest and
passed through him like wildfire. The Somanli
staggered and fell, still lunging out with his
knife. A look of unutterable hatred played
round the fellow's clenched teeth. It was ghastly
to look at in its concentrated malignity. Wilfrid
leapt upon his neck. The man shrieked and
died heavily.
At the very same moment, as Wilfrid seized
the nearer rifle, Mrs. D'Arcy, with feminine
quickness, had caught the other man's gun, and,
in an access of wild courage, snatched it rapidly
from him. The negro awakened at once by the
movement, jumped up and confronted her.
“Here, hold it with me, Mona !" the brave
woman cried out, jumping back and firing at
him like a tigress.
But Mona clapped her hands to her ears and
drew aside all thunderstruck. The Somanli
seized the rifle and tried to wrench it from her
grasp, but Mrs. D'Arcy holding tight, stuck to it
gallantly. In the scuffle, one barrel went off
and hit the Somanli's foot. The man gave a
howl of pain, and drawing his dagger leapt upon
her like a wild beast, frenzied and maddened by


AN AFRICAN REVOLUTION.
resistance. But even before he could strike
home, Wilfrid, now freed from his own personal
antagonist, had raised the rifle again, and taking
deliberate aim, shot the negro through the tem-
ple. Mona shrieked once more at the sight.
With a leap and a groan the great, black body
rolled senseless upon the ground in a little pool
of blood and then lay still and silent. Wilfrid's
breath came and went. He could hardly believe
it. It was all over now.
“ Thank heaven,” he cried aloud in good Eng-
lish at last, " we're free! we're free! We can
make for the sea immediately."
“How !" Mona asked in a burst of tears,
clinging to him in her terror. “Must we go
back by night alone through all that terrible
desert ?"
“Yes, dearest," Wilfrid answered, laying his
hand on her shoulder, and turning her gaze
away gently from the hideous sight on the
ground by her side. “Come out into the open.
There may be camels there still. If not, we
must turn and tramp on foot across the desert.”
They emerged all tremulous on to the silent
night. It was terrible to look about. The
loneliness was appalling. All round, two or
three empty tents flapped free on the desert
breeze. But thank heaven for one thing. On
the bare sand of the foreground, four or five


82 ·
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
camels were kneeling still and patient, as usual
awaiting their riders.
In a minute Wilfrid had lifted Mona and Mrs.
D'Arcy into their seats, and mounting his own
beast in front, led the way into the desert.
It was a terrible ride that unpremeditated
march from nowhere to nowhere. Not a sound
broke the stillness of those unpeopled solitudes.
From time to time they spoke to one another-
a few words of encouragement, but their own
voices seemed to affright them in the universal
stillness. There was no regular path, no marked
track of any sort.
The padded feet of camels leave not a trace
on the bare rock; and even if they did the whirl-
ing sandstones of the desert would cover it up
and obliterate it from journey to journey. All
that Wilfrid knew was the general direction in
which they had travelled the night before ; for
the rest, he was fain to trust to the instinct of
the animals.
Nor was that their only misfortune. They
had no food to eat, except a few coarsely dried
dates which they found in the saddle bags ; and
for water they were confined to the brackish
wells they had passed about midnight the pre-
vious evening. But if only they could once
reach the sea, Wilfrid felt all might yet be well.


AN AFRICAN REVOLUTION.
83
It was this expanse of pathless desert that ap-
palled and terrified him.
After about four hours hard riding through
the rocky ravines they had made a considerable
way, and began to breathe freely again. The
camels relieved from the press of Somanlis and
their burden of heavy tents, trotted along at a
better pace seaward than before ; they always
travel faster, Wilfrid knew, indeed, down coun-
try than upward. At last, just as they reached
a point where two long ravines ran together
under the uncertain starlight, Mona drew up in
alarm and gave a little cry of terror.
“ Hush! What's that?" she murmured low,
holding her hand to her listening ear. “Noise
ahead! Who can it be? Oh, Wilfrid, Wilfrid,
somebody's coming !".
Wilfrid pulled up his beast short with a sud-
den jerk of the head, and listened long in his
turn. His heart misgave him. There was in-
deed a noise in front. No mistake about that.
A caravan from seaward! They were discov-
ered-overtaken-no doubt betrayed. Perhaps
the newcomers would maltreat and kill them !
His first impulse at this alarm was to turn
round again where they stood and flee once
more at the top of the camels' speed towards
Daro. But a second's consideration showed him
how mistaken and foolish such a course would


A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
be. Come what might, they must stand by their
guns now and see it out fairly. Perhaps, after
all, this upward bound caravan might let them
pass as good friends without attempting to in-
terfere with them. There is honor among
thieves-above all, in the desert.
He started his beast on its round trot once
more, and advanced to meet them. The two
other camels stalked after him as before, with
their stately tread, making straight for the sea
by the accustomed trackway. In a minute or
two they came abreast of the coming caravan.
Wilfrid Moyle was a brave man, and not
given to vain fears ; but there, in the silent
night and amid the pathless desert, his heart
gave a strange jump at the ghastly sight that
met his eyes. Great Heavens, what was this?
The foremost beast was bestridden-by a laden
coffin ! He rubbed his eyes and looked. Yes,
yes ; not a doubt of it. There was no rider,
no leader, no human soul by its side; nothing
on earth but a camel bearing on either flank a
heavy coffin ! He looked once more. Why!
what on earth could this mean? There was a
whole great string, a long and straggling cara-
van of them. Camel after camel in long line
stalked slowly by, each with no living rider to
guide his steps, but bearing on his back two full
and noisome coffins. There were corpses in


AN AFRICAN REVOLUTION.
85
them, too. Indeed, the stench was horrible.
But the camels passed on, without heeding him
in any way; it was with difficulty in the dim
starlight that Wilfrid, standing off as far to
windward as possible, made out the true nature
of their ghastly burden. At the end of the long
procession, but after a considerable interval, so
as to avoid all near contact with the pestilential
air, two Arabs in white robes rode slowly be-
hind, bringing up the rear guard, and watching
the beasts move forward.
“Bismillah," they cried as they passed, a little
way on one side, to the three strangers. “In
Allah's name, a good journey to you, brother !"
“ In Allah's name, the same to you,” Wilfrid:
answered in Arabic, as the safest course open
to him. Then his natural curiosity compelled
him to add in an easier voice. “But what cara-
van is this, and where do you come last from 1"
“Have you no nose on your face that you
haven't found that out already ?" the man an-
swered laughing. “I should have thought you
might have guessed it. This is the Caravan of
to Daro for burial. But perhaps you are from the
Soudan, new comers to these parts, and know
not the ways of the coast-wise people. It is our
custom here, then, when sheikhs or holy imams
or great robbers die, to send their bodies up for


A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
burial to the threshold of the seers, that they
may sleep in holy ground, beside the tomb of
Sidi Okbah, the companion of the Prophet who
lies enshrined under the dome of the high
mosque at Daro. For that purpose, we carry them
up from all the Somanli coast. We have been
ten days on the way already as you may per-
ceive for yourselves. And you, strangers, in
turn, whither bound ? Where go you ?"
“ To Matafu," Wilfrid answered boldly. “We
come from Daro itself, and we take down im-
portant letters to the coast from the Imam to the
dervishes. But we have missed our path.
Which is the road to Matafu?"
“ Down the ravine to the left," the man an-
swered pointing vaguely with his hand. “But,
friend, you are full late ; you may spare your-
self the trouble. For two days since, so we hear,
the infidels attacked Matafu and burned it to
the ground, nor is there any living soul of the
Faithful of Islam now left within it.”
“Thanks, brother,” Wilfrid answered touch-
ing his beard in salute, and setting his camel in
motion again. “But I will proceed for all that.
For my business is pressing, and with Allah's
help I fear not the infidels. The commands of
the Imam must needs be obeyed, whether the
miserable Franks have burned Matafu or left it


AN AFRICAN REVOLUTION.
87
standing. Yet I thank you for your courtesy.
Bismillah !"
“ Bismillah !"
And the two men moved on slowly in charge
of their ghastly load, leaving those three once
more by themselves in the wide loneliness of
the desert.


88
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
CHAPTER VII.
FROM SAND TO SEA.
FROM the wells of Belad-yssa to the bowers of
the Indian Ocean, the camels made good time
for their distracted riders. It's the way of
camels indeed to quicken their slow and steady
pace in proportion as they approach the neigh-
borhood of the sea ; some vague instinct of
locality, perhaps even some faint odor of salt
brine in the air, seems to act upon their nerves
as the road honieward acts upon a tired horse in
England. At any rate, they stepped out far
more briskly on their seaward journey than on
the way up country towards the oasis of Daro.
And the fugitives let them pick their own path
as they would among the barren ravines. It
was wonderful to see how cleverly those born
denizens of the desert seemed to follow of them-
selves that well-known route. Winding tortu-
ously in and out, bending here to the right and
there to the left, avoiding now a great rock, and
now again a steep descent, the sagacious beasts
plodded patiently on, at a long, swinging, jog-


FROM SAND TO SEA.
89
trot, very wearying to their riders' limbs, of
course, but satisfactory from the point of view
of rapid transit. One by one the stars set, and
Venus began to rise in the pale grey of morning.
But still those tireless brutes lifted one leg after
another in their unwearying amble ; and still
the travelers looked out eagerly, but in vain, all
in vain, for a glimpse of blue sea on the horizon
in front of them.
At last, the sun rose, and the air grew hot at
once with the astonishing rapidly of arid tropical
regions. “Must we go right on through the
heat ?" Mona asked in despair, jolted to death
with the long ride, and hardly able any longer
to keep her seat on her camel.
And Wilfrid answered with a sigh, “I'm
afraid we must, Mona. Indeed, I don't suppose
we could get the camels themselves to stop for
us now. They're obstinate beasts to deal with,
and once they've made up their minds to make
straight for a given point, straight for it they'll
make, whether you wish them or check them.
They've settled in their own wise heads-that
they're going seaward now, and they'll never
stop, either for you or for me, till they've pulled
us up short at their accustomed station. Besides,
even if we were to dismount, what good would
that possibly do us? We've no tent or shelter,
and it's better to be moving briskly through the


FROM SAND TO SEA. .
91
the village of Matafu; perhaps their keen nos-
trils even detected afar off the signs of recent
burning by their wonted station. But at any
rate, they grew uneasy and seemed to doubt
their right way. Once or twice they stopped
short, and sniffed time and again in distinct un-
certainty. Then the sight of some familiar rock
or some sharp bend in the gorge seemed to re-
assure their vague minds, and they stepped for-
ward once more with accelerated eagerness.
At last, all of a sudden, a little twist in the
path brought them out with a rush upon the
open coast. Before them lay the sea, tossing
blue and illimitable; in front stood the still
smoking and smouldering ruins of what three
days before had been the village of Matafu.
And now, a new terror began to seize upon
Wilfrid's soul. The camels pulled up short,
and gazed with a certain blank surprise at the
unexpected scene. After a moment's pause
they knelt down on the sands in a kind of mute
despair. Wilfrid helped the two women to de-
scend from their seats. They were shaken and
sore and almost faint from riding. But their
worst enemy now was a parching demon of
thirst; they had drunk nothing for two days
save the brackish water at the wells of Belad-
yssa.
“ The question is,” Wilfrid mused, “can we


92
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
get anything here to eat or to drink. And then
next, can we get a boat to put away to sea
in ?!
Mrs. D'Arcy was nothing if not a practical
English matron with an eye to housekeeping.
“Not a scrap to eat,” she said with an effort,
in a very choked voice. “That's all burnt, of
course. We must live on our own fat. But
water, yes. How could they do without it?
Wherever there's been a village, there must
naturally be wells, or springs, or tanks, or some-
thing."
That was as clear as wind. The British ma-
tron was certainly right. Wilfred seated Mona
on a rock, in the scanty shade of a palm tree, for
they had now returned to some scrubby vegeta-
tion, and went off by himself in search of the
water supply. He was gone for several minutes,
during which the two women sat alone by them-
selves in that unspeakable desolation of the
ruined village. Corpses rotted in the sun in
every direction. At the end of that time he
returned with a firmer tread ; and their hearts
leapt up within them to see to their joy that he
was carrying in his hands a bucket half full of
water.
Oh, how they fell upon it and drank, scooping
it up in both hands! Oh, how delicious it tasted,
that pure, fresh, spring water! The camels rose


FROM SAND TO SEA.
93
slowly, and begged in mute language for their
share in the draught. Wilfrid motioned them
on, and the weary beasts followed him to the
edge of the well. There, he drew for them
abundantly, and let them drink their fill, which
amounted to a quantity that might well have
astonished anyone less used to their ways than
the young soldier had been at Aden.
And now to get away, since food was out of
the question. It was a hopeless lookout ; yet
miracles had answered their turn so well hitherto
that he was almost disposed once more to trust
for a means of escape to some inscrutable inter-
position of providence.
In an aimless fashion, if only to avoid the foul
air, they made their way down to the beach, over
the high bank of shingle. There might be mus-
sels there, or periwinkles, or some other shell-
fish. At any rate, one's chance of food is always
best on the sea shore, especially in these out-of-
the-way unpeopled countries, where even oysters
and fish are often to be found in plenty in the
tide-swept rock pools. For there was no con-
cealing the fact that free or enslaved, they were
certainly weak and faint with hunger.
At the top of the shingle ledge, a welcome
sight burst unexpectedly on their startled eyes.
For there, full in front of them, beached high
on the shore, lay an English built boat, with her


94
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
oars by her side, and on her stern were painted
the familiar words, “ Lord Mayo, Southampton."
It was the second of the three boats that had
put off from the wreck on the night of the mas-
sacre. One had gone away with news of the dis-
aster to Aden. One had been seized by the
wreckers under Hadji Daood of Nejd, and finally
towed in to port by the victorious captain. But
one, the second to land, had been left there, high
and dry on the beach by the natives, and was
overlooked by the gunboat, which put her men
ashore on a less exposed spot at the opposite
end of the village. It seemed as though Provi-
dence had designed it on purpose for their use.
And there, in the stern, best luck of all—as they
looked—was a barrel of fresh water, still full and
undrawn from.
“We'd better lose no time," Wilfrid cried, in a
burst of delight. “We don't know how soon
some other Somanlis may come up from neigh-
boring parts to rebuild the village. To be
caught here would be death. There's nothing
about to eat. It's clear the gunboat destroyed
everything-standing crops and fruit trees. We
must put to sea just as we are, and trust to the
bare chance of making Aden, or attracting the
attention of some ship going up the Straits for
Suez.
And indeed, in that narrower channel, on the


FROM SAND. TO SEA.
95
highway of commerce between India and Eng-
land by the great canal, the possibility of such a
rescue seemed by no means a remote one. And
yet, to those who go down to the sea in ships,
and know its dangers well, the bare idea of put-
ting out in an open boat without a morsel of
food, on such a frail hope of speaking a passing
vessel, might indeed appear a desperate one.
But drowning men will cling to a straw ; and at
the very worst, Wilfrid thought, if they had to
die at all, he would die with Mona by his side,
after rescuing her from a life far more terrible
than death. Far better starvation on the free
blue sea than the tender mercies of an Imam of
Daro.
They hauled the boat down to the water's
edge with what strength they had left, and took
their seats in it. Then Wilfrid shoved it off
with a good hearty push. Thank Heaven !
They were afloat again, and free at last from
the hateful soil of darkest Africa !
A gentle wind was blowing faintly from the
south east. That would take them more or less
in the direction of Aden, or at any rate into the
centre of the main stream of traffic. Wilfrid
was unfortunately no navigator, so he dared not
trust himself to set the full sails lest she should
become unmanageable or capsize. But he hoisted
the inast, with Mrs: D'Arcy's aid, and stretched


96
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
from it the main canvas, fastened square like a
sheet to go ahead before the wind, which was as
much as his knowledge of seamanship would al-
low him to venture upon. The rudder must do
the rest. And, indeed, they were too tired, too
sleepy, and too hungry, to attempt much more
than sitting still or lying back wearily.
As for Mona, she fell asleep on her seat in
the stern. Mrs. D'Arcy kept awake. And Wil-
frid held the tiller, making straight out to sea,
with the sun and the hour alone to guide him.
Fortunately, he had wound up his watch even in
the manifold dangers of those awful days. He
was glad of that now, for it was his only com-
pass.
All day long, they sailed slowly, slowly, over
that basking hot sea. How easy it is to say ;
how long, how terribly long it takes to pass
through! All day long, too, no food; but they
took it out in drinking ; and indeed, after the
desert, such abundance of pure water seemed in
itself a luxury. Hour after hour went by, and
still they drifted on, under that copper sky, and
with that red-hot sun beating mercilessly down
upon them. All day long they drifted on, to-
wards the Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. Surely,
sooner or later, they must sight a passing brig ;
surely they must run up against some P. and O.
steamer !


FROM SAND TO SEA.
'97
But all day long, not a sail, not a hull hove in
sight. All day long, not a line of black smoke
flecked the dim blue horizon.
Hour after hour passed wearily away, and
still Wilfrid Moyle hoped on against hope. At
last, the sun set red in the dark sea westward,
and the water grew black, and all was dim
around them.
“We ought to have had a light,” Wilfrid said,
with a sigh," to attract the attention of any
passing vessel.”
He began to realize now, after some hours'
sail, how slender was that hope ; but, such as it
was, it was all they had left to depend upon.
“There's a lamp at the bow," Mona put in,
looking up at him suddenly. “I noticed it just
now, and perhaps there may be oil in it. Most
likely there is. For sailors always keep every-
thing ready for use at once, in apple-pie order."
She stepped forward lightly, and seized the
lamp, and shook it.
“Yes, two of them,” she exclaimed, “and both
ready trimmed. They're as full as they can
hold. If only we'd a match, now, we might
have managed a light. It's so dreadful to be in
the dark, all alone upon the water."
"If a match is all you want,” Wilfrid said,
brightening up, “ I think I can help you. Shows
the use of smoking after all, you see, Mona.


98
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
You remember you used always to be preach-
ing to me against it."
He drew out his box.
“By Jove,” he murmured, opening it, with a
very blank face, “this is rather serious. I've
only one left. If that misses fire, or goes out,
we'll be as ill off as ever.”
“Let me light it,” Mona said, “I've a very
sure hand," and with that she opened the lamp,
and held the match-box close down under the
shelter of the cover.
There was a moment's suspense as she struck
it. Then the match flared up bright. Mona
held it to the wick. Thank heaven, it jumped
at it! It was now quite dark, save for the light
from the lamp, and they went on for a minute
or two in the despondent silence of hunger and
fatigue. Suddenly, a curious noise burst upon
them like a flash. Something hard struck the
sail—like a bullet or an arrow. The whiz and
the concussion were stunning in their rapidity.
Mona clapped her hands to her ears in alarm
once more.“What's that?" she cried, aghast.
“ Have they followed ? Are they firing at us?"
Wilfrid rose in his place, uncertain what to
answer, and took up something curiously in his
hand from the bottom of the boat. Then a cry
of joy and triumph burst spontaneously from his
lips.


FROM SAND TO SEA.
99
"Food ! food !” he exclaimed, overjoyed.
“ Fish ! fish! We shall have lots of it!"
“Why, what is it?" Mrs. D'Arcy asked, look-
ing forward all eagerness.
Wilfrid drew a long breath.
“ I might have thought of it before,” he an-
swered. “I knew this so well. They catch
them so at Aden. Why, it's a flying fish, and
it's attracted by the light. The fishermen
along the coast burn a torch in their bows, of
wood steeped in petroleum, and the fish jump
up at it, like moths at a candle. We shall have
dozens before morning. This sea simply swarms
with them."
“But we can't eat it raw," Mona cried, all
aghast, drawing back at the bare idea, even in
her deadly hunger.
“Well, no !" Wilfrid answered more coolly.
“ Though we might, too, if we tried. Better
that than to starve. But as it happens, we
needn't. We can cook it over the lamp in the
little tin cup they keep in the locker for bailing
out the boat with.”
And even as he spoke, another hard object
hit the mast full pelt, and another flying fish
fell, maimed and bleeding, an easy prey for their
use on the boat's bottom.


100
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
CHAPTER VIII.
BOAT AHOY, THERE!
All night long the flying fish, attracted by
the lamp like moths by a candle, kept falling
thick into the boat; and all night long the
weary fugitives baked and ate them, till their
hunger was satisfied. More fish flew in, indeed,
tían they could possibly eat, and they put sev-
eral away at last in the locker for future use,
rather than be troubled any further with them
lying about on the bottom. Hour after hour,
they dozed and watched by turns; and in that
balmy air, sleep came very easy to them. Com-
pared with the desert, indeed, this was luxury
itself. They had food, and drink, and cool air
all around them.
With the early morning, a fresh breeze sprang
up from the north. Little chopping waves be-
gan to obstruct their progress. But they were
in mid channel now, and might begin to feel
some hopes of passing vessels.
“What's that speck over yonder ?" Mona


102
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
this way, and should we wait where we are, and
try to attract its attention ?".
Wilfrid hesitated for a moment. They had
come so far safe from the shores of Africa, and
so far out into the main stream of Anglo-Indian
traffic, that he was loth to turn back again, in
case of accident. And if it were really a slave-
dhow, why run headlong right into it?
“I don't feel quite sure,” he said, looking
anxiously around him on every side and now in-
ured to dangers. “ Better stay where we are,
perhaps, and make certain first as to her course
and her intentions."
Slowly the dark speck grew clearer and clearer
till it loomed up, a visible hull, against the
southern sky-line. She was a sailing vessel he
saw now, and heading straight, as he guessed,
from Cape Guardafui to Aden. His heart stood
still at the sight. Were they missed then, and
pursued ? Had the Arabs discovered the dead
bodies of their companions in the deserted
camp, and made haste to put forth a clumsy
dhow to take vengeance ?
The ship came slowly forward, as if making
straight for them. Wilfrid felt sure they were
perceived, and that she was bearing down upon
them on purpose. He made no signs of distress ;
he was too uncertain of her errand to attract her
attention. Only one thing he saw clearly as she


BOAT AHOY, THERE!
103
drew nearer and nearer. She was indeed a
dhow, Arab built and Arab rigged, with the re-
gular clumsy but quick sailing cut of the trade-
built slaver.
Had they only just escaped, then, from the
Imam of Daro, to fall straightway into the
clutches of the Sultan of Muscat or the petty
robber chiefs of Southeastern Arabia ?
On and on the dhow sailed, straight down on
them she bore. Escape was impossible. As she
drew almost within hailing distance, Mona
looked suddenly up with a visible start of de-
light.
“Why, she's flying British colors," the poor
child cried aloud. “We're saved ! We're
saved ! Don't you see, Wilfrid-Mrs. D'Arcy-
just look up there—look up—the dear old Union
Jack flying free at the masthead !"
But even the sight of his country's flag didn't
fully reassure Wilfrid Moyle, under these doubt-
ful circumstances. He shook his head incredu
lously.
“No, no, my child,” he said, with a bitter
little smile. “That's only a ruse, I'm sure.
She wants to take us in. More dangers ahead.
She's a piratical slave-dhow. I know the cut
and rig of those vile craft so well. I've seen
dozens of them towed in as prizes to Aden."
The clumsy looking brig approached well


104
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
within speaking distance. Then suddenly it
hove a little to one side, and stood to for hail-
ing. A cheery voice called aloud from the
fo'k'sle :
“What, ho !" it cried out in very sailor-like
English. “Boat ahoy! Boat ahoy, there !"
Wilfrid Moyle put his hands together and
shouted in return, in a somewhat trembling
voice :
“What do you want? Who are you?"
The answer rang back sharp and clear, in a
true English tone :
“ Captured Arab slave-dhow, manned by offi-
cers and men of H. M. S. Vigilant. We thought
you were in distress-one of the boats from a
wreck-and so we came out of our course a bit,
and bore down upon you to see if you needed
assistance."
In the wild joy of the moment, without think-
ing what he did, Wilfrid flung himself first upon
Mona's neck, and then on Mrs. D'Arcy's.
“Saved ! saved !” he cried aloud in his first
transport of delight. “They're English !
They're English! We shall get back again to
Aden.”
The men on the dhow put down a boat to tow
them. In ten minutes' time they were along-
side, and being hauled gently on deck. There,
a crowd of kindly faces surrounded the ladies at


BOAT AHOY, THERE!
105
once, in their torn and dust-encumbered Arab
dress, with friendly offers of assistance. It was
some time before the poor fugitives could real-
ize their troubles were really well over at last,
and that twenty-four hours more would see them
safe in British territory.
As the dhow entered the great, frowning, vol-
canic mouth, next day, and news spread through
the lazy port that the missing soldier was on
board, with two rescued English ladies, a ring-
ing cheer went up on every side with deafening
applause, from every sloop and steamer in the
crowded harbor. The formalities of entering
port delayed them for some short time, and
meanwhile, the strange tidings of their miracu-
lous escape ran like wildfire through the station,
the town, the garrison. As they landed on the
shore, dozens of Wilfrid's comrades pressed
eagerly round to grasp his hand once more-
good, honest Tommy Atkinses, who liked their
brave companion in arms none the less for his
being, as they themselves expressed it," a come-
down gentleman."
“Hullo, Moyle," one of them shouted from a
high perch in the background,“ we knew all the
time we'd see you safe back again. But we
didn't quite count on you bringing back in your
knapsack a bride from the desert. One of 'em's
married already, I'm told ; so you can't have


106
BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
her; but the other one won't be worth her salt,
that's what all of us says, if she doesn't marry
you !"
On the Hard, the commandant himself was
waiting to receive them and pour forth congratu-
lations. “What, Mrs. D'Arcy !" he cried, as he
took her hand warmly. “Why, we haven't met
before since I saw you in India. You're saved
after all, thanks to this brave fellow, Moyle !
That's well! That's well! And your friend
too! Miss Wallace! Well, my wife of course
expects to give you both shelter in our quarters
for the present. After all you've gone through,
you'll need to recover a bit no doubt before you
feel yourselves in a fit state for going on home
to England."
“ Thank you, colonel,” Mrs. D'Arcy answered,
glancing down with a doubtful look at her
strange costume. “We're shaken, of course ;
though less ill than you'd imagine. But I won't
deny we'll be glad to be taken in for awhile and
get on civilized clothes again. I hardly feel like
myself, to tell you the truth, in all these dirty,
close-fitting Arab wrappings."
For so strange a thing is civilization that Mrs.
D'Arcy, who'd behaved like a heroine all the
time up till then, while the necessity was upon
her, now suddenly woke up to an awkward con-
sciousness of the fact-being after all a woman


108
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT,
heard at full Wilfrid's story of the rescue, con-
firmed in every particular by Mrs. D'Arcy's and
Mona's. It was noticed in the garrison, too, that
the adjutant was sent to dispatch that day to
England an unusual number of very lengthy
telegrams. Now, telegraph clerks, we all know,
are as silent as the grave; and the sanctity of
dispatches is absolutely inviolable. Still it did
somehow leak out and get noised abroad in
Aden that very evening that the commandant
had forwarded a specially full report of the oc-
currence to the War Office, and that he had
spoken most highly of Private Moyle's zeal and
valor and discretion under extremely difficult
and trying circumstances.
About twelve o'clock next day, a telegram
arrived at Aden from England which was not
private, and which soon ran the rounds of the
gossipy little station. “Everybody in London,”
it said—'twas a Reuter's dispatch—“is full of
Mrs. D'Arcy's and Miss Wallace's escape ; while
Private Moyle's gallant conduct in securing their
retreat is universally praised in all the morning
papers. Since Chard and Bromhead defended
Rorke's Drift with a stockade of mealie bags, no
military event of a personal sort has roused so
much enthusiasm and admiration in England.
It is the general opinion that Moyle should re-
ceive the Victoria Cross, and that some official


110
A BRIDE FROM THE DESERT.
as I hope, in store for you. I thought you'd
like to hear it before the faces of those two ladies,
who owe their lives—and more even than their
lives—to you and your gallantry.... I
got a telegram from the Horse Guards this af-
ternoon, which you can read if you like ; and
you'll see from it that I haven't failed to speak
well of your exploit.” .
Wilfrid took it and read with a swimming
brain : “ In consideration of the facts detailed
in your telegram of yesterday's date, His Royal
Highness, the Commander in Chief, has been
graciously pleased to recommend to Her Majesty
that a commission as sub-lieutenant should to-
day be granted to Private Wilfrid Moyle of the
South Gloucestershire Regiment, and his ap-
pointment to that rank will accordingly now be
immediately gazetted. You are authorized to
communicate to Private Moyle at once his Royal
Highness's decision and the contents of this
telegram."
Wilfrid looked across, somewhat dim-eyed,
towards Mona. Mona stepped forward and took
his hand tenderly.
“How soon, my child ?" he asked, in a very
low voice, while tears stood in his eyes.
And Mona made answer :
“As soon as ever you like, Wilfrid. And, oh !


BOAT AHOY, THERE!
111
I'd have married you all the same, you dear boy,
if you'd still remained a common soldier.”
"I drew particular attention in my dispatch,"
the colonel interposed, smiling blandly at their
joy, “to the fact that you passed all your exam-
inations at Oxford, Moyle, and that but for the
pains you'd bestowed on learning Arabic thor-
oughly here at Aden, you'd never have been
able to effect this rescue. And I further sug-
gested to the authorities at the Horse Guards,
you might probably be employed with consider-
able success on frontier duty or diplomatic mis-
sions."
“ There's another telegram too, just brought
in this minute," the commandant's wife put in,
taking an envelope from her pocket; "it's
addressed to Mr. Moyle. They sent it up here
direct from the office, having heard from the
sentry you were to dine with us this evening."
Wilfrid opened it and read :
“ Just received news, dear son, of your bril-
liant exploit, and consequent promotion to the
rank of officer. The past is forgiven. Think no
more of that. You must marry Mona at once.
Your uncle Fred and I will make an allowance
between us of three hundred a year towards
your household expenses."
He handed it across to Mona.


DR GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT,
EVERYBODY knows by name at least the cele-
brated Dr. Greatrex, the discoverer of that
abstruse molecular theory of the interrelations of
forces and energies. He is a comparatively
young man still, as times go, for a person of
such scientific distinction, for he is now barely
forty ; but to look at his tall, spare, earnest
figure, and his clear-cut, delicate, intellectual
face, you would scarcely imagine that he had
once been the hero of a singularly strange and
romantic story. Yet there have been few lives
more romantic than Arthur Greatrex's, and few
histories stranger in their way than this of his
engagement. After all, why should not a scien-
tific light have a romance of his own as well as
other people ?
Fifteen years ago Arthur Greatrex, then a
young Cambridge fellow, had just come up to
begin his medical studies at a London hospital.
(113]


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
115
Young Greatrex thought her clever, too ; and,
though that is perhaps saying rather too
much, she was certainly a good deal above the
average of ordinary London girls in intellect
and accomplishments.
“ They say, Arthur," she said to him on the
day after their formal engagement, “ that the
course of true love never did run smooth ; and
yet it seems somehow as if ours was wonderfully
smoothed over for us by everybody and every-
thing. I am the happiest and proudest girl in all
the world to have won the love of such a man as
you for my future husband."
Arthur Greatrex stroked the back of her white
little hand with his, and answered gently,
“I hope nothing ever will arise to make the
course of our love run any the rougher; for cer-
tainly we do seem to have every happiness laid
out most temptingly before us. It almost feels
to me as if my paradise had been too easily won
and I ought to have something harder to do be-
fore I enter it.”
“ Don't say that, Arthur,” Hetty put in hastily ;
“ it sounds too much like an evil omen.”
“You superstitious little woman !" the young
doctor replied with a smile. “Talking to a
scientific man about signs and portents !" !
And he kissed her wee hand tenderly, and
went home to his bachelor lodging with that


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
117
make an effort, went to hear it. The subject
was one that always interested him ; and partly
by dint of mental attention, partly out of sheer
desire to master the matter, he managed to hear
it through, and even take in the greater part of
its import. As he left the room to go down the
hospital stairs, he had his mind fairly distracted
between the premonitory symptoms of insanity
and Hetty Abury. “Was there ever such an
unfortunate profession as medicine for a man in
love ?” he asked himself, half angrily. “Why
didn't I go and be a parson or a barrister, or
anything else that would have kept me from
mixing up such incongruous associations ? And
yet, when one comes to think of it, too, there's
no particular natural connection after all be-
tween 'Chitty on Contract' and dearest Hetty."
Musing thus, he turned to walk down the
great central staircase of the hospital. As he
did so, his attention was attracted for a moment
by a sigular person who was descending the
opposite stair towards the same landing. This
person was tall and not ill-looking ; but, as he
came down the steps, he kept pursing up his
mouth and cheeks into the most extraordinary
and hideous grimaces ; in fact, he was obviously
making insulting faces at Arthur Greatrex.
Arthur was so much preoccupied at the moment,
however, that he hardly had time to notice the


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
121
all their own symptoms accurately described in
all the text-book's. His face wasn't twitching
now, of that he was certain ; the nearer he got
to Hetty's, the calmer he grew, and the more he
was conscious he could relax his attention with-
out finding his muscles were playing tricks upon
him. He would turn in and have luncheon, and
soon forget all about it.
Hetty saw him coming, and ran lightly to
open the door for him, and as he took his seat
beside her at the table, he forgot straightway his
whole trouble, and found himself at once in
Paradise once more. All through lunch they
talked about other things—happy plans for the
future, and the small prettinesses that lovers
find so perennially delightful; and long before
Arthur went away the twitching in his face had
altogether ceased to trouble him. Once or twice,
indeed, in the course of the afternoon he hap-
pened to glance casually at the looking-glass
above the drawing-room fireplace (those were
the pre-Morrisian days when overmantels as yet
were not), and he saw to his great comfort that
his face was resting in its usual handsome repose
and peacefulness. A bright, earnest, strong face
it was, with all the promise of greatness already
in it ; and so Hetty thought as she looked up at
it from the low footstool where she sat by his


122
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT,
side and half whispered into his ear the little
timid confidences of earthly betrothal.
Five o'clock tea came all too soon, and then
Arthur felt he inust really be going and must
get home to do a little reading. On his way, he
fancied once he saw a street boy start in evident
surprise as he approached him, but it might be
fancy; and when the street boy stuck his tongue
into the corner of his cheek and uttered derisive
shouts from a safe distance, Arthur concluded
he was only doing after the manner of his kind
out of pure gratuitous insolence. He went home
to his lodgings and sat down to an hour's work ;
but after he had read up, several pages more of
“ Stuckey on Gout," he laid down the book in
disgust, and took out Helmholtz and Joule in.
stead, indulging himself with a little desultory
reading in his favorite study of the higher
physics.
As he read and read the theory of correlation,
the great idea as to the real nature of energy,
which had escaped all these learned physicists,
and which was then slowly forming itself in his
own mind, grew gradually clearer and clearer
still before his mental vision. Helmholtz was
wrong here, because he had not thoroughly ap-
preciated the disjunctive nature of electric
energy ; Joule was wrong there, because he had
failed to understand the real antithesis between


124
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
there at full length, for fear of losing the main
thread of his argument. When he had finished,
about forty sheets of foolscap lay huddled to-
gether on the table before him, written in a
hasty hand, and scarcely legible ; but they con-
tained the first rough draft and central principle
of that immortal work, the “Transcendental
Dynamics."
Arthur Greatrex rose from the table, where
his grand discovery was first formulated, well
satisfied with himself and his theory, and fully
determined to submit it shortly to the critical
judgment of the Royal Society. As he took up
his bedroom candle, however, he went over to
the mantelpiece to kiss Hetty's photograph, as
he always did (for even men of science are
human) every evening before retiring. He
lifted the portrait reverently to his lips, and was
just about to kiss it, when suddenly in the mir-
ror before him he saw the sanie horrible mock-
ing face which had greeted him so unexpectedly
that morning on the hospital staircase. It was
a face of inhuman devilry ; the face of a
mediæval demon, a hideous, grinning, distorted
ghoul, a very caricature and insult upon the
features of humanity. In his dismay he dropped
the frame and the photograph, shivering the
glass that covered it into a thousand atoms.
Summoning up all his resolution, he looked


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
125
again. Yes, there was no mistaking it; a face
was gibing and jeering at him from the mirror
with diabolical ingenuity of distorted hideous-
ness; a disgusting face which even the direct
evidence of his senses would scarcely permit him
to believe was really the reflection of his own
features. It was overpowering, it was awful, it
was wholly incredible ; and, utterly unmanned by
the sight, he sank back into his easy-chair and
buried his face bitterly between the shelter of
his trembling hands.
At that moment Arthur Greatrex felt sure he
knew the real meaning of the horror that sur-
rounded him. He was going mad.
For ten minutes or more he sat there motion-
less, hot tears boiling up from his eyes and fall-
ing silently between his fingers. Then at last
he rose nervously from his seat, and reached
down a volume from the shelf behind him. It
was Prang's “ Treatise on the Physiology of the
Brain." He turned it over hurriedly for a few
pages, till he came to the passage he was look-
ing for.
“Ah, I thought so," he said to himself, half
aloud ; “. Premonitory symptoms : facial distor-
tions ; infirmity of the will ; inability to distin-
guish muscular movements.' Let's see what
Prang has to say about it. 'A not uncommon
concoinitant of these early stages '-Great


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
127
covery. It's impossible that a man who was
going mad could ever see anything so visibly
and distinctly as I see that universal principle.
Let's look again at what Prang has to say upon
that subject.”
He turned over the volume a few pages
further, and glanced lightly at the contents at
the head of each chapter, till at last a few words
in the title struck his eye, and he hurried on to
the paragraph they indicated, with feverish
eagerness. As he did so, these were the words
which met his bewildered gaze.
“In certain cases, especially among men of
unusual intelligence and high attainments, the
exaltation of incipient madness takes rather the
guise of a scientific or philosophic enthusiasm.
Instead of imagining himself the possessor of
untold wealth, or the absolute despot of a servile
people, the patient deludes himself with the be-
lief that he has made a great discovery or
lighted upon a splendid generalization of the
deepest and most universal importance. He
sees new truths crowding upon him with the
most startling and vivid objectivity. He per-
ceives intimate relations of things which he
never before suspected. He destroys at one
blow the Newtonian theory of gravitation ; he
discovers obvious flaws in the nebular hypothe-
sis of Laplace; he gives a scholar's-mate to


128
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
Kant in the very fundamental points of the
Critique of Pure Reason.' The more serious
the attack, the more utterly convinced is the
patient of the exceptional clearness of his own
intelligence at that particular moment. He
writes pamphlets whose scientific value he
ridiculously over-estimates; and he is sure to
be very angry with any one who tries rationally
to combat his newly found authority. Mathe-
matical reasoners are especially liable to this
form of incipient mental disease, which, when
combined with the facial distortions already
alluded to in a previous section, is peculiarly apt
to terminate in acute dementia." ?!
“Acute dementia again !" Arthur Greatrex
cried with a gesture of horror, flinging the book
from him as if it were a poisonous serpent.
“ Acute dementia, acute dementia, acute demen-
tia ; nothing but acute dementia ahead of me,
whichever way I happen to turn. Oh, this is too
horrible ! I shall never be able to marry Hetty.
And yet I shall never be able to break it to
Hetty! Great heavens, that such a phantom as
this should have risen between me and paradise
only since this very morning!"
In his agony he caught up the papers on
which he had written the rough draft of his
grand discovery, and crumpled them up fiercely
in his fingers. “The cursed things !" he groaned


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
129
between his teeth, tossing them with a gesture
of impatient disgust into the waste-paper bas-
ket; “how could I ever have deluded myself
into thinking I had hit offhand upon a grand
truth which had escaped such men as Helm-
holtz, and Mayer, and Joule, and Thompson !
The thing's preposterous upon the very face of
it; I must be going mad, indeed, ever to have
dreamt of it !"
He took up his candle once more, kissed the
portrait in the broken frame with intense fervor
a dozen times over, and then went up gloomily
into his own bedroom. There he did not at-
tempt to undress, but merely pulled off his boots,
lay down in his clothes upon the bed, and hastily
blew out the candle. For a long time he lay
tossing and turning in unspeakable terror ; but
at last, after perhaps two hours or so, he fell
into a troubled sleep, and dreamed a hideous
nightmare, in which somebody or other in
shadowy outlines was trying perpetually to tear
him away by main force from poor pale and
weeping Hetty.
It was daylight when Arthur woke again, and
he lay for some time upon his bed, thinking over
his last night's scare, which seemed much less
serious, as such things always do, now that the
sun had risen upon it. After a while his mind
got round to the energy question ; and, as he


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
131
guished specialist, Professor Linklight, one of
the greatest authorities of his own day on all
questions of molecular physics. Poor man! he
is almost forgotten now, for he died ten years
ago; and his scientific reputation was, after all,
of that flashy sort which bases itself chiefly upon
giving good dinners to leading fellows of the
Royal Society. But fifteen years ago Professor
Linklight, with his cut-and-dried dogmatic no-
tions, and his narrow technical accuracy, was
universally considered the principal physical
philosopher in all England. To him, then, Ar-
thur Greatrex-a far deeper and clearer thinker
—took in all humility the first manuscript of his
marvelous discovery ; not to ask him whether
it was true or not, but to find out whether it was
physical science at all or pure insanity. The
professor received him kindly ; and when Ar-
thur, who had of course his own reasons for at-
tempting a little modest concealment, asked him
to look over a friend's paper for him, with a
view to its presentation to the Royal Society, he
cheerfully promised to do his best. “Though
you will admit, my dear Mr. Greatrex,” he said
with his blandest smile, “that your friend's
manuscript certainly does not err on the side of
excessive brevity,"
From Linklight's Arthur walked on tremu-
lously to the house of another great scientific


134
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
should live in ceaseless apprehension of that
horrible possibility, and should become the par-
ents of children upon whom that hereditary
curse might rest for a lifetime, reflecting itself
back with the added sting of conscientious re-
morse on the father who had brought them into
the world against his own clear judgment of
right and justice.
Next morning Arthur went round once more
to Professor Linklight's. The professor had
promised to read through the paper immedi-
ately, and give his opinion of its chances for
presentation to the Royal Society. He was sit-
ting at his breakfast-table, in his flowered dress-
ing-gown and slippers, when Arthur called upon
him, and, with a cup of coffee in one hand, was
actually skimming the last few pages through
his critical eye-glass as his visitor entered.
“Good-morning, Mr. Greatrex !” he said, with
one of his most gracious smiles, indicative of the
warm welcome extended by acknowledged wis-
dom towards rising talent. “You see I have
been reading your friend's paper, as I promised.
Well, my dear sir, not to put too fine a point
upon it, it won't hold water. In fact, it's a mere
rigmarole. Excuse my asking you, Greatrex,
but have you any idea, my dear fellow, whether
your friend is inclined to be a little cracky?"
Arthur swallowed a groan with the greatest


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT,
135
difficulty, and answered in as unconcerned a
tone as possible, “ Well, to tell you the truth,
Mr. Linklight, some doubts have been cast upon
his perfect sanity.”
“Ah, I should have thought so," the professor
went on in his airiest manner; “I should have
thought so. The fact is, this paper is fitter for
the transactions of the Colney Hatch Academy
than for those of the Royal Society. It has a
delusive outer appearance of physical thinking,
but there's no real meaning in it of any sort.
It's gassy, unsubstantial, purely imaginative.”
And the professor waved his hand in the air to
indicate its utter gaseousness. “ If you were to
ask my own opinion about it, I should say it's
the sort of thing that might be produced by a
young man of some mathematical training with
a very superficial knowledge of modern physics,
just as he was on the point of lapsing into com-
plete insanity. It's the maddest bit of writing
that has ever yet fallen under my critical
notice."
“Your opinion is of course conclusive,” Arthur
answered with unfeigned humility, his eyes al-
most bursting with the tears he would not let
come to the surface. “It will be a great disap-
pointment to my friend, but I have no doubt he
will accept your verdict."
“ Not a bit of it, my dear sir," the professor


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
137
tached less importance than he actually did to
this supposed final proof of his own insanity.
As Arthur entered his lodgings he hung his
hat up on the stand in the passage. There was
a little strip of mirror in the middle of the
stand, and glancing at it casually he saw once
more that awful face—his own-distorted and al-
most diabolical, which he had learnt so soon to
hate instinctively as if it were a felon's and a
murderer's. He rushed away wildly into his little
sitting-room, and flung his manuscript on the
table, almost without observing that his friend
Freeling, the rising physiologist, was quietly
seated on the sofa opposite.
“What's this, Arthur ?" Freeling asked, taking
it up carelessly and glancing at the title. “You
don't mean to say that you've finally written out
that splendid idea of yours about the interrela-
tions of energy ?".
“Yes, I have, Harry; I have, and I wish to
heaven I hadn't, for it's all mad and silly and
foolish and meaningless !"
“If it is, then I'm mad too, my dear fellow,
for I think it is the most convincing thing in
physics I ever listened to. Let me have the
manuscript to look over, and see how you've
worked out those beautiful calculations about
the square root of Pi, will you ?"
“ Take the thing, for heaven's sake, and leave


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
139
a name, which he at once recognized as Ar-
thur's. He recalled certain symptoms he had
himself observed, and his suspicions were thus
vividly aroused. Happening accidentally to fol-
low Arthur in the street he was convinced that
his surmise was correct, and he thought it his
duty both to inform Arthur of the danger that
encompassed him, and to assure him that, deeply
as it grieved him to withdraw the consent he
had so gladly given, he could not allow his only
daughter to marry a man bearing on his face the
evident marks of an insane tendency. The letter
contained much more of regret and condolence ;
but that was the pith that Arthur Greatrex picked
out of it all through the blinding tears that
dimmed his vision.
The second letter was from Hetty. Half
guessing its contents, he had left it purposely till
the last, and he tore it open now with a fearful
sinking feeling in his bosom. It was indeed a
heart-broken, heart-breaking letter. What could
be the secret which papa would not tell her ?
Why had not Arthur come yesterday? Why
could she never marry him ? Why was papa so
cruel as not to tell her the reason ? He couldn't
have done anything in the slightest degree dis-
honorable, far less anything wicked ; of that she
felt sure ; but, if not, what could be this horrible
mysterious, unknown barrier that was so sudden-


140
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
ly raised between them ? “Do write, dearest Ar-
thur, and relieve me from this terrible, incompre-
hensible suspense ; do let me know what has hap-
pened to make papa so determined against you.
I could bear to lose you—at least I could bear it
as other women have done—but I can't bear this
awful uncertainty, this awful doubt as to your
love or your constancy. For heaven's sake,
darling, send me a note somehow ! send me a
line to tell me you love me. Your heart-
broken,
“ HETTY."
Arthur took his hat, and, unable to endure
this agony, set out at once for the Aburys'.
When he reached the door, the servant who an-
swered his ring at the bell told him he could not
see the doctor ; he was engaged with two other
doctors in a consultation about Miss Hetty.
What was the matter with Miss Hetty, then ?
What, didn't he know that? Oh, Miss Hetty
had had a fit, and Dr. Freeling and Dr. Mac-
Kinlay had been called in to see her. Arthur
did not wait for a moment, but walked upstairs
unannounced, and into the consulting-room.
Was it a very serious matter? Yes, Freeling
answered, very serious. It seemed Miss Abury
had had a great shock—a great shock to her
affections—which, he added in a lower voice,


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
141
"you yourself can perhaps best explain to me.
She will certainly have a long illness. Perhaps
she may never recover."
“Come out into the conservatory, Harry,”
said Arthur to his friend. “I can tell you there
what it is all about.”
In a few words Arthur told him the nature of
the shock, but without describing the particular
symptoms on which the opinion of his supposed
approaching insanity was based. Freeling lis-
tened with an incredulous smile, and at the end
he said to his friend gently, “My dear Arthur, I
wish you had told me all this before. If you
had done so, we might have saved Miss Abury
a shock which may perhaps be fatal. You are
no more going mad than I am; on the con-
trary, you're about the sanest and most clear-
headed fellow of my acquaintance. But these
mad-doctors are always finding madness every-
where. If you had come to me and told me the
symptoms that troubled you, I should soon have
set you right again in your own opinion. To
have gone to Warminster was most unfortu-
nate, but it can't be helped now. What we
have to do at present is to take care of Miss
Abury."
Arthur shook his head sadly. “Ah,” he said,
“you don't know the real gravity of the symp-
toms I ain suffering from. I shall tell you all


142
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
about them some other time. However, as you
say, what we have to think about now is Hetty.
Can you let me see her? I am sure if I could
see her it would reassure her and do her good.”
Dr. Abury was at first very unwilling to let
Arthur visit Hetty, who was now lying uncon-
scious on the sofa in her own boudoir ; but
Freeling's opinion that it might possibly do her
good at last prevailed with him, and he gave his
permission grudgingly.
Arthur went into the room silently and took
his seat beside the low couch where the mother-
less girl was lying. Her face was very white,
and her hands pale and bloodless. He took
one hand in his ; the pulse was hardly per-
ceptible. He laid it down upon her breast, and
leaned back to watch for any sign of returning
life in her pallid cheek and closed eyelids.
For hours and hours he sat there watching,
and no sign came. Dr. Abury sat at the bottom
of the couch, watching with him ; and as they
watched, Arthur felt from time to time that his
face was again twitching horribly. However, he
had only thoughts for one thing now : would
Hetty die or would she recover ? The servants
brought them a little cake and wine. They sat
and drank in silence, looking at one another, but
each absorbed in his own thoughts, and speaking
never a word for good or evil.


144
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
little area plot outside the consulting-room.
Arthur was accustomed to see monkeys there,
for Freeling often had invalids from the Zoo to
observe side by side with human patients ; but
this particular monkey fascinated him even in
his present shattered state of nerves, because
there was a something in its face which seemed
strangely and horribly familiar to him. As he
looked, he recognized with a feeling of unspeak-
able aversion what it was of which the monkey
reminded him. It was making a series of hide-
ous and apparently mocking grimaces—the very
self-same grimaces which he had seen on his
own features in the mirror during the last day
or two! Horrible idea! He was descending
to the level of the very monkeys !
The more he watched, the more absolutely
identical the two sets of grimaces appeared to
him to be. Could it be fancy or was it reality ?
Or might it be one more delusion, showing that
his brain was now giving way entirely? He
rubbed his eyes, steadied his attention, and
looked again with the deepest interest. No, he
could not be mistaken. The monkey was act-
ing in every respect precisely as he himself had
acted.
“Harry,” he said, in a low and frightened
tone, “look at this monkey. Is he mad? Tell
me.”


DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
145
“My dear Arthur," replied his friend, with
just a shade of expostulation in his voice, “you
have really got madness on the brain at present.
No, he isn't mad at all. He's as sane as you
are, and that's saying a good deal, I can assure
you.”
“But, Harry, you can't have seen what he's
doing. He's grimacing and contorting himself
in the most extraordinary fashion.”
"Well, monkeys often do grimace, don't
they?" Harry Freeling answered coolly. “Take
this brandy and you'll soon feel better."
“But they don't grimace like this one,"
Arthur persisted.
“No, not like this one, certainly. That's why
I've got him here. I'm going to operate upon
him for it under chloroform, and cure him im-
mediately."
Arthur leaped from his seat like one de-
mented. “Operate upon him, cure him !” he
cried hastily. “What on earth do you mean,
Harry ?"
“My dear boy, don't be so excited,” said Freel.
ing. “This suspense and sleeplessness have been
too much for you. This is antivivisection car-
ried ad absurdum. You don't mean to say you
object to operations upon a monkey for his own
benefit, do you? If I don't cut a nerve, tetanus
will finally set in, and he'll die of it in great


148
DR. GREATREX'S ENGAGEMENT.
Hetty's illness was long and serious ; but be-
fore it was over Freeling was able to convince
Dr. Abury of his own and his colleague's error
and to prove by a simple piece of surgery that
Arthur's hideous grimaces were due to nothing
worse than a purely physical impediment. The
operation was quite a successful one ; but though
Greatrex's face has never since been liable to
these curious contortions, the consequent relax-
ation of the muscles has given his features that
peculiarly calm and almost impassive expression
which everybody must have noticed upon them
at the present day, even in moments of the
greatest animation. The difficulty was how to
break the cause of the temporary mistake to
Hetty, and this they were unable to do until she
was to a great extent convalescent. When once
the needful explanation was over, and Arthur
was able once more to kiss her with perfect free-
dom from any tinge of suspicion on her part, he
felt that his paradise was at last attained.
A few days before the deferred date fixed for
their wedding, Freeling came into the doctor's
drawing-room, where Hetty and Arthur were
sitting together, and threw a letter with a French
official stamp upon its face down upon the table.
“ There," he said, “I find all the inembers of the
Académie des Sciences at Paris are madmen
also !"


152
THE BACKSLIDER.
the marked personality of some one ardent, vig-
orous, half-educated visionary ; and they consist
for the most part of intelligent, half-reasoning
people, who are bold enough to cast overboard
the dogmatic beliefs of their fathers, but not so
bold as to exercise their logical faculty upon the
fundamental basis on which the dogmas origin-
ally rested. The Gideonites had thus collected
around the fixed centre of their Apostle, a
retired attorney, Murgess by name, whose teach-
ing commended itself to their groping reason as
the pure outcome of faithful Biblical research ;
and they had chosen their name because, though
they were but three hundred in number, they
had full confidence that when the time came
they would blow their trumpets, and all the host
of Midian would be scattered before them. In
fact, they divided the world generally into Gide-
onite and Midianite, for they knew that he that
was not with them was against them. And no
wonder, for the people of Peckham did not love
the struggling Church. Its chief doctrine was
one of absolute celibacy, like the Shakers of
America ; and to this doctrine the Church had
testified in the Old Kent Road and elsewhere
after a vigorous practical fashion that roused the
spirit of Southeastern London into the fiercest
opposition. The young men and maidens, said
the Apostle, must no longer marry or be given


THE BACKSLIDER.
153
in marriage ; the wives and husbands must
dwell asunder; and the earth must be made as
an image of heaven. These were heterodox
opinions, indeed, which Southeastern London
could only receive with a strenuous counterblast
of orthodox brickbats and sound Anglican road
metal.
The fleece of wool was duly laid upon the
floor ; the trumpet and the lamp were placed
upon the bare wooden reading desk ; and the
Apostle, rising slowly from his seat, began to
address the assembled Gideonites.
“Friends," he said, in a low, clear, impressive
voice, with a musical ring tempering its slow
distinctness, “we have met together to-night to
take counsel with one another upon a high mat-
ter. It is plain to all of us that the work of the
Church in the world does not prosper as it might
prosper were the charge of it in worthier hands.
We have to contend against great difficulties.
We are not among the rich or the mighty of the
earth; and the poor whom we have always with
us do not listen to us. It is expedient, therefore,
that we should set some one among us aside to
be instructed thoroughly in those things that are:
most commonly taught among the Midianites at
Oxford or Cambridge. To some of you it may
seeni, as it seemed at first to me, that such a
course would involve going back upon the very


154
THG BACKSLIDER.
principles of our constitution. We are not to
overcome Midian by our own hand, nor by the
strength of two and thirty thousand, but by the
trumpet, and the pitcher, and the cake of barley
bread. Yet, when I searched and inquired after
this matter, it seemed to me that we might also
err by overmuch confidence on the other side.
For Moses, who led the people out of Egypt, was
made ready for the task by being learned in all
the learning of the Egyptians. Daniel, who tes-
tified in the captivity, was cunning in knowledge,
and understanding science, and instructed in the
wisdom and tongue of the Chaldeans. Paul, who
was the Apostle of the Gentiles, had not only sat
at the feet of Gamaliel, but was also able from
their own poets and philosophers to confute the
sophisms and subtleties of the Grecians them-
selves. These things show us that we should
not too lightly despise even worldly learning
and worldly science. Perhaps we have gone
wrong in thinking too little of such dross, and
being puffed up with spiritual pride. The world
might listen to us more readily if we had one
who could speak the word for us in the tongues
understanded of the world.”
As he paused, a hum of acquiescence went
round the room.
" It has seemed to me, then," the Apostle
went on,” that we ought to choose some one


THE BACKSLIDER.
155
among our younger brethren, upon whose shoul-
ders the cares and duties of the Apostolate
might hereafter fall. We are a poor people, but
by subscription among ourselves we might raise
a sufficient sum to send the chosen person first
to a good school here in London, and afterwards
to the University of Oxford. It may seem a
doubtful and a hazardous thing thus to stake our
future upon any one young man ; but then we
must remember that the choice will not be
wholly or even mainly ours; we will be guided
and directed as we ever are in the laying on of
hands. To me, considering this matter thus, it
has seemed that there is one youth in our body
who is specially pointed out for this work. Only
one child has ever been born into the Church ;
he, as you know, is the son of brother John
Owen and sister Margaret Owen, who were
received into the fold just six days before his
birth. Paul Owen's very name seems to many
of us, who take nothing for chance but all things
for divinely ordered, to mark him out at once as
a foreordained Apostle. Is it your wish, then,
Presbyter John Owen, to dedicate your only son
to this ministry ?"
Presbyter John Owen rose from the row of
seats assigned to the forty-eight, and moved
hesitatingly towards the platform. He was an
intelligent-looking, honest-faced, sunburnt work-


156
THE BACKSLIDER.
ing man, a mason by trade, who had come into
the Church from the Baptist society; and he was
awkwardly dressed in his Sunday clothes, with
the scrupulous, clumsy neatness of a respectable
artisan who expects to take part in an import-
ant ceremony. He spoke nervously and with
hesitation, but with all the transparent earnest-
ness of a simple, enthusiastic nature.
“ Apostle and friends," he said, “it ain't very
easy for me to disentangle my feelin's on this
subjec' from one another. I hope I ain't moved
by any worldly feelin', an' yet I hardly know
liow to keep such considerations out, for there's
no denyin' that it would be a great pleasure to
me and to his mother to see our Paul becomin'
a teacher in Israel, and receivin' an education
such as you, Apostle, has pinted out. But we
hope, too, we ain't insensible to the good of the
Church and the advantage that it might derive
from our Paul's support and preachin'. We
can't help seein' ourselves that the lad has got
abilities; and we've tried to train him up from
his youth upward, like Timothy, for the further-
ance of the right doctrine. If the Church thinks
he's fit for the work laid upon him, his mother
and me'll be glad to dedicate him to the ser-
vice.”
He sat down awkwardly, and the Church
again hummed its approbation in a suppressed


158
THE BACKSLIDER.
general sturdiness of limb and muscle which
showed that he was none of your nervous, blood-
less, sickly idealists, but a wholesome, English
peasant boy of native refinement and delicate
sensibilities. He moved forward with some
natural hesitation before the eyes of so many
people-ay, and what was more terrible, of the
entire Church upon earth ; but he was not awk-
ward and constrained in his action like his
father. One could see that he was sustained
in the prominent part he took that morning by
the consciousness of a duty he had to perform
and a mission laid upon him which he must not
reject.
“ Are you willing, my son Paul,” asked the
Apostle, gravely, “ to take upon yourself the
task that the Church proposes ?"
"I am willing," answered the boy in a low
voice, “ grace preventing me.”
“Does all the Church unanimously approve
the election of our brother Paul to this office ?”'
the Apostle asked formally ; for it was a rule
with the Gideonities that nothing should be
done except by the unanimous and spontaneous
action of the whole body, acting under direct
and immediate inspiration ; and all important
matters were accordingly arranged beforehand
by the Apostle in private interviews with every
member of the Church individually, so that


160
THE BACKSLIDER.
work. You must remember that the ministry
of this Church has cost you nothing ; freely I
have received and freely given ; do you now
bear your part in equipping a new aspirant for
the succession to the Apostolate."
The two senior Episcops took two rolls from
his hand, and went round the benches with a
stylographic pen (so strangely do the ages
mingle-Apostles and stylographs) silently ask-
ing each to put down his voluntary subscription.
Meanwhile the Apostle read slowly and rever-
ently a few appropriate sentences of Scripture.
Some of the richer members-well-to-do small
tradesmen of Peckham-put down a pound or
even two pounds apiece; the poorer brethren
wrote themselves down for ten shillings or even
five. In the end the guarantee list amounted to
£195 a year. The Apostle reckoned it up rapidly
to himself, and then announced the result to the
assembly, with a gentle smile relaxing his
austere countenance. He was well pleased, for
the sum was quite sufficient to keep Paul Owen
two years at school in London and then send
him comfortably if not splendidly to Oxford.
The boy had already had a fair education in
Latin and some Greek, at the Birkbeck Schools;
and with two years' further study he might even
gain a scholarship (for he was a bright lad),
which would materially lessen the expense to.


162
THE BACKSLIDER.
but what he may round upon the Church, and
go back upon us after we've paid for his eddica-
tion ? So what I want to ask is just this, can't
we bind him down in a bond that if he don't
take the Apostleship with the consent of the
Church when it falls vacant he'll pay us back
our money, so as we can eddicate up another
as'll be more worthy ?"
The Apostle moved uneasily in his chair ;
but before he could speak, Paul Owen's indig.
nation found voice, and he said out his say
boldly before the whole assembly, blushing crim-
son with mingled shame and excitement as he
did so. “If Brother Grimshaw and all the
brethren think so ill of me that they cannot
trust my honesty and honor," he said, “they
need not be at the pains of educating me. I will
sign no bond and enter into no compact. But if
you suppose that I will be a backslider, you do
not know me, and I will confer no more with you
upon the subject.”
“My son Paul is right,” the Apostle said
fushing up in turn at the boy's audacity ; "we
will not make the affairs of the Spirit a matter
for bonds and earthly arrangements. If the
Church thinks as I do, you will all rise up."
All rose except Presbyter Grimshaw. For a
moment there was some hesitation, for the rule
of the Church in favor of unanimity was abso-


THE BACKSLIDER.
163
lute ; but the Apostle fixed his piercing eyes on
Job Grimshaw, and after a minute or so Job
Grimshaw too rose slowly, like one compelled by
an unseen power, and cast in his vote grudg-
ingly with the rest. There was nothing more
said about signing an agreement.


164
THE BACKSLIDER.
II.
MEENIE BOLTON had counted a great deal upon
her visit to Oxford, and she found it quite as de-
lightful as she had anticipated. Her brother
knew such a nice set of men, especially Mr.
Owen, of Christchurch. Meenie had never been
so near falling in love with anybody in her life
as she was with Paul Owen. He was so hand-
some and so clever, and then there was some,
thing so romantic about this strange Church they
said he belonged to. Meenie's father was a
country parson, and the way in which Paul
shrank from talking about the Rector, as if his
office were something wicked or uncanny, piqued
and amused her. There was an heretical tinge
about him which made him doubly interesting
to the Rector's daughter. The afternoon water
party that eventful Thursday, down to Nune-
ham, she looked forward to with the deepest in-
terest: For her aunt, the Professor's wife, who
was to take charge of them, was certainly the
most delightful and most sensible of chaperons.
“ Is it really true, Mr. Owen,” she said, as they
sat together for ten minutes alone after their


THE BACKSLIDER.
165
picnic luncheon, by the side of the weir under
the shadow of the Nuneham beeches—" is it
really true that this Church of yours doesn't al-
low people to marry ?”.
Paul colored up to his eyes as he answered,
“ Well, Miss Bolton, I don't know that you
should identifyine too absolutely with my
Church. I was very young when they selected
me to go to Oxford, and my opinions have de-
cidedly wavered a good deal lately. But the
Church certainly does forbid marriage. I have
always been brought up to look upon it as
sinful.”
Meenie laughed aloud ; and Paul, to whom
the question was no laughing matter, but a
serious point of conscientious scruple, could
hardly help laughing with her, so infectious was
that pleasant ripple. He checked himself with
an effort, and tried to look serious.
“Do you know," he said, " when I first came
to Christchurch, I doubted even whether I ought
to make your brother's acquaintance, because he
was a clergyman's son. I was taught to describe
clergymen always as priests of Midian."
He never talked about his Church to anybody
at Oxford, and it was a sort of relief to him to
speak on the subject to Meenie, in spite of her
langhing eyes and undisguised amusement.
The other men would have laughed at him too,


166
THE BACKSLIDER,
but their laughter would have been less sympa-
thetic.
“And do you think them priests of Midian
still ?" asked Meenie.
“ Miss Bolton," said Paul suddenly, as one who
relieves his overburdened mind by a great effort,
“I am almost moved to make a confidante of
you."
“There is nothing I love better than confi-
dences," Meenie answered ; and she might
truthfully have added, “ particularly from you."
“Well, I have been passing lately through a
great many doubts and difficulties. I was
brought up by my Church to become its next
Apostle, and I have been educated at their ex-
pense both in London and here. You know,"
Paul added, with his innate love of telling out the
whole truth, “I am not a gentleman ; I am the
son of poor working people in London.”
“ Tom told me who your parents were,"
Meenie answered simply ; " but he told me, too,
you were none the less a true gentleman born
for that ; and I see myself he told me right.”.
Paul flushed again-he had a most unmanly
trick of flushing up-and bowed a little timid
bow.
“ Thank you," he said, quietly. “Well, while
I was in London I lived entirely among my own
people, and never heard anything talked about


THE BACKSLIDER.
173
interested, and finished a chapter. When he
had finished it, he put the book down and felt
that the struggle was over. Strange that side
by side in the same world, in the same London,
there should exist two such utterly different
types of man as Herbert Spencer and the Gid-
eonite Apostle. The last seemed to belong to
the sixteenth century, the first to some new and
hitherto uncreated social world. In an age
which produced thinkers like that, how could
he ever have mistaken the poor, bigoted, narrow,
half-instructed Apostle for a divinely inspired
teacher? So far as Paul Owen was concerned,
the Gideonite Church and all that belonged to
it had melted utterly into thin air.
Three days later, after the Eights in the early
evening, Paul found an opportunity of speaking
again alone with Meenie. He had taken their
party on to the Christchurch barge to see the
race, and he was strolling with them afterwards
round the meadow walk by the bank of the
Cherwell. Paul managed to get a little in front
with Meenie, and entered at once upon the sub-
ject of his late embarrassments.
“I have thought it all over since, Miss Bol-
ton,” he said-he half hesitated whether he
should say “Meenie ” or not, and she was half
disappointed that he didn't, for they were both
very young, and very young people fall in love


THE BACKSLIDER.
175
to marry (young people jump so) till all that
money was paid off. “Fortunately," he said, " I
have lived economically, and have not spent
nearly as much as they guaranteed. I got
scholarships up to a hundred a year of my own,
and I only took a hundred a year of theirs,
They offered me two hundred. But there's five
years at a hundred, that makes five hundred
pounds-a big debt to begin life with.”
“Never mind," said Meenie. “You will get a
fellowship, and in a few years you can pay
it off."
“Yes,” said Paul, “ I can pay it off. But I can
never pay off the hopes and aspirations I have
blighted. I must become a schoolmaster, or a
barrister, or something of that sort, and never
repay them for their self-sacrifice and devotion
in making me whatever I shall become. They
may get back their money, but they will have
lost their cherished Apostle forever.”
“Mr. Owen,” Meenie answered solemnly," the
seal of the Apostolate lies far deeper than that.
It was born in you, and no act of yours can shake
it off.”
“Meenie,” he said, looking at her gently, with
'a changed expression—“Meenie, we shall have
to wait many years."
“Never mind, Paul,” she replied, as naturally
as if he had been Paul to her all her life long


176
THE BACKSLIDER.
“I can wait if you can. But what will you do
for the immediate present ?"
"I have my scholarship,” he said ; “I can get
on partly upon that ; and then I can take pupils;
and I have only one year more of it."
So before they parted that night it was all
well understood between them that Paul was to
declare his defection from the Church at the
earliest opportunity ; that he was to live as best
he might till he could take his degree ; that he
was then to pay off all the back debt ; and that
after all these things he and Meenie might get
comfortably married whenever they were able.
As to the Rector and his wife, or any other pa-
rental authorities, they both left them out in the
cold as wholly as young people always do leave
their elders out on all similar occasions.
“Maria's a born fool!” said the Rector to his
wife a week after Meenie's return; “I always
knew she was a fool, but I never knew she was
quite such a fool as to permit a thing like this,
So far as I can get it out of Edie, and so far as
Edie can get it out of Meenie, I understand that
she has allowed Meenie to go and get herself
engaged to some Dissenter fellow, a Shaker, or a
Mormon, or a Communist, or something of the
sort, who is the son of a common laborer, and
has been sent up to Oxford, Tom tells me, by his
own sect, to be made into a gentleman, so as to


THE BACKSLIDER.
177
give some sort or color of respectability to their
absurd doctrines. I shall send the girl to town
at once to Emily's, and she shall stop there all
next season, to see if she can't manage to get
engaged to some young man in decent society at
any rate.”


178
THE BACKSLIDER.
III.
WHEN Paul Owen returned to Peckham for
the long vacation, it was with a heavy heart
that he ventured back slowly to his father's
cottage. Margaret Owen had put everything
straight and neat in the little living room, as she
always did, to welcome home her son who had
grown into a gentleman ; and honest John stood
at the threshold beaming with pleasure to wring
Paul's hand in his firm grip, just back unwashed
from his day's labor. After the first kissings
and greetings were over, John Owen said rather
solemnly, “ I have bad news for you, Paul. The
Apostle is sick, even unto death."
When Paul heard that, he was sorely tempted
to put off the disclosure for the present; but he
felt he must not. So that same night, as they
sat together in the dusk near the window where
the geraniums stood, he began to unburden his
whole mind, gently and tentatively, so as to
spare their feelings as much as possible, to his
father and mother. He told them how, since he
went to Oxford, he had learned to think some-
what differently about many things ; how his


THE BACKSLIDER.
179
ideas had gradually deepened and broadened ;
how he had begun to inquire into fundamentals
for himself; how he had feared that the Gide-
onites took too much for granted, and reposed
too implicitly on the supposed critical learning of
their Apostle. As he spoke his mother listened
in tearful silence; but his father murinured
from time to time, “I was afeard of this
already, Paul ; I seen it coming, now and again,
long ago." There was pity and regret in his
tone, but not a shade of reproachfulness.
At last, however, Paul came to speak, timidly
and reservedly, of Meenie. Then his father's
eye began to flash a little, and his breath came
deeper and harder. When Paul told him briefly
that he was engaged to her, the strong man
could stand it no longer. He rose up in right-
eous wrath, and thrust his son at arm's length
from him. “What !” he cried fiercely, “you
don't mean to tell me you have fallen into sin
and looked upon the daughters of Midian! It
was no Scriptural doubts that druv you on,
then, but the desire of the flesh and the lust of
the eyes that has lost you! You dare to stand
up there, Paul, Owen, and tell me that you throw
over the Church and the Apostle for the sake of
a girl, like a poor, miserable Samson! You are
no son of mine, and I have nothin' more to say
to you."


180
THE BACKSLIDER.
But Margaret Owen put her hand on his
shoulder and said softly, “ John, let us hear him
out.” And John, recalled by that gentle touch,
listened once more. Then Paul pleaded his
case powerfully again. He quoted Scripture to
them; he argued with them, after their own
fashion, and down to their own comprehension,
text by text; he pitted his own critical and
exegetical faculty against the Apostle's. Last
of all, he turned to his mother, who, tearful
still and heartbroken with disappointment, yet
looked admiringly upon her learned, eloquent
boy, and said to her tenderly, “Remember,
mother, you yourself were once in love. You
yourself once stood, night after night, leaning
on the gate, waiting with your heart beating for
a footstep that you knew so well. You yourself
once counted the days and the hours and the
minutes till the next meeting came." And
Margaret Owen, touched to the heart by that
simple appeal, kissed him fevently a dozen
times over, the hot tears dropping on his cheek
meanwhile; and then, contrary to all the rules
of their austere Church, she flung her arms
round her husband too, and kissed him passion-
ately the first time for twenty years, with all the
fervor of a floodgate loosed. Paul Owens
apostolate had surely borne its first fruit.
The father stood for a moment in doubt and


182
THE BACKSLIDER.
Grimshaw. Job rose from his place with a look
of undisguised triumpb, as soon as Paul had fin-
ished, and, mounting the platform quietly, said
his say.
“I knew, Episcops, Presbyters, and Brethren,"
he began,“ how this 'ere young man would finish.
I saw it the day he was appinted. He's flush-
ing up now the same as he flushed up then when
I spoke to him ; and it ain't sperritual, it's
worldly pride and headstrongness, that's what it
is. He's had our money and he's had his eddi-
cation, and now he's going to round on us, just
as I said he would. It's all very well talking
about paying us back; how's a young man like
him to get five hundred pounds, I should like to
know. And if he did even, what sort o' repay-
ment would that be to many of the brethren,
who've saved and scraped for five year to let
him live like a gentleman among the great and
the mighty o'Midian ? He's got his eddication
out of us, and he can keep that whatever hap-
pens, and make a living out of it, too ; and now
he's going back on us same as I said he would,
and, having got all he can out of the Church,
he's going to chuck it away like a sucked orange.
I detest such backsliding and such ungrateful-
ness.”
Paul's cup of humiliation was full, but he bit


THE BACKSLIDER.
183
his lip till the blood almost came, and made no
answer.
"He boasted in his own strength,” Job went
on mercilessly, “ that he wasn't going to be a
backslider, and he wasn't going to sign no bond,
and he wasn't going to confer with us, but we
must trust his honor and honesty, and such
like. I've got his very words written down in
my notebook 'ere ; for I made a note of 'em fore-
seeing this. If we'd 'a' bound him down, as I
proposed, he wouldn't 'a' dared to go backsliding
and rounding on us, and making up to the
daughters of Midian, as I don't doubt but what
he's been doing." Paul's tell-tale face showed
him at once that he had struck by accident on
the right chord. But if he ever goes bringing a
daughter of Midian here to Peckham," Job con-
tinued, “ we'll show her these very notes, and ask
her what she thinks of such dishonorable conduct.
The Apostle's dying, that's clear ; and before he
dies I warrant he shall know this treachery.”
Paul could not stand that last threat. Though
he had lost faith in the Apostle as an Apostle,
he could never forget the allegiance he had
once borne him as a father, or the spell which
his powerful individuality had once thrown
around him as a teacher. To have embittered
that man's dying bed with the shadow of a ter-
rible disappointment would be to Paul a life-


186
THE BACKSLIDER,
IV.
A few days later the Apostle was buried, and
his will was read over before the assembled
Church. By earnest persuasion of his father,
Paul consented to be present, though he feared
another humiliation from Job Grimshaw. But
two days before he had taken the law into his
own hands, by writing to Meenie, at her aunt's
in Eaton Place; and that very indiscreet young
lady, in response, had actually consented to
meet him in Kensington Gardens alone the next
afternoon. There he sat with her on one of the
benches by the Serpentine, and talked the whole
matter over with her to his heart's content.
“ If the money is really left to me,” he said,
“I must in honor refuse it. It was left to me to
carry on the Apostolate, and I can't take it on
any other ground. But what ought I to do with
it? I can't give it over to the Church, for in
three days there will be no Church left to give
it to. What shall I do with it ?"
“Why,” said Meenie, thoughtfully, “if I were
you I should do this. First, pay back everybody
who contributed towards your support in full,


THE BACKSLIDER.
189
“Friends, it seems to me we may as well all
confess that this Church has gone to pieces. I
can't stop in it myself any longer, for I see it's
clear agin nature, and what's agin nature can't
be true,"
And though the assembly said nothing, it was
plain that there were many waverers in the little
body whom the affairs of the last week had
shaken sadly in their simple faith. Indeed, as a
matter of fact, before the end of the month the
Gideonite Church had melted away, member by
member, till nobody at all was left of the whole
assembly but Job Grimshaw.
“My dear," said the rector to his wife a few
weeks, later, laying down his Illustrated, “ this is
really a very curious thing. That young fellow,
Owen, of Christchurch, that Meenie fancied her-
self engaged to, has just come into a little landed
property and eight or nine thousand pounds on
his own account. He must be better connected
than Tom imagines. Perhaps we might make
inquiries about him after all.
The Rector did make inquiries in the course
of the week, and with such results that he turned
to the rectory in blank amazement. “That fel-
low's mad, Amelia,” he said, “ stark mad, if ever
anybody was. The leader of his Little Bethel,
or Ebenezer, or whatever it may be, has left him
all his property absolutely, without conditions ;


THE BACKSLIDER.
191
not only saved the whole of the sum advanced
by the Gideonites, but had also begun to put
away a little nest-egg against his marriage with
Meenie. And when the editor of a great inorn-
ing paper in London offered him a permanent
place upon the staff, at a large salary, he actually
went down to Worcestershire, saw the formid-
able Rector himself in his own parish, and
demanded Meenie outright in marriage. And
the Rector observed to his wife that this young
Owen seemed a well-behaved and amiable young
man ; that after all one needn't know anything
about his relations if one didn't like ; and that
as Meenie had quite made up her mind, and was
as headstrong as a mule, there was no use try-
ing to oppose her any longer.
Down in Peckham, where Paul Owen lives,
and is loved by half the poor of the district, no
one has forgotten who was the real founder of
the Murgess Institute, which does so much good
in encouraging thrift, and is so admirably man-
aged by the founder and his wife. He would
take a house nowhere but at Peckham, he said.
To the Peckham people he owed his education,
and for the Peckham people he would watch the
working of his little Institute. There is no bet-
ter work being done anywhere in that great
squalid desert, the east and southeast of Lon-
don; there is no influence more magnetic than


192
THE BACKSLIDER.
the founder s. John and Margaret Owen have
recovered their hopes for their boy, only they
run now in another and more feasible direction ;
and those who witness the good that is being
done by the Institute among the poor of Peck-
ham, or who have read that remarkable and
brilliant economical work lately published on
“ The Future of Co-operation in the East End,
by P. O.,” venture to believe that Meenie was
right after all, and that even the great social
world itself has not yet heard the last of young
Paul Owen's lay apostolate.
THE END.









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NASLOVAR
arena ASIDETRAS.
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