BARBARY SHEEP
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Prophet of Berkeley Square 
 
 Tongues of Conscience 
 
 Felix 
 
 The Woman with the Fan 
 
 Byeways 
 
 The Garden of Allah 
 
 The Black Spaniel 
 
 The Call of the Blood
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT HICHENS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the woman WITH THE FAN " 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON
 
 First Published in igog
 
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 I 
 
 SIR CLAUDE WYVERNE was a 
 simple and rather heavy young 
 Englishman, who had married a very 
 frivolous wife, and who adored her. 
 Adoration leads to abnegation, and Sir 
 Claude, as soon as he was a married 
 man, began to give way to Lady Wyverne. 
 She was a very pretty and changeable 
 blonde. Any permanence seemed to her 
 dull ; and this trait secretly agitated her 
 husband, who desired to be permanent in 
 her life and not to be thought dull by her. 
 In order to achieve this result, he decided 
 to present himself as often as possible to 
 Lady Wyverne in the seductive guise of
 
 2 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 change-giver. He was perpetually occu- 
 pied in devising novelties to keep up her 
 butterfly spirits and in anticipating her 
 every whim. 
 
 One spring, just as Sir Claude thought 
 they were going at last to settle down in a 
 pretty country place they had in Leicester- 
 shire, Lady Wyverne expressed a sudden 
 wish to " run over " to Algiers. 
 
 " Caroline Barchester and her bear have 
 gone there, Crumpet," she said. " Let's 
 go, too. I'll get an introduction to the 
 ex-Queen of Madagascar and the Prince 
 of Annam — they're in exile there, you 
 know — and we'll have some fun and see 
 something new. I'm tired of ordinary 
 people. Let's start on Tuesday. We'll 
 stay in Paris en route." 
 
 Of course Sir Claude assented. They 
 started for Algiers on the Tuesday, and 
 they stayed in Paris en route. 
 
 While they were in Paris they went, 
 against Sir Claude's will, to visit a famous
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 3 
 
 astrologer called Dr Melie fetoile, about 
 whom everybody — Lady Wyverne's every- 
 body — happened to be raving at that 
 moment. Lady Wyverne went into this 
 worthy's presence first, leaving her hus- 
 band — looking unusually English even for 
 him — seated in the waiting-room, a small 
 chamber all cane chairs, artificial flowers, 
 and signs of the zodiac, heated by steam, 
 and carefully shrouded, at the tiny windows, 
 by bead blinds. 
 
 After perhaps half an hour Lady 
 Wyverne came out in a state of violent 
 excitement. 
 
 " He's extraordinary ! " she exclaimed. 
 " He's a genius ! A little bearded thing- 
 like a mouse, who — Go in, Crumpet ! " 
 
 But Sir Claude protested. He had 
 only come to bring his wife. He himself 
 was an absolute sceptic in matters occult, 
 and indeed thought almost everything at 
 all out of the way "damned silly." The 
 idea of submitting himself to an astrologer
 
 4 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 called "M^lie" roused all his British 
 antagonism. But Lady Wyverne was 
 firm. Indeed, her caprices generally had 
 a good deal of cast-iron in them. In 
 rather less than three minutes, therefore, 
 Sir Claude was sitting at a tiny table 
 opposite to a small old man with a white 
 beard and pink eyes, and answering 
 questions about the hour of night when 
 he was born, the date of the year, his ill- 
 nesses, and various other small matters till 
 then regarded by him as strictly private. 
 Eventually he came out, holding a folded 
 paper in his hand, and looking a good 
 deal like a well-bred poker. 
 
 " Silly rot ! " he muttered, as he entered 
 the outer room where his wife was await- 
 ing him among the signs of the zodiac and 
 the waxen peonies. 
 
 " What's silly rot ? " cried Lady 
 Wyverne. 
 
 '• What that chap says." 
 
 " What does he say ? "
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 5 
 
 " Oh, a lot of rot. I s'pose he thought 
 I couldn't understand him, or he wanted 
 an extra guinea. Anyhow he's written it 
 all down here," 
 
 He held out the paper, which his wife 
 eagerly seized. After glancing over the 
 red and purple writing on it, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Mars ! That's this month. This is 
 March the first." 
 
 " I know. Rot, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Mars," continued Lady Wyverne, 
 reading aloud, "periode de luttes, de con- 
 testations, d'anxiet^, et meme de peines de 
 coeur. Eviter de partir en voyage la nuit. 
 Danger d'une — " 
 
 She stopped. Her childish, oval face 
 was unusually grave. 
 
 " Rot, isn't it?" said Sir Claude, gazing 
 at his wife with anxiety in his eyes.
 
 II 
 
 THE ex-Queen of Madagascar was 
 very gracious in her villa on the 
 hill above Algiers. The Prince of Annam 
 showed Sir Claude his horses, at which 
 Sir Claude scarcely looked, as he was 
 thoroughly preoccupied by the little bag 
 in which his agreeable host confined his 
 luxuriant crop of black hair. Caroline 
 Barchester and her bear, who was also 
 her husband, had plenty of gossip to tell 
 the Wy vernes in the pretty garden of the 
 Hotel St Georges at Mustapha. Yet by 
 March loth Lady Wyverne had had 
 enough of Algiers. 
 
 " Let's get on. Crumpet," she said to her 
 husband. "We've seen the Queen and 
 the Moorish Bath — at least you've seen 
 
 it — and the Governor's Palace and Cap 
 6
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 7 
 
 Matifou and all the rest of it. So let's 
 get on towards the desert." 
 
 Sir Claude looked unusually grim and 
 mulish. 
 
 " I didn't know we were going to the 
 desert," he said. 
 
 "Why, of course. What did we come 
 for?" 
 
 "To see Algiers, I thought." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Algiers is as French as 
 the Rue de la Paix. I want to know all 
 about camels and sand-dunes and Ouled 
 — what are they ? Get two berths in the 
 sleeping-car for El-Akbara ; there's a dear. 
 It's at the gate of the desert, you know. 
 We'll stay the night and then trot on to 
 Beni-Mora." 
 
 Then, as he still looked mulish, she 
 added, mischievously : 
 
 " Or I shall think you're silly enough to 
 believe in Melie Etoile's prophecy." 
 
 "Rot!" said Sir Claude. "A fellow 
 like a white — "
 
 8 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Very well, then, get the tickets ! " 
 
 He went at once to Cook's and got the 
 tickets, but he looked very grave, almost dis- 
 tressed, as he returned to the hotel. And 
 all that evening he scarcely took his eyes 
 from his wife's pretty, rather doll-like, face. 
 
 " I believe you do believe ! " she said 
 to him, as they were going up to bed. 
 " ' Danger d'une grande perte' — that was 
 what he wrote — ' la plus grande perte 
 possible.' What would be the greatest loss 
 possible to you ? " 
 
 " You ought to know," he replied, almost 
 harshly. 
 
 And he caught her little hand and 
 wrung it. 
 
 " Oh, Crumpet, my rings ! " she cried. 
 
 But she left her hand in his, and added, 
 on the landing : 
 
 "As if you could lose me out here! 
 Crumpet, you're more foolish than I am, 
 and I'm one mass of superstition, even 
 about ofoinof under ladders."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 9 
 
 " Then you do believe that pink-eyed 
 astrologer chap ? " 
 
 "Of course not. Bed, bed, beautiful 
 bed ! " 
 
 In the evening of the next day they 
 arrived at El-Akbara, but not without a 
 little adventure on the way. Near a 
 station called Kreir the train ran off the 
 line, and Lady Wyverne, though not 
 hurt, was a good deal shaken and very 
 much frightened. When, after a long 
 delay, they started again, she and her 
 husband sat opposite to each other in a 
 moody silence. Sir Claude seemed speci- 
 ally oppressed, and smoked cigar after 
 cigar with almost feverish rapidity. Only 
 when they had left the train and were 
 being driven to the little inn, where they 
 were to spend the night, did they both 
 brighten and begin to return to their 
 normal spirits. 
 
 "What an extraordinary little place, 
 Crumpet ! " said Lady Wyverne, peering
 
 10 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 through her veil at the towering rocks 
 which formed a terrific wall, dividing the 
 desert from the Tell. " But where's the 
 Sahara?" 
 
 " I dunno, Kitty," returned Sir Claude. 
 "Wonder if there's any shootin' in those 
 mountains." 
 
 "Why, it's getting quite cold!" cried 
 Lady Wyverne, as the carriage rattled 
 into a narrow gorge of the rocks full of 
 shadows and of the sound of rushing 
 waters. " One would never suppose that 
 the desert — Here's the hotel ! " 
 
 The carriage had stopped before a soli- 
 tary house which stood in the heart of the 
 gorge on the edge of a turmoil of absinthe- 
 coloured water. Stupendous battlements 
 of rock reared themselves up round 
 about it towards the clear blue sky. In 
 front of it grew a line of Judas-trees along 
 the white road, which is the caravan route 
 from the Tell to the Sahara. It was small, 
 low, but clean and inviting-looking, with a
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 11 
 
 wide veranda and French windows with 
 green shutters. 
 
 "Tea on the veranda!" cried Lady 
 Wyverne. "Tea — tea — and then — 
 where's the desert ? " 
 
 The landlady, a plump and pleasant 
 Frenchwoman of middle age and motherly 
 appearance, explained that it lay immedi- 
 ately beyond the wall of rock. Five 
 minutes' walk through the gorge and 
 " Madame " would be there. Lady 
 Wyverne was all excitement. She quite 
 forgot her shaking and fright, and as soon 
 as she had swallowed a cup of tea she 
 made her husband accompany her down 
 the road towards the natural portal which 
 the Arabs call " The Gate of the Sahara." 
 He had been below, conferring with a 
 tall Arab guide, who now walked beside 
 them needlessly to show the way, and 
 he said to his wife, with considerable 
 animation : 
 
 "I say, Kitty, what d'you think .-^
 
 12 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 This chap says there's splendid sport 
 here, any amount of Barbary sheep up 
 in those rocks, and herds of gazelle in 
 the plain just beyond. D'you think 
 you'd mind spendin' a couple o' nights 
 here instead of one ? I could get up 
 to-morrow at three o'clock and be off 
 to get a shot at somethin'. What d'you 
 think?" 
 
 He looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " I'll tell you in a minute. Crumpet, 
 when I've — Oh ! " 
 
 She uttered a little cry and stood 
 still, clutching her husband's arm. They 
 had come out into the desert and were 
 facing the sunset. Abruptly the world 
 had changed. A glory of colour dazzled 
 their eyes. The river, now flowing 
 quietly, wound away into the bosom of 
 an oasis of magnificent palm-trees that 
 lay in a measureless expanse of pale- 
 yellow earth covered with scattered 
 crystals. To the left stretched a distant
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 13 
 
 mountain range, dim purple beneath the 
 rose of the sunset. And from three Arab 
 villages of brown houses scattered among 
 the palms came the cries of children, the 
 barking of dogs, and the faint sounds of 
 African drums and hautboys. 
 
 Under a great rock by the riverside 
 sat an Arab boy piping a tune that was 
 like caprice personified in music. 
 
 "Oh, Crumpet!" said Lady Wyverne, 
 after a little pause of contemplation, 
 "how strange it is and how— how — " 
 
 She caught her breath. There were 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Camels ! Camels ! " she cried. " Look, 
 Crumpet ! " 
 
 A caravan was winding out of the 
 gorge, a train of laden camels, and bare- 
 footed, dark-faced men in fluttering 
 ragged garments. 
 
 " Doosid picturesque," assented Sir 
 Claude. " To get a shot at the sheep 
 you have to — "
 
 14 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know." 
 
 "Well, but how can you — " 
 
 " I tell you I know — I know. We'll 
 stay two nights. Go off to-morrow at 
 three and kill whatever you like. Only 
 let me stay and explore those villages 
 and wander among those palms." 
 
 " You can't go alone." 
 
 "I'll take a guide." 
 
 " I'll find out at the hotel if there's 
 one that's all right," muttered Sir Claude. 
 "This fellow always goes with the sports- 
 men. I say, Kitty, I'm feelin' awful 
 hungry." 
 
 "You mundane thing!" said Lady 
 Wyverne, shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 But she turned back and they made 
 their way to the inn, which was now 
 shrouded in the deep shadows of the 
 rapidly approaching night. 
 
 At dinner the only other person in the 
 room was a very smart and handsome 
 young Arab, who, the waiter told them,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 15 
 
 was an officer in the Spahis, and was 
 stationed at Algiers, but who was now on 
 leave and going to the home of his father, 
 an important Caid in the Zibans district. 
 Lady Wyverne looked at the guest with 
 interest. He wore a snowy turban and 
 a red jacket, and between the white and 
 red his magnificent black eyes sparkled 
 impudently, and his teeth gleamed as he 
 smiled at the waiter, to whom he ad- 
 dressed a few words in excellent French. 
 His face was extraordinarily expressive, 
 brilliant, but cruel and startingly in- 
 telligent. 
 
 All through dinner Sir Claude was talk- 
 ing about Barbary sheep, and directly 
 dinner was over he said : 
 
 " I say, Kitty, s'pose we turn in." 
 
 ** Turn in ! " said Lady Wyverne. 
 *' Why, it's only eight o'clock ! " 
 
 " I know, but you're awfully done up, 
 with that accident and all, and — " 
 
 " You mean that you're sleepy and that
 
 16 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 you've got to be up at three to kill some 
 wretched sheep. Go to bed, Crumpet ; 
 but I'm going to stay out on the veranda, 
 and look at the moon." 
 
 Sir Claude cast a drowsy glance to- 
 wards the young Spahi, who had just 
 picked up a walnut out of a fruit-dish 
 and was holding it delicately in his slim, 
 almost womanish fingers. The Spahi 
 looked demurely down. 
 
 "Well, Kitty, I think I will turn in. 
 You see, if I don't get enough sleep, 
 there's no knowin' to-morrow whether — " 
 
 "You'll hit the wretched sheep or pot 
 your guide. I know. Trot along." 
 
 Sir Claude turned to trot. A sharp 
 little sound rang through the room. He 
 looked round. The Spahi had cracked 
 the nut with his fingers, and was smiling 
 gently as he tenderly extracted the kernel. 
 
 " I dunno that I am ready for bed," 
 began Sir Claude. "P'raps I'll have a 
 smoke first on — '
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 17 
 
 " No, no ; the bolster calls you. I 
 know by the lobster look in your dear 
 old eyes. Come along, Crumpet ! " 
 
 She vanished from the room followed 
 by her husband. 
 
 The Spahi looked after them, got up, 
 lit a cigarette, and strolled out into the 
 little paved enclosure above which the 
 veranda projected. He leaned his 
 shoulder against a pillar and stood there 
 motionless, staring towards the Judas- 
 trees and the white road that wound 
 away among the shadows of the gorge 
 towards the desert.
 
 s 
 
 III 
 
 "* IR CLAUDE went to bed, of course. 
 He always did what his wife told 
 him to do. Lady Wyverne tucked him 
 up, and then, followed by the familiar 
 sound of his first snore, went out on to 
 the veranda beneath which the young 
 Spahi was standing. He heard the rustle 
 of her gown above him in the still night, 
 and smiled. Brilliant stars sparkled in 
 the sky, and the thread of road that 
 wound through the gorge to the Sahara 
 was lit up by a round, white moon. In 
 the hotel the landlady, her family, and 
 the servants were supping cheerfully. 
 Nobody was about. After a minute the 
 Spahi moved away from the pillar against 
 which he had been leaning, to the wooden 
 railing beneath the Judas-trees, which
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 19 
 
 divided the small, paved courtyard of 
 the inn from the road. He turned and 
 stood with his back against it, facing the 
 veranda, but he did not look up. Stand- 
 ing there motionless, he appeared to be 
 wrapped in a profound reverie. Lady 
 Wyverne watched him curiously. His 
 large, white turban looked ghostly in the 
 moonlight, she thought. Why did he stand 
 there motionless .'* Of what could he be 
 thinking ? This place, so unlike any place 
 she had ever before seen, puzzled her. 
 This motionless man puzzled her, too. 
 The frivolity of her spirit was led captive 
 by this African solitude in the night, on 
 the edge of a greater solitude, the vast 
 and unknown desert in which this man, 
 who stood like a statue beneath her, had 
 been born and bred, to which he was now 
 returning. A sensation almost of awe 
 crept over her, and she began to wonder. 
 When a woman begins to wonder there 
 is no limit to her mental journeyings.
 
 20 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Lady Wyverne had travelled very far 
 when a strange sound startled her and 
 arrested her attention, 
 
 It was a voice singing, or rather mur- 
 muring, an uncouth tune, a soft, whining, 
 almost babyish voice. From whom did 
 it come ? 
 
 She could see no one except the young 
 Spahi, and it did not occur to her at first 
 that the voice could proceed from a man's 
 mouth. She listened, leaning over the 
 balustrade. The voice went on singing 
 until it seemed to her as if it had become 
 one with the night, almost as if it were 
 the voice of the night in this rocky 
 solitude at the edge of the sands. The 
 tune was ugly, she thought, but it inter- 
 ested her. Had she spoken of it, she 
 would probably have said that it was "so 
 weird." She had never before heard any- 
 thing at all resembling it. By degrees 
 the singing began to affect her almost 
 painfully, to play upon her nerves, to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 21 
 
 make her restless and uneasy. She took 
 her arms from the rail of the veranda. 
 Who was the singer ? She tried to locate 
 the sound, and presently it seemed to her 
 that it came from the spot where the 
 Spahi was standing. Was it really he 
 who was singing ? Was it a — a serenade ? 
 
 She smiled. Her swift vanity was 
 awake. When she moved the Spahi 
 moved too. He walked softly across the 
 little court, lifted his head towards the 
 veranda and showed Lady Wyverne his 
 dark face with the lips moving. He was 
 the singer, and now, almost insolently, he 
 sent the song to her. 
 
 Ever since she had " come out " Lady 
 Wyverne had been accustomed to admira- 
 tion, even to worship — such worship as 
 modern smart men have at their command 
 to give to a pretty woman. But this 
 strange, whining serenade from an African 
 was a new experience. The boldness of 
 the dark face turned upward to her in the
 
 22 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 moonlight, and the babyish sound of the 
 voice that issued from its lips, formed a 
 combination that stirred her neurotic 
 temperament ever impatient in the search 
 after novelty. Almost ere she realised 
 what she was doing, she had smiled at 
 the Spahi. He stopped singing and 
 smiled up at her. Then he spoke, as if 
 to speak with her were the most natural 
 thing in the world. 
 
 " Has madame ever seen the desert 
 under the moon ? " 
 
 Lady Wyverne started and half drew 
 back. This really was carrying things 
 very far. 
 
 "Madame is coming down?" said the 
 Spahi, misinterpreting the movement with 
 a delightful, boyish insolence. 
 
 Before she knew that she was speak- 
 ing. Lady Wyverne had said, in 
 French : 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "It is a pity. Five minutes and
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 23 
 
 madame could see the desert in the moon- 
 light. There is nothing to fear." 
 
 He put his hand down for an instant, 
 then lifted it, and Lady Wyverne saw the 
 moonlight glittering on the polished steel 
 of a revolver. The sparkle fascinated her 
 eyes more than the sparkle of the stars. 
 
 " I'm not afraid," she said. 
 
 This time she spoke deliberately. The 
 imp, caprice, by which she was always 
 governed, whispered to her : 
 
 " This is a new bit of fun ! Don't be 
 such a fool as to avoid it." 
 
 "But madame does not care to see the 
 desert?" 
 
 At this moment he noticed that Lady 
 Wyverne's blue eyes had travelled away 
 from his face and were gazing at some- 
 thing behind him. He turned, and saw 
 a train of camels and nomads stealing 
 by the inn on their way to the desert. 
 Noiselessly they padded on the narrow 
 thread of road. The nomads were
 
 24 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 muffled in ragged hoods and fluttering 
 cloaks, and carried clubs. With their 
 birdlike eyes staring before them, they 
 passed like phantoms into the shadows 
 of the gorge. Their appearance and 
 disappearance woke up in Lady Wyverne 
 a vague sense of romance and mystery, 
 a longing to follow these strange men and 
 their beasts into the silver world which 
 lay beyond the shadows. 
 
 She slipped across the veranda and 
 peeped into Sir Claude's room. He was 
 snoring bravely. 
 
 "Dreaming of Barbary sheep!" 
 murmured Lady Wyverne. "If only 
 Crumpet were a little bit more — h'm ! " 
 
 She sighed, caught up a cloak, and 
 went softly downstairs. 
 
 The Spahi met her in the courtyard. 
 The impudence of his demeanour had 
 vanished, and he bowed with a cere- 
 monious gravity which surprised Lady 
 Wyverne, who was unaccustomed to the
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 25 
 
 rapid and complete changes of manner so 
 common among Orientals. 
 
 "Will not monsieur come too?" he 
 asked, simply. 
 
 " Monsieur! " 
 
 Lady Wyverne looked into his great 
 eyes with a staring amazement. 
 
 "Monsieur is asleep," she added, 
 recovering herself. 
 
 "So early!" 
 
 There was the least hint of sarcasm in 
 his voice. 
 
 "He is going after Barbary sheep 
 to-morrow morning at three o'clock," 
 said Lady Wyverne, rather sharply. 
 
 The Spahi looked steadily into her 
 pretty, blonde face. 
 
 " Barbary sheep ! " he repeated. " Bar- 
 bary sheep ! " 
 
 There was a note of pity in his 
 voice. 
 
 " May I put madame's cloak round 
 her ? " he added, after a pause.
 
 26 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " I — I'm not going out," said Lady 
 Wyverne. 
 
 " But — the cloak ? " he said, gravely. 
 
 And he took it from her hands and, 
 swiftly and gracefully, with an extra- 
 ordinary deftness, put it round her. 
 
 •* Come, madame ! " 
 
 " But—" 
 
 He opened the gate. 
 
 " It is only five minutes. In a quarter 
 of an hour we are here and madame has 
 seen — ah, a thing more wonderful than 
 she has ever seen in England." 
 
 He held the gate open. Lady 
 Wyverne stepped out into the road. 
 
 Next morning at three o'clock, when 
 the stars were still shining, Lady Wyverne 
 heard her husband moving about heavily 
 in his room. Presently he came to her 
 door, opened it with elaborate caution, 
 and passed in, holding a candle in his 
 hand. A gun was slung over his shoulder.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 27 
 
 She lay still, with her eyes shut, and after 
 a moment he shut the door and she heard 
 him tramp down the stairs. His footsteps 
 died away. Then she heard outside a 
 faint sound of voices, the clatter of mules. 
 He was gone. She sighed. She was 
 asking herself why she had feigned sleep. 
 But she did not answer her own question. 
 
 " I hope he'll have luck," she thought. 
 " I do hope he'll kill something," 
 
 And then she really slept. 
 
 In the afternoon at five o'clock Sir 
 Claude rode up to the inn door in wild 
 spirits. Behind him, slung across a mule, 
 was a dead Barbary sheep. 
 
 "Grand sport!" he exclaimed, looking 
 up at his wife, who was on the veranda 
 sitting on a straw chair. " I waited for 
 hours to get a shot, and — I say, Kit, you 
 haven't been borin' yourself to death ?" 
 
 '* No, Crumpet." 
 
 "Jolly little place, isn't it? I shouldn't 
 mind spendin' a week here."
 
 28 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "Very well," she answered. 
 
 " You don't mind ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I'll do just as you like." 
 
 "You are a brick, Kitty! You see, 
 there's gazelle in the plain, too, and — " 
 
 " I know, I know." 
 
 He pounded up the stairs to kiss her. 
 
 " Poor old Crumpet ! " she thought. 
 
 And she felt as if she were being kissed 
 by a small school-boy. 
 
 That evening at dinner they were 
 alone. 
 
 "The Spahi chap's gone?" asked Sir 
 Claude, with an indifferent and sleepy 
 glance round. 
 
 " I don't think so. I saw him about 
 to-day. Perhaps he's got friends in the 
 villao-e and is eating- a cous-cous with 
 them." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A cous-cous — a stew — rice, or some- 
 thing, and mutton and spices." 
 
 "Jove, Kitty, you are up in all this
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 29 
 
 Arab rot ! How the deuce do you pick 
 up such a lot of information about it ? " 
 
 "There is a book called Murray,'' ^'^ 
 answered, dryly. " Do you go to bed at 
 eight to-night ? " 
 
 "Well, I'm pretty well done up. You 
 see, startin' off at three again to-morrow. 
 You were sleepin' like a top last night 
 when I looked in." 
 
 "Ah," she said. "Now I know how- 
 tops sleep." 
 
 " What d'you mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Go to bed, old boy." 
 
 Without much persuasion he obeyed the 
 command. Barbary sheep had made him 
 very tired. He could almost have slept 
 standing like a horse that night.
 
 IV 
 
 WAS the cous-cous good ? " asked 
 Lady Wyverne, half an hour 
 later. 
 
 She and the Spahi were walking to- 
 gether slowly down the moonlit road 
 between the towering rocks of the gorge, 
 whose fantastic silhouettes, black beneath 
 the deep-purple sky of night, looked like 
 the silhouettes of the rocks in one of 
 Dora's pictures of the Inferno. The noise 
 of the rushingr waters of the river was in 
 their ears and almost drowned the murmur 
 of their voices as they spoke to each other. 
 
 " I could not eat, madame." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I was thinking of your departure 
 to-morrow, and of mine — far into the 
 Zibans, to the house of my father."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 31 
 
 " Absurd ! " she said, with a Htde 
 shrug of her shoulders. " I had an 
 excellent appetite." 
 
 He was silent. To-night he wore 
 over his shoulders a oreat red cloak, 
 which swung gently to and fro as he 
 walked on with the magnificent dignity 
 and pride which are the birthright of the 
 Arab race. She glanced at him sideways, 
 with a birdlike turn of her little head. 
 
 "Besides," she added, "I'm not going 
 away to-morrow." 
 
 His eyes flashed on her like fire. 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 " No, we stay some days more. 
 Barbary sheep, you know ! " And she 
 laughed, but rather mirthlessly. 
 
 " Will you have to ride from Beni- 
 Mora?" she added. "The railway ends 
 there, doesn't it ? " 
 
 "Yes, madame. From there I shall 
 ride." 
 
 " How many days ? "
 
 32 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Three days." 
 
 " And always in the desert ? " 
 
 ** Always In the desert." 
 
 " And then you will reach your home. 
 How strange ! " 
 
 She was thinking of Chester Street, 
 Belgrave Square, in which she had first 
 seen the light. What a gulf was fixed 
 between her and this man with whom 
 she was now adventurously walking 
 through this savage solitude ! And yet 
 his cloak, as it swung, touched the skirt 
 of her gown, and she could see the fire 
 sparkling in his eyes as he bent his head 
 down when she spoke to him. And she 
 — she had a capricious desire to find some 
 bridge across this gulf, to venture upon It, 
 to bring Chester Street to the Zibans. 
 She was not stupid, and, being a woman, 
 she was intuitive, and so it never occurred 
 to her even for a moment that the Zibans 
 could ever be brought to Chester Street. 
 
 The sound of the river sank to a softer
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 33 
 
 note as its bed widened out, leaving space 
 for the released waters to flow quietly 
 towards the palm-trees of the first oasis. 
 Through the great natural aperture in 
 the wall of rock a vague vision of 
 glimmering spaces showed itself, like a 
 mirage of eternity washed with silver. 
 Lady Wyverne stood still. 
 
 "No farther," she said. "This was 
 where we stopped last night." 
 
 " One step farther to-night, madame ! " 
 said the Spahi. " One little step." 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 He pointed with his hand outstretched 
 and the red folds of his cloak flowing down 
 from his arm. 
 
 " But it calls us." 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 "The desert, madame. Listen ! " 
 
 Lady Wyverne looked at him. He 
 had spoken with so much authority that 
 she did not smile at his remark or think 
 it ridiculous. She even listened, like one 
 
 3
 
 34 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 in expectation of some distant sound, 
 some voice from the far away that lay 
 beyond the spaces her eyes could see. 
 But in the deep silence of the night she 
 heard only the murmur of the river 
 flowing into the moving shadows of the 
 palms. 
 
 "There's no voice," she said, at last. 
 
 " There is a voice for me," he answered. 
 " But I am a son of the desert." 
 
 " Do you love it .'*" 
 
 " I belong to it. It has no secrets from 
 me. I have learned all its lessons." 
 
 "Could I learn them.'*" 
 
 She spoke with a sort of modesty very 
 unusual in her. 
 
 "Only with one who belongs to the 
 desert." 
 
 "Then I shall never learn them," she 
 said, with a sort of half-childish regret. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why not ? What an absurd question ! " 
 
 "One can learn what one chooses to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 35 
 
 learn. I " — he spoke proudly — " I have 
 learned to be a French officer." 
 
 " I really don't feel equal to learning 
 to be an Arab woman," she rejoined, 
 rather petulantly. " Besides, you know 
 as well as I do that men can do a 
 thousand things women can't do." 
 
 " Even a woman can go a step farther," 
 he said. 
 
 " Oh — well — that's not very important. 
 I don't mind." 
 
 And she walked on. 
 
 He smiled as he followed her. 
 
 When they came out of the gorge they 
 were in the full flood of the moonlight. 
 The change from the confined space of 
 the gorge to this immensity of the desert 
 was startling, and a sudden sense of 
 loneliness and danger rushed upon Lady 
 Wyverne. Abruptly she realised that this 
 caprice of hers, besides being extremely 
 unconventional, might be something more. 
 She thought of "' Crumpet " snoring peace-
 
 36 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 fully in the hotel, and for the first time 
 wished that she had not left his side. The 
 Spahi, watching her face in the bright 
 moonlight, read with the swift certainty of 
 the Arab, always horribly acute in sum- 
 ming up the character and flying thoughts 
 of the European, all that was passing in 
 her mind and answered it in a sentence. 
 
 " She who loves the strange must not 
 fear to face it," he said quietly. 
 
 Lady Wyverne reddened. She was 
 made half angry by his intelligence and 
 his assurance. Nevertheless, they fascin- 
 ated her. She was accustomed to under- 
 stand men much more thoroughly than 
 they understood her. This man put her 
 down from her seat of the mighty and 
 calmly sank into it himself. He puzzled 
 her immensely, but she felt certain that 
 she did not puzzle him at all. 
 
 " I am not afraid of anything," she said. 
 " You don't understand me." 
 
 She stopped in the road.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 37 
 
 "One may choose not to do a thing 
 without being afraid of doing it." 
 
 " But if it is a thing one longs to do, 
 madame ? " 
 
 He moved on a step, then looked back 
 at Lady Wyverne as if summoning her. 
 She stood firm, and he stopped with serene 
 resignation. 
 
 " What on earth are we talking about ? " 
 she said, shrugging her little shoulders 
 perversely. 
 
 " Your step farther." 
 
 " I have taken it. And now I'm going 
 back." 
 
 " And to-morrow ? " 
 
 "To-morrow you will not be here." 
 
 " But — if I, too, should be tempted to 
 remain ? Barbary sheep, you know, 
 madame, Barbary sheep ! " 
 
 He laughed softly. 
 
 " To-morrow I shall go to bed at half- 
 past eight," replied Lady Wyverne, with 
 an air of virtue that was too violent to be
 
 38 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 quite convincing. " The atmosphere of 
 the desert tires me." 
 
 " And to me it gives life." 
 
 He was so close to her that she felt the 
 warmth of his great red cloak, and smelt 
 the faint odour of some strange Oriental 
 perfume that clung to his garments. 
 
 ''That is the difference between us," he 
 added. " I am awake and alive. You 
 are dozing. And he — he is fast asleep." 
 
 "He — who?" she said, startled by his 
 tone. 
 
 "Milord, your husband. But though 
 you are dozing, you are not asleep. You 
 could be awake as I am awake. You 
 could be alive as I am alive, if only — " 
 
 He stopped speaking and looked down 
 at her. 
 
 " If only — what ?" 
 
 "If only you were not afraid of being 
 alive and of feeling joy." 
 
 He seemed to tower over her. He had 
 stretched out one arm and the great cloak
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 39 
 
 made him look vast in the night, vast and 
 enveloping. The perfume that came from 
 the folds of his scarlet and white clothes 
 suggested mystery and something else, a 
 distant ecstasy that might be reached by 
 travelling, by going forward and on- 
 ward. 
 
 " For you are afraid," he said. " You 
 are very much afraid." 
 
 At that moment there was a shrill cry 
 in the darkness of the gorge, a cry that 
 sounded half human, half animal. Lady 
 Wyverne started and instinctively clung 
 to the Spahi's arm. Instantly the warm 
 folds of his cloak were round her. The 
 cry rose up once more, shrill, prolonged, 
 and nearer. Then out of the gorge, into 
 the moonlight that lay upon the road, 
 there came a man capering and running. 
 His face was fair and pale, like the face 
 of a Christ in a picture, with a curling, 
 yellow-brown beard and vacant, restless, 
 blue eyes. In his thin hands he held an
 
 40 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 enormous staff. He was dressed in bright 
 green, and on his head there was a green- 
 and-red turban. 
 
 " Allah ! " he shrieked, whirling the staff 
 round and round, then pointing it suddenly 
 to left and right. " Allah ! Allah ! Al— " 
 
 Lady Wyverne cowered against the 
 Spahi. To her strung-up imagination it 
 seemed as if the gorge had suddenly let 
 loose a crazy Messiah to point at her a 
 finger of condemnation. She trembled as 
 the strange figure stopped before her, as 
 its shrill cry died away in a childish 
 whimper, and its large, pale eyes rested 
 upon hers in a glance of dull amazement. 
 
 "What is — ?" she began, stammering. 
 
 "It is only the mad Marabout," said 
 the Spahi, keeping his arm round her 
 protectively. 
 
 " The mad Marabout ? " 
 
 " He was a rich man of the village of 
 Akbara, the red village, and loved a 
 dancing-girl of Beni-Mora. One night
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 41 
 
 in the week of the races the girl was 
 murdered for her jewels by a Mehari rider 
 from Touggourt. Since then he has been 
 mad. He lives always out-of-doors. He 
 eats only what he is given, what is put 
 into his hand. He sleeps upon the ground. 
 By night he wanders, seeking the girl 
 who is dead and calling upon Allah to 
 assist him. Allah ! Allah ! " 
 
 Suddenly the Spahi lifted up his voice 
 in a powerful cry. Instantly the Marabout 
 began once more to whirl his staff. 
 
 "Allah!" he shrieked. "Allah! 
 Allah ! " 
 
 And he capered along the road towards 
 the desert, striking to right and left of him 
 as if attacking the moonbeams that bore 
 him company. 
 
 "He sees the murderer of Ayesha in 
 every ray of the light -giver," said the 
 Spahi. 
 
 "Why not in us, then.'^" said Lady 
 Wyverne, with a shudder.
 
 42 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "Who knows why? Who can read in 
 the soul of the madman ? " 
 
 The Marabout was lost in the night, 
 and suddenly Lady Wyverne was aware 
 of the arm enclosing her. She moved 
 quickly and it fell from about her. But as 
 she walked on she still seemed to feel it, 
 as one who has been touched by a powerful 
 hypnotist seems to feel the magnetic hand 
 long after it has been removed.
 
 V 
 
 THAT night, as Lady Wyverne lay 
 awake, listening to the sound of 
 the river passing through the gorge on 
 its way to the Sahara, she was troubled 
 as she had never been troubled before. 
 Her light — not wicked — and fashionable 
 life had always hitherto been governed 
 by caprice, but caprice had led her always 
 down flowery pathways stretching into 
 spaces washed with light, never into 
 the dimness of mystery or the blackness 
 of sorrow. She had often felt quickly 
 but never passionately. Wayward she 
 had ever been, but not violent, not really 
 reckless ; a creature of fantasy, not a 
 creature of tempest. The song of the 
 boy Arab under the rock by the river — 
 
 she had been like that ; like a winding, 
 43
 
 44 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 airy tune going out into the sun. Now 
 she was conscious of the further mysteries, 
 that lead some women on to deeds that 
 strike like hammers upon the smooth 
 complacencies of society, she was aware 
 of the beckoning finger that pilots the 
 eager soul whither it should not go, 
 among the great wastes where emotion 
 broods and wonder is alive. 
 
 For the first time in her well-filled life 
 she was very consciously in want. 
 
 She had been fond of change, yes, but 
 of such consecrated change ; the change 
 from Mayfair to Monte Carlo, or from the 
 Scotch moors to the Rue de la Paix. 
 Now, suddenly, this life seemed to her as 
 unreal as a harlequinade in which she had 
 been playing Columbine, and something 
 within her desired a violently different life. 
 
 That she could have it was impossible. 
 Therefore she was unhappy. It was a 
 new experience to her to be confronted 
 by that word — impossible. It seemed to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 45 
 
 insult her. All the flower of her careless 
 contentment with herself, and her life, and 
 the little kingdom she had ruled, shrivelled 
 up. She was the child crying for the 
 moon. 
 
 But she was a child who had been 
 offered the moon, who would be offered 
 the moon again. Where, then, was the 
 impossibility she brooded over? It was 
 created by herself and existed within her- 
 self. The soul's " I could never do that ! " 
 was the fiat that expressed it. 
 
 With the sound of the river seemed to 
 come to her faintly the cry of the mad 
 Marabout seeking the murdered dancing- 
 girl in the moonbeams. It was a cry from 
 the savage world on the threshold of 
 which she stood. The man in the scarlet 
 cloak and the man in the bright-green 
 robe were the two salient figures in it for 
 her, the one protecting her, the other 
 coming as if to assail her, then falling list- 
 lessly from his apparent purpose and
 
 46 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 capering away intent upon his crazy quest. 
 To-night these two figures seemed more 
 real to her, more vital, than the figure of 
 her husband. 
 
 The Spahi had spoken the words, 
 " Barbary sheep," with an ironical intona- 
 tion, and she had read his thought and her 
 mind had echoed it. Yet of " Crumpets " 
 complete devotion to her she had no 
 doubt. He loved her, he would defend 
 her against the world, he would lie down 
 for her to tread upon, if she desired it, 
 but — he was "poor old Crumpet," a rudi- 
 mentary man. There was no mystery in 
 him. 
 
 She sniffed in the darkness as if inhal- 
 ing a perfume. She was thinking of the 
 perfume that clung about the folds of the 
 Spahi's cloak. It was like a part of him 
 and of the land he dwelt in. She would 
 have thought effeminate a scented Western 
 man. But this, and many another thing, 
 is readily forgiven to an Oriental. They
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 47 
 
 are "different" from us, these people of 
 the sun. It was this "difference" that 
 had stirred the curiosity and something 
 more of Lady Wyverne. Scent and a 
 baby voice, a revolver ready to protect 
 her, an arm that felt like iron under a 
 scarlet cloak, black eyes that were fierce 
 as a hawk's or velvety with tenderness — 
 she moved uneasily in her bed. She was 
 hot and restless and had no desire for 
 sleep. What was this man ? What was 
 his real nature, gentle or barbarous? His 
 manners were perfect, even in their occa- 
 sional impudence ! And his heart ? Had 
 he been cruel to women ? 
 
 She had known all about Crumpet after 
 talking to him for half an hour. She had 
 even read him at a glance, divined exactly 
 his tastes, realised his foibles, summed up 
 his faults and his virtues, "placed" him, 
 in fact. England breeds such men all the 
 time to follow her traditions, to live and 
 to die British to the bone. Crumpet was
 
 48 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 a thorough Englishman, a right - down 
 good fellow, to be trusted at sight. Well, 
 she had trusted him and married him. 
 And ever since then she had had a good 
 time. And her one aim in life had been 
 just that — to have a good time. 
 
 And now ? What did she want ? How 
 silly and ridiculous and maddening it all 
 was ! 
 
 Suddenly she got up. Intending only 
 to stay one night at El-Akbara, they had 
 sent on their servants with most of the 
 heavy luggage to Beni-Mora, to engage 
 the best rooms, see to their arrangements, 
 unpack, and have everything ready and 
 charming for their arrival. She had 
 meant to play at roughing it here. Now 
 she looked about for her stockings and 
 slippers by the light of a candle. When 
 at length she had found them, she wrapped 
 herself up in a fur cloak, stepped out on 
 to the veranda, and began to walk up 
 and down. She passed and repassed
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 49 
 
 Crumpets window. Once or twice she 
 stopped in front of it, hesitating. She 
 was half incHned to go into his room, 
 to wake him, to tell him that he must 
 think no more of Barbary sheep, but take 
 her away on the morrow to Beni-Mora. 
 Then she walked on again, saying to herself 
 that it would be a shame to wake the 
 tired man who was snoring so rhythmically. 
 
 If only Crumpet didn't snore! Lady 
 Wy verne caught herself wondering whether 
 other people — yes, other people — snored. 
 
 The moon faded, and the thread of the 
 road beyond the Judas-trees lost its 
 silvery hue and looked grey. The air 
 was colder. 
 
 "Barbary sheep," Lady Wyverne mur- 
 mured to herself. 
 
 She stopped again by Crumpets 
 window, and this time she pushed it back 
 and went into his room, treading softly. 
 A faint light, entering behind her, showed 
 her vaguely the bed and the long body
 
 50 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 stretched upon it. She touched the body 
 with her little hand. 
 
 " Crumpet ! " 
 
 "Er— a-ah!" 
 
 The snore was broken, and from the 
 sleeper's mouth came a heavy, sighing 
 exclamation that sounded like a dull 
 protest drowned in a yawn. Lady 
 Wyverne pushed the body. 
 
 " Crumpet! " 
 
 " A-ah ! " 
 
 " It's no use. You've got to wake up ! " 
 
 Sir Claude shifted round, making the 
 bed creak, heaved himself half up, sank 
 back again, opened his eyes, and stared. 
 
 " Is it — a-ah ! — is it Achmed ? " 
 
 " No, it isn't Achmed. Wake up ! " 
 
 " Who the dev — " He put out his 
 hand and felt her hand, her face. " Kitty ! 
 What is it ? You're not ill .-* " 
 
 " No." 
 
 She sat down on a hard chair by his 
 bed.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 51 
 
 "It's only that I can't sleep." 
 
 "What's the — a-ah ! — what's the 
 time ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Never mind. I want 
 to talk." 
 
 He lay resting on his elbow and staring 
 towards her in the gloom. She thought 
 he looked like a huge ghost. 
 
 "What about .^ I wonder if it'll be a 
 good mornin' for sport." 
 
 "Crumpet, haven't you had enough 
 sport } " 
 
 " Enough — how d'you mean ? " 
 
 " Aren't you tired of killing things ? " 
 
 She thought she saw an expression 
 of blank surprise come into his face, 
 but she was not quite certain. The 
 gloom prevented her from being 
 certain, 
 
 " Tired of killin' things ? Why ? " 
 
 "Wouldn't you rather make things live, 
 things that aren't really alive ? Wouldn't 
 you, Crumpet ? "
 
 52 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "What d'you mean, Kitty? Make 
 things live ! I ain't Providence." 
 
 " No, but—" 
 
 "Stop a sec — " He laid one hand on 
 her arm. " Isn't that Achmed bringing 
 out the mules ? I say, what is the time ? 
 We're goin' farther into the mountains 
 to-day." 
 
 *' Must you go ? Must you go so far ? " 
 
 "Well, Achmed says — " 
 
 " I don't want to hear about Achmed. 
 He's a great, ugly, horrid creature." 
 
 " Ugly ! What's it matter if he's ugly ? 
 Why, he's the very deuce for knowin' 
 where the — " 
 
 "Don't say Barbary sheep, Crumpet! 
 For mercy's sake, don't say Barbary 
 sheep ! " 
 
 "Well, but it's Barbary sheep we're 
 goin' after. What's the matter with you, 
 Kitty ? " 
 
 " I could never explain so that you could 
 understand."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 63 
 
 " Ee — ya ! Ee — ee — ya ! " 
 
 There came a cry from below, a stamping 
 of hoofs upon stone. Sir Claude sprang up. 
 
 "Jove, it is Achmed ! I must get into 
 my togs ! I say, Kitty — " 
 
 But she had glided away like a shadow 
 and left him. 
 
 When he was dressed he came out on to 
 the veranda and found her there, leaning 
 on the parapet and looking over at 
 Achmed and the mules. 
 
 " Do go to bed, Kitty," he said. 
 
 " What's the good if I can't sleep ? " 
 
 " But you generally sleep stunnin'ly." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " Don't this place suit you ? " 
 
 He looked at her with a sudden anxiety, 
 but she felt sure the anxiety was for 
 himself 
 
 " Perhaps not," she answered. 
 
 " D'you want to get away ? " 
 
 He gazed at her almost fearfully. 
 " Barbary sheep," she thought, and she
 
 64 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 laughed bitterly. She read Crumpet's 
 mind with such horrible ease. She saw 
 into him with such precision. And what 
 was there to see ? A whole flock of 
 Barbary sheep waiting to be killed. 
 
 "Oh, go along, Crumpet!" she said, 
 almostly roughly. " Don't stand here 
 asking me questions when you might 
 be killing things. Just think of it, 
 Crumpet! Killing poor, innocent, happy 
 things ! " 
 
 And she laughed again with an irony 
 that startled him. 
 
 " You ain't well, Kitty," he said. " You 
 ain't yourself." 
 
 "As if you knew what myself is ! " 
 
 She threw the words at him savagely. 
 At that moment she was like a little 
 tigress. 
 
 He stared, then, as she turned away, 
 he went off muttering to himself: "What 
 the devil's up? What's come to Kitty?" 
 It struck him that she must be getting
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 55 
 
 bored, and he resolved not to stay for a 
 week as he had intended, not to go after 
 gazelle. He even hesitated for a moment 
 when he was in the courtyard, and thought 
 of giving up his expedition, of returning 
 to his wife, of leaving with her that day 
 for Beni-Mora. 
 
 But Achmed held the mule for him, with 
 huge, black eyes mutely inviting him to 
 mount. And the thought of the cool air 
 on the mountain, the savagery of the 
 rocky wastes, the sunrise over the distant 
 desert, and the prey — the prey that was 
 so difficult to come at — rose in his mind. 
 He had his imagination of the hunter, 
 though Lady Wyverne did not realise it. 
 And it tempted him, it enticed him, as she 
 was tempted and enticed by the Goblin 
 men of Goblin market, who laid their 
 hands upon her sleeve in the empty 
 hours, and whispered, "Come — come 
 where we will lead you ! "
 
 VI 
 
 THAT morning, when she came down 
 to breakfast, Lady Wyverne did 
 not see the Spahi. But she had not 
 seen him on the previous morning. She 
 realised that as well as a desert man he 
 was a man of the world. He had lived 
 with French officers and had been to 
 Paris, and knew when to give way to his 
 desire and when to hold back. The good 
 people of the inn, after the table-d'hote 
 dinner was over, went to their supper, 
 and from their supper straight to their 
 beds, leaving only an Arab to look after 
 the door. Arabs are great gossips. But 
 this Arab would not gossip. The Spahi 
 had taken thought for that. But when 
 the sun was up he was away. Lady 
 
 Wyverne wondered where. 
 56
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 57 
 
 After breakfast she wandered out 
 through the gorge and the gate of the 
 Sahara, accompanied by a guide from the 
 inn, a sHm and sleepy youth, who smiled 
 at her and smoked cigarettes and said 
 little. When they came in sight of the 
 river she heard a piping, and there, under 
 the orange-coloured rock, sat the Arab 
 boy who played the capricious tune. She 
 stopped for a moment to listen to it. 
 She did not know that she was a being 
 made up of caprice, but there was some- 
 thing in the airy music that appealed to 
 her. 
 
 "Is he always there playing?" she 
 asked of the guide. 
 
 "Always, madame." 
 
 " Doesn't he get sick of it ? " 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 " Doesn't he get bored always sitting 
 in the same place and doing the same 
 thing ? " 
 
 " I do not know, madame."
 
 58 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 It was evident that the guide had no 
 idea what being bored might mean. 
 Lady Wyverne looked at him almost 
 with envy. The hurry and rush of 
 modern life seemed more than strange 
 here, crazy and vulgar. She wondered 
 whether, if she were to remain in this 
 land, she could catch its dreaming silence, 
 could be moulded by its large simplicity 
 into a simpler woman. 
 
 "Shall we go to the red village, 
 madame ? " 
 
 "Which is it? That one on the 
 hill ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 She nodded. The great palm gardens 
 that fringed the river and nestled round the 
 brown earth houses attracted her, held for 
 her a charm. They looked opulent and 
 mysterious, as if strange beings passed 
 strange and wonderful lives among their 
 shadows. She descended with the guide 
 into the green fastnesses of the grove,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 59 
 
 and the Arab boy's melody died away 
 in the embraces of the sun. 
 
 Presently the river made a curve and 
 she perceived that to gain the red village 
 she must cross it. She glanced about 
 for stepping - stones, but could see 
 none. 
 
 "How do we get across.'*" she asked 
 the Arab. 
 
 " I shall carry madame. But we must 
 go a little lower down. The water is 
 deep here." 
 
 They went on slowly over the uneven 
 brown earth among the wrinkled trunks. 
 Lady Wyverne looked more closely than 
 before at her attendant. He was quite 
 a boy, with small limbs, delicate hands. 
 She looked at the running water. 
 
 "You will never be able to carry me," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh yes, madame. And if you fall 
 you will not be drowned." 
 
 She could not help laughing at his
 
 60 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 nonchalance, but his answer hardly re- 
 assured her. 
 
 "Is it much farther — the ford, I 
 mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " Where that apricot-tree leans over 
 the water, madame." 
 
 He pointed. As he did so a figure 
 came out from the recesses of the grove 
 and stood quite still beneath the fruit 
 tree. 
 
 " There is Benchaalal ! " said the guide. 
 
 " Benchaalal ? ' 
 
 " The Spahi." 
 
 Lady Wyverne shaded her eyes with 
 one hand. 
 
 "Who is he?" she asked, carelessly. 
 
 But she had recognised the companion 
 of her night walks, and her heart beat 
 perceptibly quicker. 
 
 *' He is at madame's hotel. Madame 
 has seen him." 
 
 " Oh, the officer." 
 
 " He is terrible. He is the best horse-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 61 
 
 man of the Sahara. With the revolver 
 he can hit any stone I throw up into the 
 air — so ! " 
 
 He flung a stone up towards the 
 quivering blue of the sky. 
 
 "All women who see him love him. 
 In Algiers they die for him, and in the 
 desert, where he returns to his father's 
 house, they will cry out thus from 
 morning until evening." 
 
 He broke into a high twittering like a 
 bird. The man under the apricot-tree 
 turned round and looked towards them. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Lady Wyverne. 
 
 But the boy did not heed her. De- 
 lighted with the success of his female 
 impersonation, he twittered more shrilly 
 than before. The Spahi came to meet 
 them. When he was close to them he 
 lifted his hand to his turban and saluted 
 gravely. 
 
 " I believe I have had the honour of 
 seeing madame at the hotel ? " he said.
 
 62 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 almost as if interrogatively. " Madame 
 is going to cross the river ? " 
 
 Lady Wyverne hesitated. She knew, 
 of course, that the Spahi was going to 
 carry her over. She saw his intention 
 in his long and subtle eyes. She wished 
 him to carry her. She even longed 
 ridiculously to be carried by him. But 
 she hesitated, because she was now fully 
 aware that there was within her some- 
 thing that was more than wilful, some- 
 thing that was only kept back from 
 running wild by — a what ? A thin thread 
 of resolution that might be snapped in 
 a moment, or even brushed aside. And 
 she feared that the touch of the Spahi, 
 like the hand of the East laid upon her, 
 might snap, or brush aside that barrier, 
 might send her unfettered, unrestrained, 
 into a terrible world of light. 
 
 But while Lady Wyverne hesitated the 
 guide spoke. 
 
 " I am going to carry madame across."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 68 
 
 The Spahi laughed. His little, even 
 teeth gleamed between his dark lips. 
 
 " Madame permits me ? " 
 
 He took Lady Wyverne up in his 
 arms. 
 
 "No! " she said. 
 
 He looked into her face. As he did 
 so he made a secret sign to the guide to 
 pull off his gaiters and boots. The boy 
 bent down to do so, swiftly, deftly. 
 
 "Why not ? It is only a moment." 
 
 He balanced himself on one foot. The 
 first gaiter and boot were off. 
 
 She was quite still in his arms. She 
 felt as if he could hold her for ever with- 
 out fatigue. 
 
 " I don't want to go." 
 
 " But you were going. Are you afraid 
 of the water ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Are you afraid of me ? " 
 
 He balanced himself on the other foot. 
 The second gaiter and boot were off, and
 
 64 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 the Spahi's bare, brown feet clung to the 
 hot stones as if they loved them. 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 She did not know why she said it. 
 Certainly she did not say it merely 
 because it was true. 
 
 " I will teach you not to be afraid," he 
 murmured. 
 
 And he stepped into the water. 
 
 Lady Wyverne shut her eyes because, 
 since this thing was to be, she desired to 
 feel, to realise it to the utmost. When 
 the Spahi put her down on the opposite 
 shore she sighed, almost like a child. 
 She opened her eyes and they rested 
 upon the Spahi's bare feet. 
 
 The foot of the desert man is as expres- 
 sive as his hand, and often as fine, as 
 delicate. These feet gave to Lady 
 Wyverne an extraordinary impression of 
 finesse, which almost made her think of 
 herself as clumsy. She contrasted swiftly 
 this vital impression of finesse with the
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 65 
 
 equally vital impression of strength of 
 which she had just been conscious, and 
 she wondered at the extremes that were 
 mingled in this man, at the woman that 
 was surely in him as well as the man and 
 the savage man. Suddenly giving the 
 rein to her impulse, she said : 
 
 " Have you your revolver ? " 
 
 He drew it instantly from the folds of 
 his scented garments. 
 
 " Throw up a stone," she said to the 
 guide, who had just come up to them, 
 holding the boots and gaiters of the Spahi 
 in his hand. 
 
 The boy went away a few steps, stood 
 
 in front of the Spahi, looked at him, bent 
 
 down and picked up a stone. The Spahi 
 
 smiled and lifted the hand that held the 
 
 revolver. He cried out a word in Arabic. 
 
 The boy flung the stone high into the 
 
 blue. There was a sharp report, and it 
 
 fell in splinters and was hidden by the 
 
 water of the river. 
 5
 
 66 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Crumpet couldn't do that ! " 
 
 ''Madame?" 
 
 The exclamation had come involuntarily 
 from Lady Wyverne's lips. 
 
 " Crompetes — vous dites ? " 
 
 " Au revoir, monsieur, and many 
 thanks." 
 
 She suddenly realised that she was 
 losing her head, turned quickly away, and 
 began to walk towards the village. The 
 Spahi did not attempt to follow her. But 
 he detained the guide for a moment, and 
 spoke rapidly to him in Arabic. 
 
 That afternoon at four Lady Wyverne 
 was on the veranda waiting for her 
 husband. The wicker tea-table was be- 
 side her. She looked across the court 
 between the Judas-trees to the dusty road, 
 and listened for the sound of mules' trip- 
 ping feet. But she did not hear them. 
 The time passed on. Crumpet was later 
 than usual. At last she was tired of wait- 
 ing and called over the balustrade to the
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 67 
 
 Arab below to bring up tea. Just as 
 it was being brought there came along 
 the road an Arab boy with a piece 
 of paper in his hand. He turned in 
 through the gateway, looked up to 
 Lady Wyverne, and held up the 
 paper. 
 
 " Is it for me ? " she asked. 
 
 He nodded. She beckoned to him to 
 come, and in a moment he was beside her 
 and had given her the note. 1 1 was from 
 Sir Claude. 
 
 " Darling Old Girl, — D'you mind 
 very much if I don't come back to-night ? 
 I've got two sheep this morning, and 
 Achmed says if I stay out and sleep at — 
 some place near a salt mountain with the 
 devil's own name — I can be certain of 
 potting some gazelle at sundown. Back 
 to-morrow without fail, and ready to move 
 on to Beni — what you may call it. Love, 
 
 "Crumpet "
 
 68 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Lady Wyverne gave the boy a coin and 
 sat down alone to tea. 
 
 "Why did Providence give me a fool 
 for a husband ? " 
 
 That was her thought. 
 
 As she sipped her tea she seemed to 
 see the Spahi's brown feet resting on the 
 warm stones by the river. They clung to 
 the stones as sensitively as hands could 
 have clung. She imagined them padding 
 softly over the desert sands. 
 
 And a woman's feet trod beside them.
 
 VII 
 
 THE place with the devil's own name 
 alluded to by Sir Claude was El- 
 Alia in the plain at the foot of the salt 
 mountain, which travellers see from the 
 train as they journey to Beni-Mora. That 
 evening, as darkness was closing in, Sir 
 Claude, weary with a long day's hunting, 
 but triumphant in the knowledge of 
 slaughtered Barbary sheep and gazelle, 
 was seated under a vine before the door 
 of an auberge kept by an elderly French- 
 woman, discussing with a voracious 
 appetite an excellent meal of gazelle, with 
 vegetables, a chicken, a cous-cous, and a 
 salad, washed down by a bottle of thin 
 red wine, which he would have despised 
 in London, but which now seemed to him 
 
 more delicious than a vintage claret drunk 
 69
 
 70 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 under ordinary town circumstances. The 
 two days of out-door life in wild surround- 
 ings and glorious air, the contact with 
 Africans, who were mighty hunters, his 
 prowess in killing things — as Lady 
 Wyverne described sport — had given an 
 edge to his spirit as well as to his appetite. 
 He felt in glorious condition, at peace with 
 himself and all the world. The only cloud 
 to dim his immense satisfaction was the 
 thought of his promise to Kitty to go 
 away on the morrow. Beni-Mora was far 
 less good as a sporting centre than El- 
 Akbara. He would have liked to spend 
 another week, or, better, another month, 
 at the cosy little hotel in the gorge. 
 Only Kitty was bored. She had showed 
 it. She had asked him to take her away. 
 Vaguely he remembered their interview 
 in the night. He had been half asleep at 
 first, and afterwards preoccupied by the 
 thought that Achmed was bringing round 
 the mules. Nevertheless, he remembered
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 71 
 
 Kitty's odd, nervous anxiety, the unusual 
 irony and bitterness of her speech. 
 
 " P'raps she thinks I'm neglectin' her," 
 he thought, as he refilled his glass. 
 " Women never understand what sport is 
 to a man, unless they shoot themselves. 
 And Kitty hates a gun." 
 
 That she liked a revolver he did not 
 know. • 
 
 He put down his glass and turned in 
 his chair, looking towards the open door 
 of the auberge. 
 
 "Caf^!" he shouted. 
 
 " Voila ! " shrieked a voice from within. 
 
 Sir Claude smiled and drew forth his 
 cigar-case, at the same time stretching out 
 his long legs with an audible grunt of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Achmed had gone off to eat and chatter 
 with friends in the village, which lay 
 hidden among palms a few hundred yards 
 from the auberge, and the coffee was 
 brought out by the landlady, who set it on
 
 72 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 the table and then asked monsieur if he 
 had enjoyed his dinner. 
 
 Sir Claude felt expansive, and his reply 
 brought joy to his cook's heart. For land- 
 lady and cook were both represented by 
 the stout woman with the grey hair, the 
 wrinkled cheeks, and the blue apron who 
 stood before him, watching him with 
 shrewd curiosity in her dark-grey eyes. 
 
 "Sit down, madame," said Sir Claude, 
 genially, in his English public-school 
 French. " Sit down and take a glass of 
 cognac." 
 
 The landlady obeyed, smiling and 
 smoothing her apron. She admired a 
 fine man, and she considered Sir Claude 
 an exceedingly handsome specimen of 
 humanity. 
 
 "What brought you to this out-of-the- 
 way place ? " continued Sir Claude. 
 
 The landlady sipped her cognac with an 
 "A votre sant6, m'sieu ! " and proceeded 
 to relate her history, or that part of it
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 73 
 
 which she thought edifying — how she had 
 been born at Marseilles and brought to 
 Algiers by her parents ; how she had 
 married a waiter in a caf^ who had 
 taken to drink and at last lived only for 
 absinthe ; how they had drifted from 
 one place to another, and finally settled 
 at El-Alia, where he had died three years 
 before. 
 
 "And you live alone here among the 
 Arabs ? " cried Sir Claude. 
 
 " No, m'sieu, I have my nephew, 
 Robert. But to-night he is at Beni-Mora. 
 He has gone to buy provisions. All our 
 tinned food comes from there." 
 
 She sipped again with her eyes on Sir 
 Claude. The shadows beneath the vine 
 grew deeper. The pale salt mountain was 
 fading away like a ghost in the night. 
 Over the wide and lonely land the desert 
 wind came sighing, bringing a vital, an 
 almost stinging freshness of the wastes. 
 Sir Claude gazed out across the plain, then
 
 74 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 at the grey-haired Frenchwoman with her 
 little liqueur-glass in her fingers. 
 
 " Even so, it's a solitary life, madame," 
 he said. " But I suppose you make friends 
 with the Arabs ? " 
 
 The landlady curled her lips, and an 
 almost malignant, catlike look came into 
 her face. 
 
 "Oh, la, la! The Arabs!" she ex- 
 claimed. "The Arab is traitre, m'sieu. 
 Every Arab that was ever born is traitre. 
 You may take my word for it. I have 
 lived among them nearly all my life. 
 Never trust an Arab. He will live with 
 you for twenty years and then cut your 
 throat for a sou. What I have seen ! 
 What I have known among the Arabs I 
 They are clever, but yes ! They are 
 handsome. They can get round a man, 
 and as for women — well ! " She spread out 
 her hands and shrugged her shoulders. " I 
 myself when I was younger — but enough ! 
 The Arab is traitre, m'sieu. He will sell
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 75 
 
 his soul for money, and to satisfy his lust 
 he will lie, he will cajole, he will bribe, he 
 will betray, he will murder. I could tell 
 you stories ! And an Arab is always an 
 Arab. He never changes. He seems to 
 change — yes, but it is only the surface. 
 The bottom is always the same. He goes 
 to Paris. He speaks French as I do. He 
 learns the lovely manners of the Parisian. 
 Mon Dieu ! He might go to a court if 
 we had one in my beautiful France. And 
 then he comes back to the desert and at 
 once all is forgotten. He sits in the sand, 
 he spits, he eats cous-cous with his fingers 
 — he is a camel, m'sieu, he is a camel. 
 Such is the Arab ! Beware of him ! Has 
 m'sieu a wife ? " 
 
 The abrupt question startled Sir Claude, 
 who had been listening to this tirade with 
 a good deal of astonishment. 
 
 " Er — yes," he replied uneasily. 
 
 " Never let her have anything to do 
 with the Arabs ! "
 
 76 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "Good Lord, madame! As if my 
 wife — " 
 
 "Never, never!" continued the land- 
 lady, vehemently. ' ' The Arab has a 
 charm for women. I myself have felt it, I 
 who speak to you! He calls and they 
 come. I could tell you of European 
 ladies — but enough ! The desert holds its 
 mysteries. I remember Benchaalal, the 
 Spahi, the son of Mohammed Ali, he who 
 came from the Zibans and is now an 
 officer in Algiers. The stories he has 
 told me of his doings ! The things 
 he has related to me of the French 
 ladies — " 
 
 "The Spahi!" said Sir Claude, more 
 uneasily. "What did you say his name 
 was.'^ 
 
 " Benchaalal, m'sieu, son of Mohammed 
 Ali, the great Caid. He is beautiful. 
 One cannot deny it. He speaks French 
 perfectly. He shoots — ah, no Frenchman 
 can shoot like him ! He is strong, I have
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 77 
 
 seen him take up a walnut and crack it in 
 his fingers." 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 "M'sieu?" 
 
 " Nothin'. Go on, madame, go on ! " 
 
 Sir Claude had sat up, and was now 
 leaning forward in his chair with his eyes 
 fixed upon his garrulous companion. The 
 darkness took the wide spaces of the land, 
 and the night wind came again over the 
 immense flats, and made the dry and dusty 
 leaves of the vine rustle above their 
 heads. 
 
 " But he is the most traitre of all the 
 Arabs, and he loves to tell of his villainies. 
 When he goes to the desert to visit his 
 father, he always passes by here. Some- 
 times he stays for a day or two and goes 
 out after gazelle. And at night he sits 
 here under the vine with me, m'sieu, as 
 you are doing now, and he talks. Ah, he 
 is cruel, and yet — " 
 
 Again she spread out her hands and
 
 78 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 blew forth a sigh to join the wind among 
 the vine-leaves. 
 
 " One must look at him. One must 
 listen to him. M'sieu, I daresay the 
 devil, if he came out of the desert, if he 
 sat here, I daresay the devil would charm 
 a woman. Who knows ? " 
 
 "You say he can crack a walnut with 
 his fingers ? " 
 
 " But yes, m'sieu. And yet his hands 
 are slim as a woman's. Tiens ! He 
 should be passing here in a day or two. 
 They tell me he is en conge." 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 "Do I remember.'* These things go 
 from mouth to mouth in the desert as 
 quickly as fire from straw to straw. We 
 have news in the desert, I can tell you. 
 It is getting dark. Shall I fetch the lamp 
 out here for m'sieu ? " 
 
 "Yes, fetch the lamp, madame." 
 
 The landlady got up and went quickly 
 in through the door, her grey dress
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 79 
 
 wagging from her broad hips. When 
 she had gone Sir Claude got up, too, and 
 went to the entrance of the arbour. He 
 could no longer see the salt mountain. 
 It was a dark night, for the moon had not 
 yet risen. Presently it would come and 
 bathe this lonely world in light. Mean- 
 while he wanted the lamp. The darkness 
 added to a strange apprehension which 
 had been brought to him by the landlady's 
 gossip. As he stood staring vaguely 
 before him towards the desert, he re- 
 membered his first evening in the inn at 
 El-Akbara. He had got up from the 
 dining-table to go to bed and had heard 
 a sharp little sound in the room. He 
 seemed to hear it now, to see the Spahi 
 delicately extracting the kernel from the 
 nut-shell. Even then he had been 
 conscious of a faint and creeping uneasi- 
 ness, of a hesitation which he had not 
 understood. The Spahi was certainly this 
 Benchaalal. Of that he was convinced.
 
 80 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Well, and what if he was ? 
 
 Sir Claude was not a very imaginative 
 man, but he was not totally devoid of 
 imagination. He was, as has been 
 said, by nature somewhat cautious and 
 sceptical, as Lady Wyverne was in- 
 cautious and inclined to superstition 
 and credulity. But he had never doubted 
 his wife. He loved her, but even 
 if he had not, the mere fact that she 
 was his wife would probably have pre- 
 served her from any suspicion on his 
 part. Yet he had lived in the London 
 world from time to time and knew 
 what went on sometimes there. He 
 had heard certain husbands laughed at, 
 or sneered at in the clubs, and had 
 seen them welcomed immediately after- 
 wards by the laughers and the sneerers 
 with open hands and hearts. He had 
 known charming women to do things 
 that were not charming — to use no 
 stronger phrase.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 81 
 
 What had been the matter with Kitty 
 that morning ? 
 
 The landlady came back with a lamp 
 which she set down on the table. But 
 now Sir Claude felt restless, as if he could 
 not return to his chair. 
 
 " I wonder where Achmed is," he said. 
 
 "In the village, m'sieu. Ah, Achmed 
 — he is another of them ! " 
 
 "Achmed?" 
 
 " But yes, m'sieu. The things he has 
 done, the things he will do for a few 
 francs ! You would not believe them if I 
 told you." 
 
 "Is he — is Achmed a friend of this 
 Spahi ? " 
 
 "Of Benchaalal ? A friend I would 
 not say. Benchaalal is proud. And 
 since he has been in Paris — ah, he does 
 not speak with every one, not he ! " 
 
 " But he knows Achmed ? " 
 
 "And how should he not know him 
 
 m'sieu? Why — " 
 6
 
 82 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 But Sir Claude interrupted the good 
 woman abruptly. 
 
 "Tell me," he said, "are you quite 
 sure that Ben — what is it ? " 
 
 " Benchaalal, m'sieu." 
 
 " That Benchaalal has not passed by 
 here without stoppin' ? " 
 
 " He has not passed, m'sieu. If he had 
 I should know it. They would have seen 
 him at the station." 
 
 " And you know he is en cong6 ? " 
 
 " M'sieu, he is. He should have come 
 by yesterday at latest, if not the day 
 before. But perhaps he is at El- 
 Akbara, where m'sieu is staying. I asked 
 Achmed." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said no. But what does that 
 mean ? Achmed is an Arab, and an 
 Arab never tells the truth." 
 
 "Well, au revoir, madam e." 
 
 " M'sieu is going to bed already ? And 
 just as I have brought the lamp ! "
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 83 
 
 " No, I am going for a stroll to the 
 village. Leave the lamp. I shall soon be 
 back to drink another bottle of wine." 
 
 " M'sieu is too good. But is m'sieu 
 armed.-* It is not safe to wander at night 
 without arms." 
 
 Grimly Sir Claude looked at her, pulling 
 out of one of his pockets the muzzle of a 
 revolver. 
 
 " It's all right, madame." 
 
 " Bien ! Bien! Au revoir, m'sieu." 
 
 " Au revoir, madame." 
 
 He walked away in the darkness. The 
 landlady stood under the vine looking 
 after him. 
 
 " What has he ? " she said to herself. 
 
 She had noticed that a change had come 
 over her guest while she had been talking, 
 that his air of calm satisfaction, peculiar to 
 the successful hunter full fed after a long 
 day's sport, had given place to a moody 
 anxiety, a restlessness that betokened an 
 altered mood.
 
 84 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "What has he, this monsieur?" she 
 repeated to herself. 
 
 The wind from the desert blew more 
 strongly among the vine leaves above her 
 head, and the lamp flame flickered un- 
 easily. 
 
 Behind the salt mountain there grew 
 slowly a pale light that heralded the 
 coming of the moon.
 
 VIII 
 
 SIR CLAUDE walked through the 
 darkness towards the village. As 
 he went, treading softly on the dry and 
 sandy road, he thought of the prophecy of 
 the astrologer in Paris, he seemed to see 
 the thin red lines of meticulous writing : 
 
 " Danger dune grande perte — la plus 
 grande perte possible." 
 
 And then he thought of the young 
 Spahi, sitting by the small table in the 
 hotel dining-room, and smiling gently as 
 he cracked the walnut with his fingers and 
 drew out the kernel that nestled within. 
 And then he thought of Achmed. 
 
 Achmed was a mighty hunter, and had 
 
 won Sir Claude's enthusiastic admiration. 
 
 Tall, lithe, one-eyed, with long, yellow 
 
 teeth shaded by a thin, wiry, black 
 85
 
 86 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 moustache, he was not beautiful to look 
 upon. But he knew his business and took 
 a pleasure in it. He had been eager for 
 these sporting expeditions. Perhaps he 
 had been too eager. 
 
 The landlady of the auberge had an 
 influence. She had infected Sir Claude 
 with her own distrust of these desert men. 
 Of his wife he was thinking now, with the 
 anxious, protective sentiment of the strong, 
 loving man ; of himself with an angry 
 bitterness. How could he have left her 
 alone, without even her maid, in an inn 
 lost in the wilderness, while he was 
 gratifying his selfish lust for sport ? The 
 loneliness of the desert around him, the 
 darkness, the keen wind against his brown 
 cheeks roused in him a sort of fury against 
 himself. The cosy little hostelry in the 
 gorge presented itself to his imagination 
 as a cut-throat, desolate shanty. And 
 there, among wild, treacherous people 
 who would slit any one's throat for a few
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 87 
 
 SOUS, he had left the whimsical, fair-haired 
 little creature he adored alone to face the 
 night. 
 
 He hurried on. And again he thought 
 of Achmed and of the Spahi, connecting 
 them together in his mind. 
 
 Achmed had been very eager for him 
 to stay at El-Akbara, had urged him re- 
 peatedly to remain for a long time, had 
 painted in glowing colours the wonders of 
 the region, and had spoken of Beni-Mora 
 as a place for invalids and old women, 
 intolerable to men. He had read at a 
 glance, Arab fashion, the character of Sir 
 Claude, and had played upon it with a 
 subtle cunning. Had he not ? But all 
 this might have been merely in order that 
 the guide might pocket Sir Claude's 
 money. That would be reason enough 
 for his persuasion. 
 
 " P'raps it's all rot ! " said Sir Claude 
 to himself, resorting to his favourite 
 phrase.
 
 88 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Nevertheless, he hurried on till he came 
 to the first earth houses of the village. 
 Their doors of palm were shut. Here 
 and there, above these shut doors, the 
 skulls of camels grinned. Through the 
 eye-sockets strings of red pepper were 
 hung. Upon the flat roofs lean white, or 
 yellow, dogs ran to and fro, bending down 
 their heads and barking furiously at the 
 stranger as he passed. 
 
 Again Sir Claude was conscious of the 
 savagery of this land, and was stabbed by 
 remorse for his selfish carelessness. Like 
 many men who are not clever, he was 
 inclined either to minimise or to exaggerate 
 things. He had thought nothing of leav- 
 ing his wife alone for a night. Now he 
 thought too much of it. It seemed to him 
 a monstrous dereliction of duty. 
 
 A shadow stole out from among the 
 blind and shadowy houses and padded 
 softly after him on bare feet. He turned 
 sharply, his hand on his revolver.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 89 
 
 " What d'you want ? " he said, in 
 French. 
 
 The shadow stopped and gazed at him 
 steadily, with gHttering eyes above which 
 a hood was drawn forward hiding the 
 head. 
 
 Sir Claude repeated his question, but 
 got no answer. 
 
 " Here, you come along with me ! " he 
 exclaimed. " I won't have you behind." 
 
 He made an explanatory gesture. The 
 shadow understood it and quietly obeyed. 
 Evidently comprehending why the stranger 
 was there, it guided him down a narrow 
 alley, across a runlet of water, and into an 
 open space, a sort of Arab place, or piazza, 
 on the further side of which lights shone 
 from a native cafe maure. Here, squat- 
 ting upon the floor, among a crowd of 
 hooded men, was Achmed with a coffee- 
 cup beside him, intent on playing 
 draughts. 
 
 When he saw his master he instantly
 
 90 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 rose with a smile, pushed his companions 
 away without ceremony, and invited Sir 
 Claude to come in and sit down on an 
 earthen divan. But Sir Claude had no 
 mind for pleasure. 
 
 " Come out, Achmed ! " he said, stand- 
 ing rigid in the low doorway. " I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Achmed seriously saluted his friends, 
 swung a fold of his burnous over his left 
 shoulder, picked out his pair of yellow 
 slippers from a medley against the wall, 
 and gently stepped across to Sir Claude 
 and followed him out into the night. 
 
 The shadow glided after them. 
 
 " Here, I say," said Sir Claude, irri- 
 tably, "get rid of this fellow. Give him 
 somethin' — this." He held out a franc. 
 " And tell him to be off." 
 
 Achmed obeyed, and the shadow evapor- 
 ated into the darkness. 
 
 When they were alone, walking back 
 towards the auberge, Sir Claude began :
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 91 
 
 "How long would it take to get back 
 to El-Akbara ? " 
 
 " El-Akbara, m'sieu! But it Is Im- 
 possible." 
 
 " Answer my question. How long 
 would it take ? " 
 
 " If we start early to-morrow, m'sieu, at 
 sunrise — " 
 
 " I don't mean to-morrow. I mean to- 
 night." 
 
 " I do not know, m'sieu. One does not 
 make such a journey at night in the desert 
 with a stranger." 
 
 " With a stranger ? What difference 
 does that make ? " 
 
 "A rich stranger would not be safe at 
 night in the desert. I am poor. I have 
 nothing — nothing." He flung out his 
 arms in a large, despairing gesture, keep- 
 ing his one eye fixed steadily on Sir 
 Claude. "Therefore, I can go where I 
 will. If m'sieu wishes me to return 
 to-night to El-Akbara, to take a message
 
 92 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 to madame, I will go, though the mules 
 are tired. But if monsieur asks me to 
 accompany him, I dare not. For if an 
 evil chance came to m'sieu in my com- 
 pany, no rich stranger would take me as 
 guide any more. I should be ruined. I 
 should fall into the misery." 
 
 Sir Claude was silent for a moment. 
 The guide's assertions seemed reasonable 
 But Sir Claude remembered the landlady's 
 words, that Achmed would do anything 
 for a few francs. 
 
 "And what if I paid you well .'^ " he 
 said. "What if I gave you a hundred 
 francs ? " 
 
 " M'sieu says — ?" 
 
 " Suppose I gave you a hundred francs 
 to come with me now, to-night, back to 
 El-Akbara ! Wouldn't you come ? " 
 
 " M'sieu, I dare not be responsible. If 
 any harm — " 
 
 "What — has Benchaalal paid you more, 
 then ? " exclaimed Sir Claude.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 93 
 
 He scarcely knew why he said it, why 
 the ugly, the hideous surmise abruptly 
 started into his mind. Indeed, it was 
 only a wild guess that he was making, 
 moved by something uneasy in Achmed's 
 obstinacy, something that suddenly sug- 
 gested to Sir Claude that the Arab was 
 balancing two offers, or was comparing 
 the merits of two clients — testing, as it 
 were, the capacities of their respective 
 purses. Sir Claude did not often show 
 intuition, but to-night there was unusual 
 tension on his nerves. Something in his 
 heart seemed to play upon his intellect, 
 to wake it up into a quickness that was 
 not normal. 
 
 " Bencha^lal, m'sieu?" said Achmed. 
 ''Who is that?" 
 
 "You damned, deceitful rascal, you 
 know well enough ! Benchadlal, the 
 Spahi, the officer from Algiers, who is 
 stayin' at the inn at El-Akbara." 
 
 Convicted of deception, Achmed, with
 
 94 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 perfect composure, left that question and 
 inquired : 
 
 "And why should Benchaalal give me 
 money ? " 
 
 Sir Claude opened his lips to answer, 
 but he said nothing. What could he say 
 to a low-born Arab ? Even if his wild 
 surmise were true — -and why should it be 
 true ? — he could not express it, could not 
 even hint at it. The landlady of the inn 
 had roused in him fear and suspicion and 
 condemnation ; fear for his wife, suspicion 
 of all Arabs, especially of Benchaalal and 
 of Achmed, condemnation of himself But 
 he must keep silence. Yet the complete 
 composure of Achmed did not allay but 
 added to his mistrust. He felt positive 
 that he had been persuaded to these long 
 sporting expeditions, to this night away 
 from El-Akbara, for reasons quite uncon- 
 nected with gazelle and Barbary sheep. 
 
 They had come out of the village now, 
 and were in the desert close to the auberge.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 95 
 
 The moon was just showing its edge above 
 the cone of the salt mountain and Hfting 
 the blackness from the waste. Under the 
 vine the little light of the lamp shone, 
 showing the immobile figure of the old 
 Frenchwoman watching for their return. 
 
 Sir Claude made no reply to Achmed's 
 question, but when he reached the auberge 
 he suddenly said to Achmed : 
 
 "Now, you just tell madame and me 
 why you said to madame that Benchaalal 
 was not stayin' at El-Akbara! '' 
 
 " M'sieu, I did not say so! How 
 could I when Benchaalal is there ?" 
 
 Sir Claude turned to the landlady, 
 who was looking surprised and very 
 curious. 
 
 "Didn't you assure me, madame — " 
 he began. 
 
 But the landlady interrupted him. 
 
 " M'sieu may talk all night, and all the 
 nights of the year, but he will never have 
 reason of an Arab."
 
 96 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 She spread out her hands and shrugged 
 her shoulders. 
 
 " C'est une sale race ! " she whispered 
 into Sir Claude's ear. 
 
 He stood for a moment staring at the 
 sand, his hands in his pockets. The 
 moonlight grew. Its light decided him. 
 He lifted up his head with a jerk of his 
 chin. 
 
 " Go and get the mules ! " he said to 
 Achmed. "Go!" 
 
 The guide stared at him for a minute, 
 then evidently realised that there was no 
 appeal from that command, and disap- 
 peared through the doorway of the auberge 
 to the inner court, where the beasts were 
 stabled. 
 
 The landlady looked amazed. 
 
 " M'sieu is not going? But it is not 
 possible! M'sieu — " 
 
 " Look here, madame," said Sir Claude, 
 sitting down by the little table, on which, 
 by the lamp was already set the bottle of
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 97 
 
 wine which he had promised to drink when 
 he returned from the village. " Look 
 here — you've been tellin' me about the 
 Arabs! I don't know them. I'm a 
 stranger here. I come from England, 
 where you can take a man's word, and 
 trust your womenkind pretty nearly any- 
 where without being afraid of their bein' 
 insulted. Now you tell me ! Sit down, 
 madame ! " 
 
 The landlady sat down opposite to him. 
 The flickering light from the lamp fell 
 across her wrinkled, intelligent face, and 
 brightened the eyes which were fixed 
 intently upon her guest. 
 
 "And you tell me! I've got a wife, 
 madame, a litde thing, young, a girl 
 almost she is, and about the prettiest 
 woman in England. I've got her out here 
 in Africa." 
 
 "Where is she, m'sieu ?" 
 
 "At the inn at El-Akbara. This chap, 
 
 this Benchadlal, is there. I've seen him. 
 7
 
 98 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 I saw the damned fellow the first night we 
 got there. Now, what should he be stay- 
 in' on day after day for, instead of goin' 
 to his home, to his damned mud hut in the 
 desert ? And why should Achmed deny 
 to you that he was there, and pretend to 
 me that he had never heard of him, till I 
 showed that I knew ? And why should 
 Achmed get me away from the inn every 
 day, and persuade me to-night to be here, 
 leavin' my wife alone among a lot of 
 scoundrels ? Don't you think there's some- 
 thin' up, madame ? Don't you think, if 
 you were me, you'd get back to your wife 
 — yes, get back to her even if the mules 
 hadn't six legs to go upon between 
 them ? " 
 
 He struck his big hand upon the table 
 and made the bottle jump and the lamp 
 sway and shiver. The landlady pursed 
 her lips, put up the middle finger of her 
 right hand to her chin and took it away 
 again.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 99 
 
 "So, she said, after a pause. "So 
 Benchaalal is at El-Akbara ! I thought as 
 much." 
 
 " Why ? " said Sir Claude sharply. 
 
 Everything made him uneasy and sus- 
 picious to-night. 
 
 " Something in Achmed's manner when 
 I asked him and he denied it. And yet 
 he lies well, like all the Arabs. But there 
 was a something, Sidi. He didn't want 
 to talk of Benchaalal." 
 
 Sir Claude leaned over the table towards 
 her. 
 
 " You think there's somethin' up ? " 
 
 " M'sieu, how can I know ? But one 
 thing I know is this — if I had a wife, and 
 she was pretty and young, I would not 
 leave her alone with Benchaalal near her, 
 no, not for five minutes." 
 
 Sir Claude got up and turned towards 
 the doorway. 
 
 " Achmed ! " he roared. " Venez ! 
 Ddpechez vous ! "
 
 100 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Voila ! Voila!" called a voice in the 
 distance. 
 
 "Mind you, madame," said Sir Claude, 
 turning again to the landlady. " My wife 
 would as soon think of tryin' to fly as of 
 havin' anything to do with one of these 
 damned blacks. As a friend, I mean — as 
 a guide, of course ! What are you smilin' 
 at?" 
 
 " Nothing, m'sieu. I was not smiling. 
 M'sieu was deceived by the lamplight. 
 There's a wind getting up." 
 
 She moved the lamp and placed it so 
 that her face was in shadow. Sir Claude 
 o-runted. He felt sure he had seen an 
 ugly smile cross the woman's face, and 
 suddenly he regretted that he had estab- 
 lished a sort of intimacy with this stranger. 
 He had been too impulsive. But she was 
 a European and a woman, and then it 
 was from her that all these suspicions 
 had come to knock upon the door of his 
 mind.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 101 
 
 " Kindly give me the bill, madame," he 
 said, stiffly. "And put down that bottle 
 of wine and the room for the niorht. I'll 
 pay, of course, as if I stayed." 
 
 " M'sieu is too good." 
 
 She went softly indoors. And as soon 
 as her back was turned she smiled again 
 to herself. 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" she thought. "These 
 men ! These men with the prettiest wives 
 in the world ! What babies they are ! 
 What babies ! Que diable ! " 
 
 She sat down by the light of a tallow 
 candle at her greasy table, and made out 
 a good, stiff bill for the baby to pay. 
 
 Achmed was a long time getting the 
 mules, but at last he was ready, the 
 account was settled, and Sir Claude was 
 in the saddle, his gun slung beside him 
 and his revolver ready to his hand, 
 
 " Bon soir, madame," he said gruffly. 
 
 " Bon soir, m'sieu. Bon voyage." 
 
 He rode away into the desert. Achmed
 
 102 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 prepared to follow, mounted on the second 
 mule, and leading a third which carried 
 the dead gazelle and the Barbary sheep. 
 
 " Bon soir, Monsieur Achmed ! " said 
 the landlady, with an ironical emphasis on 
 the " Monsieur." " Bon voyage ! " 
 
 The guide turned his eye upon her. 
 
 ** Cochon femme ! " he hissed at her. 
 "Chamelle! chamelle!" 
 
 He spat at her, kicked the mule furiously 
 with his heels, and cantered away. 
 
 " Sale race ! " ejaculated the landlady. 
 
 She blew out the lamp, picked up the 
 full wine bottle, tucked it under her arm, 
 turned and went into the auberge, closing 
 the door behind her. 
 
 A moment later there was the clang of 
 the great bar of palm-wood falling into its 
 iron socket.
 
 IX 
 
 THAT was a long and weary journey 
 by the light of the moon. At first 
 Sir Claude kept in front, but presently he 
 got off the track, and Achmed was obliged 
 to ride up and go ahead to show the way. 
 He passed Sir Claude morosely, without 
 looking at him, and took the lead. On 
 and on they went, always towards the dark 
 range of mountains that showed where the 
 desert ended. Sir Claude kept his eyes 
 fixed upon it. The mules went slowly. 
 Poor beasts, they were really tired and 
 needed a night's rest. Like most English- 
 men, Sir Claude was solicitous for all 
 animals that did him service. And more 
 than once his conscience pricked him as 
 he encouraged his mule with voice and 
 
 hand. Achmed did not care. The mules 
 103
 
 104 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 were not his, and no thought of an animal's 
 suffering pained his imagination. 
 
 Presently he began to sing in a whining, 
 plaintive voice. His sulkiness was sub- 
 siding as his active, greedy mind began to 
 work, helped by the monotonous motion 
 across the plain. The stranger, the rich 
 Englishman, had offered him one hundred 
 francs to do the very thing he was now 
 doing. And he had refused them. But 
 he had refused them because he had also 
 refused to make this moonlight flitting. 
 Well, but now he was making it. 
 
 " Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! 
 Give me the scorpion that I may eat ! 
 See I am kneeling at thy feet. 
 To the sand, to the sand I have bowed my head, 
 In the fire have I stood, in the fire that is red. 
 Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! " 
 
 Was he making it for nothing ? This 
 thought disgusted him. While he sang 
 he was planning a campaign, and in the 
 planning his fury was evaporating.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 105 
 
 " Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! 
 Give me the glass that I may eat ! 
 See I am crouching at thy feet. 
 In my belly the living scorpion lies, 
 In my heart the fierce lust for paradise — 
 Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! " 
 
 Never yet had Achmed been "bested" 
 by a Roumi. The mere thought of such 
 a catastrophe stirred all his faculties. 
 Since he had been obliged to undertake 
 this journey, he must be well paid for it. 
 The Roumi should be his prey, the Roumi 
 who had miscalled him, who had forced 
 him to play false to one of his own creed, 
 to one of his own people. 
 
 " Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! 
 Give me the knife that my flesh desires, 
 As it longed for the licking tongues of the fires. 
 The glass with the scorpion has gone to rest ; 
 Give the curving knife to my naked breast. 
 Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! " 
 
 "Achmed!" 
 
 Sir Claude's voice shouted from behind.
 
 106 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Achmed stopped his singing and turned 
 half round upon his mule. 
 
 " Sidi ? " he said, politely. 
 
 " If you don't want to drive me mad, 
 stop that cursed whinin' ! " 
 
 " As m'sieu wishes ! " 
 
 He pulled in his mule and Sir Claude 
 came up with him. 
 
 "What the devil were you singin' about?" 
 
 " M'sieur, I was singing the song of 
 the Aissaoui, they who stand in the fire 
 and eat scorpions and glass, and drive in 
 the steel behind their eyes, and are 
 carried with their naked breasts upon 
 sharp knives." 
 
 Sir Claude twisted his body in a sort 
 of heavy shudder. 
 
 "Cheerful!" he ejaculated. "How 
 long shall we be ? " 
 
 "M'sieu, I cannot tell. The mules are 
 weary. This is a cruel journey." 
 
 He sighed, keenly regarding Sir Claude 
 with his one eye.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 107 
 
 " Never before, after hunting all the day, 
 have I been made to travel all the night." 
 
 Sir Claude's mule stumbled. 
 
 " Hold up! " he cried, in English. 
 
 He felt a certain compunction. 
 
 " It's your own fault ! " he growled. 
 
 "My fault, m'sieu?" 
 
 Achmed's voice quivered with innocent 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Well, if it isn't— " 
 
 Sir Claude broke off. After all, he did 
 not know anything. He was only sus- 
 picious. And it seemed to him impossible 
 either to confirm or to destroy his 
 suspicions at present. For how could he 
 question Achmed without showing that 
 he was anxious for his wife's safety ? 
 And how could he let a "damned black " 
 know that he had ever, in his thoughts, 
 connected her beauty and purity with the 
 desires of a Spahi ? 
 
 •' You shouldn't have put me up to this 
 expedition," he said.
 
 108 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " I thought m'sieu had never shot 
 gazelle." 
 
 •' No more I had. And what of that ? " 
 
 " All the EnMish crentlemen who come 
 to El-Akbara want to shoot gazelle." 
 
 Sir Claude began to wonder whether 
 he had wronged the guide. Now that 
 the old Frenchwoman's influence was re- 
 moved, he felt less suspicious. It was she 
 who had alarmed him by her diatribes 
 against the Arabs. Perhaps she was a 
 silly old woman, an alarmist, even a liar. 
 But then Achmed had lied about this 
 Bench^alal. 
 
 " M'sieu promised me — " 
 
 It was Achmed's voice with its most 
 insinuating intonation. 
 
 "Eh!" 
 
 " M'sieu promised me a hundred francs 
 if I protected him through the night to 
 El-Akbara." 
 
 '• Protected ! " 
 
 Sir Claude laughed.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 109 
 
 " Showed me the way, you mean." 
 
 "As m'sieu chooses. M'sieu will keep 
 his word ? " 
 
 "Well, of all the cheek!" 
 
 Sir Claude had dropped into English. 
 
 "M'sieu says 'of course.' He is right. 
 All the English keep their promises. 
 They are a great nation." 
 
 " I never promised you a hundred 
 francs, but — " 
 
 " Yes, m'sieu ?" 
 
 "No, I can't bribe the feller!" Sir 
 Claude thought. But then again came 
 to him the fierce desire to know whether 
 Achmed and this Spahi, this Benchadlal, 
 had plotted together to get him out of the 
 way. 
 
 "Two hundred francs would be nothin' 
 to me if I got hold of a devoted fellow, of 
 a fellow who'd never tell me a lie or play 
 me a dirty trick," he said, almost against 
 his will. 
 
 Achmed's eye brightened. The flame
 
 110 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 of avarice shot up in it. But he was 
 subtle, and only replied carelessly : 
 
 " The good master makes the good 
 servant." 
 
 "And Benchaalal ? Is he a good 
 master?" asked Sir Claude. 
 
 " M'sieu, Benchaalal is generous to 
 those who serve him — they say." 
 
 "And to you? Is he generous to you ?" 
 
 " M'sieu, I am not the servant of Ben- 
 chaalal." 
 
 "What? Have you never gone 
 huntin' with him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, m'sieu. And when Ben- 
 chaalal hunts he pays well. But he 
 pays afterwards." 
 
 There was — or so Sir Claude thought — 
 a strong significance in Achmed's voice as 
 he said the last words. His blood grew 
 hot. He longed to strike the guide, to 
 knock him off his mule with a straight 
 blow from the shoulder and to see him 
 roll over in the sand.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 111 
 
 "No," he thought to himself, "I'm 
 damned if I can have anythin' to do 
 with the feller. I'll shift for myself. 
 To-morrow I'll take Kitty away to Beni- 
 Mora. She'll be glad to go. She wanted 
 to go before. I've been a selfish beast, 
 but there can't be any harm done, even 
 if that beastly black has been up to some 
 devilry with Achmed." 
 
 And Achmed could get nothing more 
 out of him. To all the Arab's insinuating 
 remarks he returned gruff monosyllabic 
 replies, and at last they rode on, hour after 
 hour, in complete silence, coming ever 
 nearer to the black wall of mountains that 
 was their destination. 
 
 It was towards dawn when the mules 
 set their feet upon the firm, well-made 
 road that leads to the three villages of the 
 oasis of El-Akbara. The moon was 
 waning, the wind at their backs was 
 colder, and Sir Claude, strong though he 
 was, felt an unusual sense of fatigue lay-
 
 112 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 ing hold of him, an unusual depression, 
 no doubt purely physical, stealing upon 
 his spirit, almost like a stealthy tide, 
 frigid and sadly murmuring. 
 
 "It's a devil of a ride," he said to 
 himself. 
 
 Then he tried to pull himself together, 
 staring towards the rocky rampart now 
 close at hand, and fixing his thoughts on 
 the cosy inn, the comfortable bed, the 
 long sleep that awaited him. And then 
 Kitty! Soon he would see her. He 
 pictured himself stealing into her room, 
 shading the candle with his hand, and 
 looking down on her slight form, her 
 pretty, fair head with the yellow hair 
 spread out over the pillow. 
 
 He bent his long legs backward and 
 struck his tired mule with his heels. The 
 poor brute, whose tripping walk had long 
 since degenerated into an uneasy shamble, 
 started forward in a sort of convulsive 
 canter, and passed Achmed, who was
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 113 
 
 hunched up and seemed to have fallen 
 asleep shrouded in his burnous with the 
 hood drawn closely round his face. But 
 the canter only lasted a moment. The 
 animal was nearly dead beat, like Its rider, 
 and subsided almost at once into its former 
 tragic pace. 
 
 As Sir Claude passed him, Achmed's 
 one eye peered sharply forth from the 
 shadow of the hood, and when his master's 
 mule ceased from cantering, the guide sat 
 up on his pack-saddle and threw off his 
 elaborate pretence of sleep. He had a 
 knife hidden under his burnous, and now 
 he laid his hand upon it, looking steadily 
 at the hind-legs of the mule in front. 
 He wanted to get into El-Akbara before 
 Sir Claude, and he was considering how 
 to accomplish this without waking suspicion 
 in the Roumi. The failure of his attempt 
 to wheedle his employer into parting with 
 the hundred francs he longed for irritated 
 him, almost infuriated him. He knew
 
 114 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 that he would not get the money, and he 
 hated Sir Claude as an Arab hates the 
 man always who baffles his greed. 
 Presently he drew his knife from its sheath 
 of goat-skin, slipped softly from his mule, 
 and stealthily approached Sir Claude's, 
 keeping his eye fixed warily on its 
 rider. He did not act at once, but walked 
 for two or three minutes noiselessly as a 
 ghost at the tail of the mule, till he felt 
 certain that he could do his deed unob- 
 served. Then he bent down, still keeping 
 up with the beast, the hand with the knife 
 in it hung for a second above the sham- 
 bling, hairy legs, came nearer to them, 
 came close to them. 
 
 "Achmed!" 
 
 Sir Claude had turned. 
 
 " Achmed ! What the devil— ? " 
 
 "Stop, m'sieu ! There is a stone in 
 his hoof. Let me get it out." 
 
 Sir Claude pulled up, startled. Instantly 
 the Arab lifted one of the mule's hoofs
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 115 
 
 from the road and with the knife pretended 
 to extract a stone, holding one, snatched 
 from the road, up a second later, then 
 flinging it away. 
 
 * ' I saw he was going lame, m'sieu. 
 C'est ca!" 
 
 Calmly he returned his knife to its 
 sheath. 
 
 " I didn't notice anythin'." 
 
 Sir Claude was looking at him with 
 keen suspicion. 
 
 " M'sieu, I was behind, I could see." 
 
 " I thought you were asleep." 
 
 *' The Arab does not sleep when he is 
 protecting his master." 
 
 Sir Claude grunted. 
 
 " Now you get in front again." 
 
 "As m'sieu pleases." 
 
 Achmed jumped again on to his mule, 
 and began to lead the way once more, 
 letting the led mule run free with its load 
 of gazelle and Barbary sheep. 
 
 Foiled in his attempt to lame Sir
 
 116 BARB ART SHEEP 
 
 Claude's beast, and get away before Sir 
 
 Claude had time to notice the accident 
 
 and call him back, he urged his mule on 
 
 as fast as possible, and again began to sing 
 
 at the top of his voice. 
 
 ' ' Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! 
 On the curving edge of the steel I have lain, 
 I have feared not the touch of the flickering pain ; 
 Nor the sharp-toothed glass, nor the poisoned sting — 
 Now the lash, the lash to my bared loins bring ! 
 Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! " 
 
 This time Sir Claude did not interrupt 
 him. For the three villages were at hand, 
 houses of shadow kept by trees of shadow, 
 the river, flowing out of the gorge into the 
 desert, lifted its murmur to their ears, the 
 journey neared its end. And does not 
 the weary traveller, as he rides in from 
 the darkness of the waste, instinctively 
 raise his voice in a song, or in a cry to 
 hail the friends, the joys that await him ? 
 
 Louder and louder Achmed sang. His 
 " Khali Targa ! " went out to the frowning 
 masses of the towering rocks and was
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 117 
 
 echoed back by them. It came from the 
 desert as a shout of warning to two night 
 wanderers who, close to the place where, 
 by day, the little Arab sat in the sun and 
 played his capricious tune, were waiting to 
 see the coming of the dawn over the sandy 
 waste. 
 
 The Spahi moved as the distant cry 
 first came to his ears. 
 
 "Is it the Marabout?" whispered Lady 
 Wyverne, laying her hand on his cloak. 
 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 He listened, leaning forward towards 
 the desert. 
 
 " Khali Targa ! Khali Targa ! 
 More hard than the rocks where the falcon flies 
 Is the way to the Prophet's Paradise — " 
 
 " It is the voice of Achmed ! " 
 Lady Wyverne turned white. 
 " But — it can't be ! Why, they are at 
 the salt mountain, far away from here ! " 
 
 "The lash on my loins has fallen like hail. 
 See ! I offer my shaven head to the nail ! 
 Khali Targa ! Khali Farga ! "
 
 118 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "It is Achmed ! They are coming! 
 Look ! I see mules on the road ! " 
 
 " Save me ! Where am I to go ? " 
 
 She sprang up wildly. 
 
 But he drew her down again. 
 
 " You can't get away now." 
 
 " But I must ! I must be in the inn 
 when my husband gets there. He'll go 
 straight to my room ! " 
 
 She struggled with him and began to 
 sob hysterically. 
 
 "Be quiet! Keep still ! " 
 
 He said it quite gently. Yet she 
 stopped at once and remained motionless, 
 silent as one under the influence of an 
 opiate. 
 
 " You can't get back. There's only one 
 thing — slip behind the rock ! Crouch 
 down ! I will let my burnous drop over 
 you ! 
 
 Lady Wyverne crept to the back of the 
 rock on which they had been seated and 
 obeyed him. He lifted his great burnous,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 119 
 
 and replaced it loosely on his shoulders, 
 letting it fall so that it concealed Lady 
 Wyverne's head and shoulders. Her face 
 was pressed against his back and his body 
 felt her troubled breathing. Then he lit a 
 cigarette. His attitude was nonchalant. 
 His dark, keen face was perfectly calm. 
 He drew the cigarette smoke into his 
 throat and let it out rhythmically through 
 his nostrils, quietly watching the mules as 
 they came nearer and nearer. In his long 
 eyes there was the hint of an almost sleepy 
 smile. 
 
 Achmed's song had died away now, and 
 Benchaalal knew that the guide's keen 
 sight had already discovered him, that the 
 guide's swift intelligence had gathered 
 from his motionless attitude that the 
 singing had been heard and that he was 
 prepared for their coming. 
 
 Achmed's mule came up level with the 
 Spahi and passed on. Achmed made no 
 sign of recognition, but he looked at
 
 120 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Bencha^lal steadily, then beyond him as if 
 seeking for something. Bencha^lal leaned 
 a little backward, letting his burnous drop 
 lower over the crouching woman. And 
 he felt that she shuddered against his 
 body. The mule that bore the victims of 
 Sir Claude's gun followed. Then came 
 Sir Claude. As he drew up, the first rays 
 of the rising sun struck into the eastern 
 sky and touched the houses of the red 
 village upon its little hill. When Sir 
 Claude saw the Spahi he started with 
 surprise, and involuntarily pulled up his 
 mule. For a moment the two men stared 
 at each other ; the Englishman with a sort 
 of hard inquiry and suspicion, the Arab 
 with a sleepy languor that told nothing of 
 what was passing in his mind. Always he 
 drew the cigarette smoke into his throat, 
 and let it out through his finely-cut nostrils. 
 
 " Bonjour," said Sir Claude, at last, in 
 the rough voice of a weary man. 
 
 "Bonjour, m'sieu," said the Spahi,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 121 
 
 softly. " You have had good sport, I 
 see. 
 
 The crouching woman was trembling 
 violently. Bencha^lal leaned still farther 
 back. He feared lest the rider should 
 see the movement of the folds of his 
 burnous, and secretly cursed the timidity 
 of women. 
 
 "You are out early, monsieur," said Sir 
 Claude. 
 
 " We Spahis are accustomed to early 
 rising, m'sieu. I seldom sleep much 
 after three o'clock. I like to see the sun 
 come up over the desert." 
 
 He thought he saw Sir Claude's 
 steady, strained eyes glance backward 
 as Achmed's had done. But he was 
 not sure. The smoke wreaths of his 
 cigarette, curling up towards the pale 
 sky, in which the last stars had not 
 yet faded, might have tricked his acute 
 vision. 
 
 There was a moment of silence. Sir
 
 122 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Claude lifted his right hand, laid it down 
 on the mule's neck, and moved as if he 
 were about to dismount. Then he seemed 
 to change his mind, for he suddenly struck 
 the animal with his heels, set his lips 
 together, and rode on without another 
 word. The patter of hoofs on the hard 
 road made a diminuendo. 
 
 " Don't move ! " whispered the Spahi, 
 without stirring. 
 
 The patter of hoofs died quite 
 away. 
 
 •' Not yet! " he said, aloud. " Not till 
 I tell you." 
 
 He heard again the sound of convulsive, 
 half-strangled sobbing. Yet even now 
 his face did not change, even now he 
 continued quietly to smoke. 
 
 The gorge took the little cavalcade. 
 It was lost in the fastnesses of the 
 rocks. Then the Spahi sprang up, 
 lifted his cloak, and set free the terrified 
 woman.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 123 
 
 "Does he know? Did he see 
 me ? " 
 
 She could scarcely get the words out. 
 Her face was stained with tears and 
 flushed with red in patches. 
 
 "Who can tell?" 
 
 " He'll go to my room ! Oh, God, he'll 
 go to my room ! " 
 
 "Who can tell? He is tired. He sits 
 like a sack on the mule." 
 
 " He'll go ! What am I to do ? What 
 am I to do ? " 
 
 Benchaalal stretched his arm out 
 towards the spaces of the desert. 
 
 " Will you come with me — there ?" 
 
 "He'll find my room empty! He'll 
 come back ! " 
 
 The Spahi looked at her for a moment. 
 Then he said, coldly : 
 
 "Go and wash your face in the river, 
 madame. And then we can speak 
 together. At present it is useless." 
 
 Lady Wyverne stared for a moment, as
 
 124 BARB ART SHEEP 
 
 if she did not comprehend what he had 
 said. But the tears dried on her cheeks. 
 And after an instant she turned from him 
 obediently, went to the river-bank, and 
 bent down over the running water.
 
 THE sun was up, bathing the desert 
 in its beams, but the gorge of El- 
 Akbara was still in shadow when Lady 
 Wyverne, alone, stole along the road by 
 the Judas-trees, passed through the gate- 
 way in the wooden fence, and entered the 
 courtyard of the inn. She was very pale, 
 and looked furtively around her, then 
 upward swiftly to the window of her 
 husband's bedroom. It was shut and the 
 green persiennes hid the glass. She 
 crossed the courtyard quickly and tried 
 the front door. The handle of it seemed 
 to her to turn almost of itself. She 
 understood why when, as she pushed the 
 door back, she saw Achmed standing in 
 the aperture. He stared at her with his 
 one eye, but said nothing, and she hurried 
 
 125
 
 126 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 past him softly, up the stairs, and into her 
 bedroom. 
 
 She had dreaded finding Sir Claude 
 there. But there was no one. She 
 gently locked the door and sat down on 
 the little chair by the bed. 
 
 Had her husband visited her room or 
 not? 
 
 That was the vital question she was 
 asking herself. He must have been 
 terribly tired by his long ride across the 
 desert and by the day's hunting. He must 
 have been longing to sleep. Neverthe- 
 less, knowing him as she did, she felt 
 almost certain that he would not have 
 gone to bed without trying her door. 
 And she had left it unlocked when she 
 went out to see the sunrise with Benchaalal. 
 She had been reckless, feeling perfectly 
 safe in the thought that Sir Claude was 
 miles away. 
 
 Why had he come back ? 
 
 Mechanically she began to undress.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 127 
 
 Her hands trembled, and she was not 
 accustomed to undressing herself; but at 
 last she was ready for bed, and she 
 stepped in and drew the clothes up to 
 her chin. 
 
 Why had he come back ? 1 1 was his 
 own idea to stay away all night. She 
 had never suggested such a thing, had 
 never even thought of it. When she had 
 read the note telling her he was going to 
 sleep out, she had been full of a sort of 
 ironical pity for his folly, for his short- 
 sightedness. 
 
 And now he had come back, travelling 
 through the night. 
 
 She could not understand it. 
 
 Presently, as she lay quietly there, and 
 her husband did not come, and she heard 
 no movement in his room, she began to 
 think that perhaps in her terror she had 
 been unreasonable. She had lost her 
 head, or nearly lost it. But for the self- 
 possession of the Spahi she would cer-
 
 128 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 tainly have been discovered by her 
 husband. 
 
 And if she had been discovered ? 
 
 She tried to think of the situation 
 calmly, without hysteria. If she had 
 been discovered what would "Crumpet" 
 have said, have done? If he knew any- 
 thing now, what would he say or do ? 
 
 She had always been accustomed to 
 rule him. He had always given in to 
 all her whims. They had often been 
 foolish, but they had been innocent. 
 She had flirted. Many men had made 
 a sort of love to her. But it had been 
 a very tame business. It had not been 
 even a playing with fire. There had 
 never been any fire to play with. 
 
 But where Benchaalal was there was 
 fire, there was always fire. 
 
 Sir Claude had never minded her little 
 flirtations. But he had felt sure of her. 
 Somehow Lady Wyverne, never having 
 really cared a straw for any of the men
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 129 
 
 who had admired her, had never dreamed 
 that Sir Claude could mind their attentions, 
 even their occasional ardour. The ardour 
 had always been English, and her own 
 consciousness of her own coldness had pre- 
 served her from either fear or any sense 
 of guilt. 
 
 But now she was afraid, both of her- 
 self and of her husband. And she felt 
 guilty, not because of any evil act that 
 she had committed, but because of 
 thoughts that had passed through her 
 mind, of feelings that had stirred in her 
 heart. 
 
 She knew her husband through and 
 through, and she knew his intensely 
 English nature. All, or nearly all, the 
 prejudices of the average Englishman 
 were his, cherished children of his not 
 clever brain. 
 
 She divined how Sir Claude would 
 inevitably think of Africans. Very much 
 as the average American regards the nigger
 
 130 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 he would regard any African ; whether 
 Egyptian, Touareg, Kabyle, Arab, Negro, 
 or Moor. They would be all the same 
 to him — "blacks," or "damned blacks." 
 Thus he would sum them up. The idea 
 that his wife could enter into any close 
 friendly relations with one of them, could 
 flirt with one of them, could allow one of 
 them openly to admire her, even to make 
 love to her, would never occur to him. 
 But if it were forced upon him ; if it were 
 proved to him that his wife had walked 
 with an Arab at night, had allowed him 
 to admire her, had admired him, found 
 him interesting, even more — fascinating, 
 strangely attractive ! What then ? 
 
 Suddenly Lady Wyverne saw her 
 husband in a new light, saw unchained 
 in him a new being. The Englishman is 
 often slow to wake up, but when he does 
 wake up he is not a man to trifle with. 
 And Sir Claude was very primitive. At 
 certain junctures in life the primitive man
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 131 
 
 is the most dangerous, the most terrible of 
 all men. He rushes ahead with the blind- 
 ness of a machine. 
 
 Lady Wyverne shuddered in her bed. 
 
 But then she told herself that Sir Claude 
 did not know. If he had known he would 
 have come out of the hotel to seek her, or 
 he would have been waiting in her room 
 to denounce her. 
 
 But why had he come back ? 
 
 His return made her think that he 
 must have some suspicion, that something 
 must have occurred to take his mind from 
 Barbary sheep and to fix it upon a different 
 subject. 
 
 She lay still for a long time. Presently 
 she heard voices below. The Arab ser- 
 vants were about. Despite her closed 
 shutters she realised that the sun-rays had 
 reached the gorge. The day was come, 
 the full day. And she must face it. 
 
 She looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. 
 She got up, rang for hot water.
 
 132 BARB ART SHEEP 
 
 An Arab left it at her door with a loud 
 single knock. When he had gone she 
 opened the door and took it in. Her 
 husband's door was shut. Was he in the 
 hotel, or, having found her room empty, 
 was he out seeking her ? 
 
 She wondered. She longed vehemently 
 to know. 
 
 When she was dressed she made a 
 strong mental effort, opened the window, 
 and stepped out on to the verandah. As 
 she did so her husband issued from his 
 room and met her. 
 
 " Crumpet ! " she cried out. 
 
 Her movement of surprise was natural. 
 She was really surprised, startled. She 
 caught hold of the balustrade and steadied 
 herself. 
 
 " You are back ! " 
 
 "Yes," he said. 
 
 " But you told me you were going to 
 sleep out ! Where was it ? At some place 
 or other where there's gazelle."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 133 
 
 " I know. But the inn was so beastly 
 that I came back." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " I rode pretty near all night. I got in 
 at dawn." 
 
 " I — I didn't hear the mules." 
 
 She tried to speak naturally and be- 
 lieved that she succeeded. But her eyes 
 were fastened on her husband's face with 
 an intense scrutiny. 
 
 " You must have been sound asleep," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Yes, I must have been sound 
 asleep." 
 
 " Let's have breakfast," he said. 
 
 So he had not been to her room ! For 
 a moment her sense of relief was immense. 
 She went nearer to him, intending to give 
 him a kiss. But he happened to turn 
 round just at the moment to look for one 
 of the straw chairs they always sat in 
 when they took breakfast or tea on the 
 verandah. Evidently he had not noticed
 
 134 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 her movement. Or had he seen it and 
 wished to — ? 
 
 He found the chair, then leaned over 
 the balustrade and shouted for breakfast. 
 
 "Are you tired?" Lady Wyverne 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, a bit." 
 
 He tipped his chair back till two legs 
 were off the floor, then let them drop, 
 then tipped the chair back again. 
 
 " It was a longish ride." 
 
 " I — I wonder you didn't stay at the 
 mn. 
 
 " It was beastly dirty." 
 
 She forced a laugh. Something in his 
 manner made her uneasy. And then he 
 had not kissed her. Nor had he once 
 pronounced her name — Kitty. Generally 
 it, or its abbreviation, " Kit" was for ever 
 on his lips. 
 
 " I didn't know you were afraid of 
 roughing it," she said. 
 
 "Well, I don't see the good of bein'
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 135 
 
 uncomfortable when one can be comfort- 
 able." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "No, of course not," she said. 
 
 He was still tipping the chair to and 
 fro. The movement irritated her nerves. 
 She looked away, 
 
 "Oh, here's breakfast!" she exclaimed. 
 
 The Arab who brought it was the same 
 sleepy-looking boy who had accompanied 
 Lady Wyverne on her excursion to the 
 red village. He arranged the breakfast 
 carefully and gently, but very slowly, upon 
 the wicker tables. Sir Claude watched 
 him with an air of acute irritability that 
 was almost like active hatred. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " asked his wife. 
 
 "These infernal blacks — " he began. 
 " There ! There ! That'll do." 
 
 He suddenly leaned forward and pushed 
 the boy roughly away from the table. 
 The boy started, cast an angry look at 
 him, and went off muttering to himself
 
 136 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " I can't stand these fellers ! Vermin ! " 
 said Sir Claude, with a sort of irrepressible 
 passion. 
 
 Lady Wyverne said nothing. It was 
 the first time her husband hafl ever be- 
 haved like this in her presence. She 
 wondered whether he was only over-tired 
 or whether there was another reason for 
 his unusual conduct. His outburst against 
 the Arabs made her tremble again at the 
 thought of her imprudence. She felt that 
 the knowledge that his wife had coquetted 
 — to use no other word — with an Arab 
 surreptitiously would let loose upon her 
 a new man, a man whom she had never 
 known and of whom she would be terri- 
 fied. But he could know nothing. If he 
 did he would have spoken, have acted at 
 once. "Crumpet" might be violent, even 
 terrible. She realised that now. But 
 surely he could never be subtle. 
 
 And yet she could not quite rid herself 
 of uneasiness, of doubt. He had not
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 137 
 
 kissed her. He had not yet called her 
 by her name. And there was surely 
 something aloof in his manner, a detach- 
 ment from her that was unusual. 
 
 •'What about to-day?" she asked, 
 making a strong effort to seem lively and 
 cheerful. "Are we going on to Beni- 
 Mora?" 
 
 He busied himself with an egg, carefully 
 chipping the shell away from the white. 
 
 " D'you want to go ? " he asked. " I 
 wonder if this egg's fresh." 
 
 " Oh, they always are here ! " 
 
 " Dessay it's all right. D'you want to 
 
 go? 
 
 "Well, I " — she shot a glance at him — 
 " I don't mind. But — haven't you had 
 enough of Barbary sheep by this time ? " 
 
 "If you're bored to death we'll go, but 
 if not I think I should like to have just 
 one more shot at somethin'." 
 
 He spoke very deliberately, with a 
 certain dull heaviness.
 
 138 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 "Yes, the egg's all right," he added, 
 tasting it. 
 
 " Very well. But you're surely going 
 to have a rest to-day." 
 
 " Yes. I may go out towards sunset." 
 
 " Is that a good time ? " 
 
 "I may sleep out." 
 
 Lady Wyverne started. 
 
 " Well, but if you can't stand the inns ! " 
 
 " I may take a tent. They're got one 
 here." 
 
 "Oh— won't it be cold?" 
 
 " Take plenty of blankets and you're all 
 right." 
 
 ** Very well," she said. 
 
 After some minutes, during which he 
 ate and she pretended to eat in silence, 
 Sir Claude said : 
 
 " You're not bored, are you ? You 
 don't still want to get away ? " 
 
 *• I really don't care what I do," she 
 replied, carelessly, "so long as we don't 
 settle down here for ever."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 139 
 
 "We won't do that," he said. 
 
 They had finished now, and he got up 
 and lit a cigar. As he did so Benchaalal 
 came out from the inn door underneath 
 the verandah, walked slowly across the 
 court and down the road towards the 
 desert. He had on his scarlet cloak, 
 which floated out majestically as he 
 walked. He did not glance up at them. 
 His dark face was very calm and tranquil, 
 and he looked like a man perfectly con- 
 tented with himself and all the world. 
 Lady Wyverne only glanced at him, but 
 Sir Claude watched him until he was lost 
 to sight at a bend in the road. 
 
 " That's a fine-lookin' chap ! " he said. 
 
 " I think the Arabs are a handsome set," 
 Lady Wyverne answered. 
 
 " But he's the most strikin' of the lot. 
 Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Is he .-* I daresay." 
 
 Instinctively she had replied evasively 
 with an elaborate carelessness. Scarcely
 
 140 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 had she done so, however, when it occurred 
 to her that it would have been more subde, 
 more really clever, to have agreed with 
 him heartily. She was always accustomed 
 to speak her thoughts, to express her 
 whims frankly before Crumpet. She had 
 often openly raved to him about other 
 men's looks. It would have seemed far 
 more natural, far more like herself, to do 
 so now. But it was too late. Besides, 
 she could not. 
 
 " I spoke to the feller this mornin'," 
 resumed Sir Claude, leaning on the 
 balustrade in an easy attitude and 
 puffing wreaths of smoke away into he 
 sun. 
 
 " This morning ! " Lady Wyverne ex- 
 claimed, with a careful intonation of 
 astonishment. " When ? " 
 
 Sir Claude took his cigar from his 
 mouth and smoothed the leaf at the end 
 with his finger. 
 
 "When I was ridin' in."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 141 
 
 "He — he was up already at that 
 hour ? " 
 
 She felt like an actress at a rehearsal, 
 and wondered if she had got her tone just 
 right. 
 
 "He was out in the desert, sittin' on a 
 rock near the river. You know that rock 
 where we heard that boy playin' — the 
 first day." 
 
 " Oh yes. What an extraordinary man ! 
 What was he doino- there ? Meditatino- 
 on eternity ! " 
 
 She gave a little, high-pitched laugh. 
 
 " I don't know what he was doin'. He 
 was just sittin' there wrapped up in one 
 of those big cloaks. You know the 
 things ? " 
 
 " Yes — I know." 
 
 "We had a few words together. He 
 seems a decent sort of chap." 
 
 At this moment a sudden impulse seized 
 Lady Wyverne to tell her husband — not 
 all, certainly not that, but something ; that
 
 142 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 she had spoken to the Spahi, that they had 
 strolled together up and down in front of 
 the inn — once ; something of that kind. 
 She was in the dark. She could not 
 divine whether Sir Claude knew or sus- 
 pected something, or whether he was talk- 
 ing in complete ignorance. For once her 
 husband was a puzzle to her, and she 
 began to respect him. She began to 
 respect him but she longed to read him, 
 to make sure. And she longed to " play 
 for safety," ingeniously. 
 
 "Oh, I should think he must be quite 
 well educated," she began. " He's an 
 officer. At least, I think someone said 
 so, didn't they ? " 
 
 "Ah." 
 
 That was all Sir Claude said in reply, 
 but it made Lady Wyverne abruptly aware 
 that she could not tell him anything. 1 1 was 
 impossible. He would never understand. 
 She said to herself that he certainly knew 
 nothing, suspected nothing. She would
 
 BARBARY SHEEP U3 
 
 be a fool to " give herself away." Crumpet 
 never saw anything unless it was shown 
 to him. It was all right. Only her own 
 stupid nerves had made her think that 
 possibly, for once, he was being subtle 
 even crafty with her, that he was playing 
 with her, testing her. 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do this 
 morning ? " she exclaimed, briskly, getting 
 up from her chair. 
 
 " I shall go down and see about the tent 
 for to-night." 
 
 " Then you've quite decided now ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said. "I've quite decided 
 now." 
 
 "Very well. I'll go and write some 
 letters." 
 
 She went away to her room. When 
 she was there she heard her husband's 
 heavy footstep descending the wooden 
 staircase. 
 
 And she had an odd fancy that it 
 sounded much heavier than usual.
 
 144 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 But of course he was tired after being 
 up all night. 
 
 All the morning Lady Wyverne wrote, 
 or pretended to write, letters. She lunched 
 alone. Sir Claude had gone up to his 
 room to have a good sleep, and had given 
 orders that he was not to be disturbed. In 
 the afternoon she sat alone on the verandah 
 reading a novel. She had not seen 
 Benchaalal again. But she had seen 
 Achmed go down the road towards the 
 villages. He returned about half-past 
 one, and at half-past two Sir Claude 
 emerged from his room dressed for 
 hunting. 
 
 "Have you had a good sleep?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " I'm all right," he replied. "As fit as 
 a fiddle." 
 
 " Are you off already ?" 
 
 " I believe so. If Achmed's got every- 
 thin' on to the mules." 
 
 " I must come down to see you start."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 145 
 
 "Oh, don't you bother. You can see 
 us from up here." 
 
 "What time will you be back to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Depends on the sport. 
 I shall sleep out and go after the sheep at 
 dawn." 
 
 "Good-bye, old boy," she said. 
 
 She put her face up suddenly to his and 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Achmed ! " he shouted out, harshly. 
 " Are you ready ? " 
 
 "Voil^! Voila!" came a voice from 
 below. 
 
 "Good-bye," Sir Claude said to his 
 wife. 
 
 He turned and went down the stairs. 
 
 Two or three minutes later she saw him 
 ride away with quite a little cavalcade of 
 laden mules, and with three Arabs, in- 
 cluding Achmed. 
 
 They went to the left, away from the 
 desert.
 
 H6 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Sir Claude and Achnied rode side by 
 side behind the others. 
 
 They seemed to be talking together 
 with some animation — doubtless about 
 Barbary sheep.
 
 XI 
 
 AMONG the palm-trees near the red 
 village that day there had been a 
 violent scene between Benchaalal and 
 Achmed. The guide was in the Spahi's 
 pay, and had been promised a sum of 
 money if he would persuade Sir Claude 
 to spend a night at the salt mountain. 
 
 This sum of money Benchaalal had 
 refused to give him. The abrupt return 
 of Sir Claude and the guide had infuriated 
 the Spahi, despite his seeming composure 
 during the interview by the river at dawn. 
 He knew how delicately balanced are the 
 emotions of such women as Lady Wyverne ; 
 creatures of caprice, highly strung, change- 
 able, slaves of their nerves. Carefully, 
 cleverly, he had been creating about her a 
 
 certain atmosphere, in which he moved 
 147
 
 148 BARBAE Y SHEEP 
 
 against a mysterious background of desert, 
 strangely, almost magically, touched with 
 the romance of a barbarous and brilliant 
 world. He had scarcely seen her in the 
 day. He had scarcely wished to see her. 
 By night their acquaintance had been 
 made, by night cemented. The towering 
 rocks had cast upon their fugitive inter- 
 course black shadows, the moonbeams a 
 maze of silver. The river had sung to 
 them a nocturne. The wind from the 
 sands had touched them with its thrilling- 
 fingers. 
 
 And the Roumi-woman had been en- 
 ticed. 
 
 At first she had been like a wilful child 
 breaking bounds. But he had carried her 
 on till the child in her, and its naughti- 
 ness, was merged in the very curious 
 woman ; and on again till the curious 
 woman became the dreaming woman, the 
 woman with wonder in her eyes. Just 
 once he had shown himself in sunlight,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 149 
 
 almost meretriciously ; with a crudeness 
 of physical strength and determination, 
 with a swiftness of skill, with a certain 
 fierceness that was akin to the blinding 
 sunshine. And then again he had stepped 
 back into the darkness and called again 
 out of the night. 
 
 And the Roumi-woman had been drawn 
 on, like the child by the Celestial's pigtail 
 in the story, and had come very near to 
 the hidden chamber where the desire of 
 her lay in wait. 
 
 Trampling upon this delicate fabric, 
 which the Spahi had woven thread by 
 thread, had come the hoofs of the mules. 
 
 And Benchaalal cursed Achmed and 
 refused to give him a sou of the promised 
 money. 
 
 Lady Wyverne's terror was his foe. He 
 felt sure of that. After the humiliation by 
 the river's bank, when she had cowered for 
 the first time in hiding, she would be set 
 free from her dream. That was certain.
 
 150 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 Fantasy had been struck upon by the 
 iron hammer of fact. And now the 
 Spahi could not answer for the Roumi- 
 woman. 
 
 So he was furious, and he let loose 
 his fury upon Achmed as only an Arab 
 can. 
 
 From their altercation Achmed had gone 
 hot-foot to join Sir Claude on his camping- 
 out expedition. Although not long before 
 he had been livid with anger, half crazy 
 with baffled greed, he was now apparently 
 not merely calm but lively. He rode off 
 beside his employer with a smiling face 
 and, as Lady Wyverne had seen from the 
 verandah, talking busily. 
 
 The love of money in an Arab is a 
 passion of the heart, of the mind, of the 
 whole being. Trick that love, disappoint 
 that passion, and you rouse a demon that 
 is curiously subtle, that is persistent and 
 revengeful, and entirely without scruple. 
 Benchaalal knew that, but he had been
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 151 
 
 careless in his fury. For a moment he 
 had run mad. That moment had given 
 Achmed over to Sir Claude. 
 
 Till they rode away together that after- 
 noon Sir Claude and Achmed had re- 
 mained coldly master and servant. The 
 Arab had seen Benchaalal's burnous move 
 when they came upon him by the river, 
 and had divined the truth. But he had 
 said nothing, showed nothing. Whether 
 Sir Claude had seen what he had seen he 
 did not know. They had ridden on in 
 silence to the inn. At the door Sir Claude 
 had dismounted without words, and had 
 gone straight upstairs. And Achmed had 
 not followed him, but had remained below 
 to watch for the return of the Spahi, for 
 the return, perhaps, of another. And he 
 had not waited in vain. When Lady 
 Wyverne tried the door he had been there. 
 Then he had gone to the stables, had 
 thrown himself down and slept. Later Sir 
 Claude had told him to prepare for a
 
 152 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 second nocturnal expedition. And now 
 they were off. 
 
 Did his master know ? He tried to 
 read him with his one eye, as he talked 
 of Barbary sheep. The hundred francs, 
 spoken of near the salt mountain, must be 
 in his pocket to-morrow, those and many 
 others, enough to make him forget the lost 
 money of the Spahi. His whole being 
 was alive with determination to recoup 
 himself. But when he looked at Sir 
 Claude's hard face he knew he must be 
 wary. For even the Englishman, who 
 lets his women go unveiled, does not love 
 to hear their names befouled by the lips of 
 strangers, 
 
 " Look here, Achmed," said Sir Claude, 
 presently. " I want you to take me up 
 into the mountain above El-Akbara to- 
 night. The whole place is one mass of 
 rocks, and full of good hidin'-places to get 
 a shot from." 
 
 " But m'sleu cannot shoot at night."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 153 
 
 " I didn't say I could. But I want to 
 have a look at the ground. Then I'll 
 come back to the camp and sleep for a bit, 
 and go up again towards dawn," 
 
 As he spoke he turned round on his 
 mule and looked back at the mighty rocks 
 that descended in giant steps to the road 
 that led to the Sahara. 
 
 " You understand ? " he added, turning 
 round again. 
 
 " M'sieu wishes to go up there, near the 
 gorge ? " 
 
 Sir Claude looked sharply at the Arab. 
 
 "Yes," he said, after a slight hesitation. 
 
 " I do not know if there will be Barbary 
 sheep up there." 
 
 " I intend to find out, anyway." 
 
 " I am the servant of m'sieu. I will do 
 whatever m'sieu desires. M'sieu will be 
 generous to me ? " 
 
 Sir Claude gnawed his moustache, look- 
 ing down sideways at the road. His pride, 
 and something else, revolted against the
 
 154 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 idea of making the guide his confidant. 
 But there was something alive and burning 
 within him, something passionate, even 
 furious, which seemed to be fighting his 
 own nature and to be subduing it. 
 
 "I shall be generous to you," he said, 
 at last, without looking at the Arab. "If 
 you do exactly what I want — and don't 
 talk." 
 
 Achmed put his finger to his lips. 
 
 "M'sieu has only to tell me," he said 
 softly. 
 
 " I don't want those fellers to know 
 where I'm goin' to-night," Sir Claude 
 said. " I want the camp pitched a good 
 way out, but so that I can get to the 
 mountain at the left of the road on the 
 edge of the desert, the mountain that rises 
 out of the gorge, where all those rocks 
 are. 
 
 " And when does m'sieu wish to be on 
 the mountain ? " 
 
 " I wish to be there towards sunset. I
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 155 
 
 shall take some food with me in case I'm 
 back late. But the camp must be pitched 
 a long way off." 
 
 "And I am to come with m'sieu and 
 guide him back ? " 
 
 Sir Claude rode on for a minute or two 
 without speaking. Then he answered : 
 
 " You can come with me and wait for 
 me." 
 
 " Wait for m'sieu ? " 
 
 "I'll settle where. That'll do." 
 
 They rode on in silence. Achmed's 
 brain was working busily and his heart 
 was happy. He would get money after 
 all. But he was full of curiosity. What 
 was the Roumi going to do ? What did 
 he know or suspect ? 
 
 Sir Claude did not tell him. Indeed, 
 he sent Achmed on ahead, and rode alone 
 till they had reached a desolate plateau 
 surrounded by bare mountains, whose 
 rocky crests were sharply defined against 
 the clear sky, in which the moon hung
 
 156 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 like a ghostly thing as yet scarcely visible 
 against the blue. Then Achmed pulled 
 up and called out to him : 
 
 '* M'sieu will sleep here. This is a 
 good place from which to go out after the 
 sheep." 
 
 "All right," said Sir Claude. 
 
 He swung himself off his mule, and 
 walked up and down while the men put 
 up the tent and picketed the beasts. He 
 felt desperately lonely, almost as he had 
 long years ago when he went to a public 
 school for the first time, and cold — cold 
 through all his body. Only his head was 
 burning and his temples were throbbing. 
 As he walked he stared at the mountains 
 that encircled him, monstrous, cruel-look- 
 ing shapes. He was not imaginative, but 
 to-day they impressed him powerfully, 
 almost terribly, and he remembered — 
 again going back to his boyhood — how 
 once as a child he had been left alone in 
 the drawing-room on a dark, wet day,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 157 
 
 and had turned over the leaves of a great, 
 red book which contained pictures of the 
 circles of hell. In those pictures there 
 were mountains like these, and hideous 
 ravines guarded by rocks like gigantic 
 teeth. And among the mountains and in 
 the ravines the souls of the lost were 
 imprisoned. 
 
 It seemed to him then that the little 
 boy in the drawing-room had seen in the 
 book prophetic pictures, and he shivered. 
 
 The Arabs began to sing as they 
 worked. One of them wailed in a plain- 
 tive voice for two or three minutes. Then 
 the others sang in chorus. Then the 
 first voice wailed again alone. 
 
 Presently the tent was up, and Achmed 
 came to him smiling and carrying the 
 guns. 
 
 " I am ready, m'sieu." 
 
 "And the food?" 
 
 " What will m'sieu have ? " 
 
 "Anythin' — bread and cheese and a
 
 158 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 bit of meat. But I'll have a drink before 
 we start." 
 
 He went over to the tent and pulled 
 the cork out of a bottle of brandy. 
 Achmed gave him a glass. He half filled 
 it, poured in some soda-water, and drank 
 it off, while Achmed got the provisions. 
 Then he poured more brandy into a large 
 silver flask, put it into his pocket, and 
 mounted a mule. Achmed was going to 
 walk. They set off together and soon 
 lost sight of the camp. 
 
 Achmed walked in front at first to show 
 the way, but presently he dropped back 
 and kept by the side of the mule. He 
 wanted to talk, to satisfy his curiosity. 
 He was not shy. No desert Arab is. 
 But when he glanced up at Sir Claude an 
 uneasiness took possession of him. The 
 Roumi looked different, like a changed 
 man, changed even in feature. 
 
 It was Sir Claude who spoke first. 
 
 "You know what I want," he said
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 159 
 
 roughly. " I want you to take me to the 
 mountain above the gorge, to a place 
 from which I can get down among the 
 rocks, get down as low as I like, right 
 down if I wish to." 
 
 " M'sieu, it is not easy." 
 
 " That don't matter. Have you ever 
 done it ? " 
 
 " M'sieu, I can go wherever a goat can 
 go. But I go with naked feet." 
 
 " Where you can get down, I can." 
 
 " I will show m'sieu a place. If 
 m'sieu goes where I show him, m'sieu 
 could get down to near the rock where 
 Benchaalal sat when we passed by this 
 morning." 
 
 '' That's it." 
 
 "If Benchaalal should be there to- 
 night, he would be surprised to see 
 m'sieu." 
 
 There was a vicious sound in the Arab's 
 soft voice. 
 
 "Why should Benchaalal be there to-
 
 160 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 night ? " said Sir Claude, fiercely. " What 
 d'you mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing, m'sieu. Only — only Ben- 
 chaalal often goes into the desert by night. 
 But m'sieu is in bed — m'sieu sleeps and 
 does not see him go." 
 
 A deep flush of red went over Sir 
 Claude's brown face. He realised in that 
 moment that this Arab knew much more, 
 certainly, than he did. And yet he knew 
 enough, surely! He knew that when he 
 returned to the inn his wife's room was 
 empty. He knew that she crept back to 
 the inn with a white, terrified face when 
 the sun was up. He knew that when she 
 said she must have been asleep when the 
 mules came in from the desert she lied 
 to him. All this he knew. But now a 
 terrible curiosity was awake in him with 
 a terrible anger, a terrible sense of wrong, 
 and a terrible contempt. He had felt it 
 all day, this desire to know more, but he 
 had resisted it. And he had meant to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 161 
 
 resist it always. He had meant to — but 
 now ! 
 
 "Achmed," he said, staring straight 
 before him between the mule's ears at the 
 stony track. 
 
 " M'sieu ! " 
 
 "Why should — why should Benchaalal 
 go into the desert at night alone ? What 
 does he go for ? Has he friends in the 
 village ? " 
 
 " M'sieu, he has friends. But he does 
 not go to the village." 
 
 Achmed was silent for a moment. 
 Then he added slowly : 
 
 " And he does not go alone." 
 
 "Whom does he go with?" said Sir 
 Claude, after a pause of hesitation, and in 
 an uncertain voice. 
 
 "But surely m'sieu knows!" Achmed 
 
 said, innocently. "If anybody should 
 
 know with whom Benchaalal walks at 
 
 night, it would be m'sieu." 
 
 "Answer my question, Achmed. It 
 II
 
 162 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 doesn't matter — what I know. You an- 
 swer my question." 
 
 " Benchaalal walks at night with 
 madame." 
 
 •' You're a damned liar ! " 
 
 Achmed said nothing. But he withdrew 
 a pace or two from the mule. He did not 
 look angry. Being called a liar did not 
 distress him at all. Every human being 
 was a liar, he supposed. And why not ? 
 Still, he had told the truth this time. The 
 Roumi was a fool not to believe him. 
 
 " D'you hear ? " Sir Claude said, fiercely. 
 
 " I hear, m'sieu." 
 
 " I know all about you. Madame at the 
 auberge told me." 
 
 " Madame at the salt mountain is a 
 chamelle," Achmed answered viciously. 
 "If m'sieu believes such a woman, a 
 woman whom every Arab — " 
 
 "That'll do. You needn't blackguard 
 the woman." 
 
 "If m'sieu doubts my words I will
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 163 
 
 not speak at all. But I always tell the 
 truth. No Arab speaks the truth as I do. 
 All the rest are liars. I alone speak the 
 truth. Let m'sieu find out for himself. 
 I say that madame walks with Benchaalal 
 at night. And why not .'* Who would 
 not wish to see the moon upon the desert ? 
 Madame loves these things. M'sieu — no! 
 Therefore m'sieu sleeps, and madame 
 finds some one to accompany her ! 
 She cannot go alone, and Benchaalal is 
 not a poor Arab. He is an officer. So 
 madame chooses Benchaalal. It is very 
 simple." 
 
 The last words of the Arab struck hard 
 into Sir Claude's heart, as truth sometimes 
 strikes like a well-aimed knife. 
 
 " Therefore m'sieu sleeps ! " Yes, it was 
 very simple. At that moment Sir Claude 
 saw himself as the first and the last of 
 fools. When a man has such a vision of 
 himself, if he is really a man, the momen- 
 tary crumbling of all his self-respect is sue-
 
 164 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 ceeded by a desire that seems made of 
 granite — the desire to reinstate himself 
 upon his seat, his throne of manhood. At 
 whatever cost he must do that, at whatever 
 cost of suffering, of terror, even perhaps of 
 crime. 
 
 " Where are we ? " 
 
 Achmed stretched out his arm. 
 
 " M'sieu sees that rock there, to the 
 south, shaped like a resting camel ? " 
 
 " I see it." 
 
 " From that rock m'sieu can see the 
 villages of El-Akbara." 
 
 Sir Claude pulled up the mule. 
 
 '* I'll get down here." 
 
 He swung himself to the ground before 
 Achmed could speak. 
 
 " Take the mule." 
 
 " M'sieu is not going alone ? " 
 
 " Yes. You're to stay here and wait for 
 me. Give me some of the food." 
 
 " But if m'sieu wishes to descend I 
 must come with him to show the way."
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 165 
 
 " I didn't say I was going down. 
 Give me the food." 
 
 He slung one of the guns over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " But I am responsible for m'sieu. 
 When it gets dark — " 
 
 "Achmed," Sir Claude said, abruptly, 
 " Here's a hundred francs." 
 
 He drew out a note and put it into the 
 guide's eager hand. 
 
 "If you attempt to follow me, you won't 
 get another penny. If you stay here as I 
 tell you, you'll get more. D'you under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " And if — if m'sieu does not return ? ' 
 
 " Have you got a watch ? " 
 
 " Yes, m'sieu." 
 
 "If by midnight I haven't come back, 
 you can do what you like. You can come 
 after me, or you can go to the camp. 
 The food ! " 
 
 The guide handed it to him in silence. 
 
 " Au revoir ! "
 
 166 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 " Au revoir, m'sieu ! Bon voyage ! " 
 He stood holding the mule, and watched 
 Sir Claude walk away with long strides 
 towards the mountain that was dominated 
 by the mighty rock. 
 
 Sir Claude walked on till the rocks 
 hid him from Achmed's sigfht. Then he 
 stopped for a moment and looked around 
 him. The sun was already declining, and 
 upon those mountains which were not 
 within the circle of its final glories there 
 was settling a strange greyness. Their 
 naked flanks and treeless summits looked 
 worn and weary, like a face lined with the 
 travail of life. The lonely man drew a 
 long breath as he looked at them. He 
 was wondering, wondering at the thought 
 of the joy that had come to him from these 
 mountain fastnesses only a few hours 
 before. Then he had revelled in their 
 wildness, had been stirred by the thought 
 of their remoteness from England. The 
 blood in his veins had leaped in answer to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 167 
 
 the winds that blew over them, in answer 
 to the sun that made their scattered crystals 
 shine like jewels. An intense physical 
 well-being had been generated within him 
 by the African airs, the African desolation, 
 by the freedom and the strangeness of this 
 spacious, undressed country. 
 
 Now he felt a horror and a hatred of all 
 that had rejoiced him. They had come 
 to him with a horror and a hatred of the 
 men whose native land this was. 
 
 Sir Claude that evening was like a man 
 who has fallen into an abyss from a sunlit 
 peak. His world, the world he had 
 known and believed in, had suddenly 
 vanished out of his sight. All familiar 
 landmarks were gone. And the utterly 
 incredulous man was turned into a man 
 ready to be credulous of any abomination. 
 
 That the woman he had mentally set far 
 above him should have done the unimagin- 
 able thing, should have allowed one of 
 these brown men to — he ground his teeth
 
 168 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 together and went on towards that rock 
 Hke a resting camel. He was confused. 
 He walked in a nightmare. 
 
 Kitty's birth, bringing-up, life, tastes — 
 all seemed to give the lie to the truth. 
 Was she mad ? Was she immeasurably 
 corrupt? How had he never suspected 
 it ? Her caprices had been like the 
 caprices of a child. And what was she? 
 
 He did not formulate to himself what 
 she had possibly done. He did not 
 mentally accuse her definitely of what 
 everybody would acknowledge to be the 
 last infamy. He stopped short of that 
 because it seemed to him just then that 
 what he was sure of was enough. For he 
 was sure. Even without Achmed's words 
 — and he believed them, he somehow 
 knew that they were true — he was sure. 
 
 That morning, when he had reached 
 the hotel, he had hurried up the stairs and 
 gone at once to his wife's room. He had 
 found it empty, and as he stood there
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 169 
 
 staring at the bed, he knew a horrible 
 thing, knew that he had expected to find 
 it empty, had known almost that it would 
 be empty. 
 
 It is very strange that sometimes, if we 
 are close to a person whom we cannot 
 see, and of whose presence we are not 
 otherwise aware, but with whom we are 
 very intimate, we feel that person is near 
 us. Something, we know not what, tells 
 us so. We may believe that we reject 
 the subtle information, but do we ever 
 really reject it? 
 
 Few people would have picked out Sir 
 Claude Wyverne as a sensitive man. 
 Nevertheless, in connection with his wife 
 he could be very sensitive. That morning, 
 as he sat on his mule face to face with the 
 very composed African, who smiled at him 
 half-sleepily, and sent pale-blue smoke out 
 through his dilated nostrils. Sir Claude 
 had felt suddenly as if his wife were near 
 him. It was then that he had looked
 
 170 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 behind the Spahi, had made a movement 
 as if to get off his mule. The Spahi had 
 read him in that moment, had known that 
 it was terribly critical. But he had kept 
 his head. He had met Sir Claude's 
 movement with absolute immobility, Sir 
 Claude's strained, searching glance with 
 eyes that held only a calm serenity. And 
 he had stopped Sir Claude from carrying 
 out his intention as certainly as if he had 
 seized and bound him to his mule by the 
 exercise of superior strength. 
 
 The African's calm had made Sir 
 Claude realise then the probable madness 
 of his own supposition. He had felt for 
 the moment ashamed of himself and had 
 ridden away. Nevertheless, directly he 
 had gone, again had come to him the 
 horrible feeling that Kitty had been near 
 to him when he was near to Benchaalal. 
 In vain he combated this feeling. It 
 remained with him all the way through 
 the gorge and until he drew up before the
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 171 
 
 inn door. Then he went upstairs and 
 saw the empty room. And then it seemed 
 to him that he knew — knew the incredible, 
 the impossible. 
 
 Yet he did not go back to the Spahi. 
 Kitty had thought that he could not be 
 subtle ; anything else, but not subtle. 
 Yet even she did not know, did not divine 
 all that there was in her husband, all that 
 he might be, might do, under unusual 
 circumstances. 
 
 When he saw that empty bedroom a 
 new man seemed suddenly to be born 
 within Sir Claude, a man conceived in 
 infinite travail. That new man was quiet, 
 self-controlled. He stood for a moment 
 very still. Then he turned and went to 
 his bedroom and locked himself in. The 
 green persiennes that were fastened over 
 the French windows which opened on to 
 the verandah prevented any one upon the 
 verandah from looking into the bedroom, 
 but permitted any person in the bedroom
 
 172 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 to see clearly into the world without. 
 The windows were shut. Sir Claude 
 opened them gently and stood still behind 
 the persiennes. There he remained, 
 waiting, motionless, with his hands hang- 
 ing by his sides and his eyes, bloodshot 
 with fatigue, staring at the white road 
 beyond the Judas-trees. And at last he 
 saw coming along the white road a woman 
 with a white face. He saw her look up 
 at his windows with a glance of dreadful, 
 searching anxiety. It seemed to him for 
 a moment that he met her eyes, that they 
 stared into his, that they knew he was 
 there. Then she passed out of his sight, 
 creeping across the pavement of the court, 
 And then, presently, he heard behind him 
 a soft and furtive step, like the step of a 
 thief or a marauder, the creak of a door. 
 She had come in, his wife. She was close to 
 him. He heard her key turn in the lock. 
 And only then was he conscious that 
 drops of sweat were rolling down his face.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 173 
 
 He went over to the washstand and 
 bathed his face. His big hands were 
 trembling. They wanted to do some- 
 thing. He knew what they wanted to 
 do. At that moment they longed to kill 
 the woman they had so often caressed. 
 
 He looked down at them with a sort of 
 dull wonder. 
 
 The wonder had never quite left him 
 since then. 
 
 Now he walked on again slowly, mount- 
 ing over the uneven ground towards the 
 great rock from which he would be able to 
 see the three villages of El-Akbara. 
 
 When he reached it the sun had gone 
 down, but there was still some red in the 
 western sky. He sat down upon the 
 rock and looked over the desert. He 
 meant to descend presently, but he must 
 rest for a moment. He must think, or 
 try to think. 
 
 He felt horribly tired both in body and 
 in mind.
 
 174 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 As he looked out upon the desert again 
 the sense of utter loneHness, of immense 
 desolation came over him. He fingered 
 his gun mechanically as he sat there. 
 
 In the distance, among the great, tufted 
 palm-trees, he saw thin trails of smoke 
 rising from the African houses, tiny birds 
 — they were doves, but he did not know 
 it — circling about a brown minaret, that 
 from this height looked black, some camels 
 creeping along the road towards the south. 
 Beside the camels little hooded men 
 walked swiftly. 
 
 These hooded men were of the race of 
 the Spahi, of the dark-blooded Oriental 
 race. 
 
 A sort of sickness came upon Sir 
 Claude. Kitty was bone of his bone, 
 flesh of his flesh, yet now there was a gulf 
 between them. He was on this, the 
 hither side of it. She was upon the 
 farther side, the side where the dark races 
 swarmed beneath the torrid African sun.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 175 
 
 Secretly, in the night, while he slept the 
 sleep of the fool, she had crossed the gulf. 
 
 He believed he hated her. And he 
 kept on fingering his gun. 
 
 Yes, he hated her, and he had a right 
 to hate her. He said that to himself dully. 
 
 There was not a livino- Eno^lishman who 
 
 o o 
 
 would not condemn her. She had put 
 herself out of court. 
 
 Even now he did not say to himself 
 that she had committed the worst offence. 
 It was not necessary to say that. He 
 knew enough without that. For now he 
 was sure that when he had spoken to 
 Benchaalal by the river she had been 
 there. She had been with the Arab, and 
 when he, her husband, had come she had 
 hidden from him. 
 
 That was enough. He wished he had 
 killed her in her hiding-place. 
 
 The desert was growing darker. He 
 got up from the rock and turned to go 
 down to the gorge.
 
 XII 
 
 BENCHAALAL sat cross-legged in 
 a corner of the principal caf^ maure 
 of the brown village of El-Akbara. This 
 caf6 was situated on the high-road that led 
 to the desert, and was opposite to the 
 Arab cemetery — a quantity of upright 
 stones fixed in the hard, sun-dried earth, 
 without wall or fence to guard the homes 
 of the dead from intruders. Outside the 
 caf^ was a sort of arbour made of reeds. 
 In this squatted four or five Arabs playing 
 dominoes. But within the caf^ there was 
 no one but the Spahi and the bare-legged 
 attendant who served the coffee, which 
 he took from a niche of earth in which 
 glowed a fire of brushwood. Now and 
 then an Arab passed across the space of 
 
 the doorway. One or two even looked in 
 176
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 177 
 
 and solemnly spoke a greeting to the 
 Spahi. But he seemed to hear nothing, 
 to see no one. With his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground he sipped his coffee and 
 smoked cigarette after cigarette, taking 
 the tobacco from a long silver box which 
 lay beside him, and rolling it swiftly and 
 deftly in the thin slips of paper of which 
 he always carried a large supply. 
 
 He was absorbed. His mind lay deep 
 down in reverie. All trace of the fury 
 which had convulsed him when he was 
 with Achmed had died out of his face. 
 He looked quite calm, almost sleepy. But 
 his mind was fiercely alive. His passions 
 were ablaze. And all the time that he sat 
 motionless he was meditating activity. 
 
 Benchaalal was swiftly intelligent with- 
 out being what English people sometimes 
 call " deep." Where his own dear interests 
 were involved he was acute and quite 
 without scruple. And though, perhaps, he 
 could not have been subtle for a long time,
 
 178 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 could not have been very patient in any 
 cleverness, he knew how to be both in- 
 genious and secretive at a moment, as he 
 had proved many times in his life. But 
 he had the fault which spoils so much 
 Arab diplomacy. When his passions were 
 strong he was often carried away by them. 
 His temper often pulled down the edifice 
 built up by his craft. And when calm 
 returned to him he looked upon the ruins. 
 
 Already he had realised the mistake he 
 had made with Achmed. 
 
 The guide would surely go and betray 
 him to the Roumi, to the big, blond hunter 
 of Barbary sheep, who went to bed ere the 
 moon was up, and who left his pretty 
 creature, his little squirrel of the woods, 
 his rose of the garden, his Fatima with the 
 eyes like turquoises, and the tiny hands 
 like silver, to hear the Spahi's serenade, 
 and to sit beside the Spahi by the river. 
 Benchadlal had a great contempt for the 
 Roumi — the contempt of the cultured
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 179 
 
 Mussulman for the uncultured Christian, 
 than which there are few feelings more 
 unmeasured, few feelings more profound. 
 But he must take the Roumi into account, 
 must reckon with him now that the great 
 mistake was made and that the outburst 
 of fury which had caused it was subsiding. 
 
 What would the Roumi do ? 
 
 Benchaalal had his own ideas about 
 foreigners, gathered chiefly from his inter- 
 course with the French in Algiers and 
 during two visits which he had made to 
 Paris. Of the English he knew but little. 
 He knew them to be a great nation. He 
 conceived of them as all very rich. He 
 imagined them all dwelling in a northern 
 land which was perpetually shrouded in 
 heavy yellow clouds of great density called 
 by them " Le fogge." The blood in such 
 lands ran cold, he supposed. Without the 
 sun, how could there be fire in men ? 
 
 He knew very well what an Arab 
 would do, or try to do, if he were told a
 
 180 BARBARY vSHEEP 
 
 story such as Achmed would surely tell 
 the Roumi, had, perhaps, already told him. 
 He would kill, or try to kill, the woman 
 who had wronged his pride of possession 
 and the man who had persuaded her. 
 But the English were not like the Arabs. 
 They let their women run loose. They 
 let them talk and laugh with any man who 
 came near. To an Arab the freedom of 
 Western women is a perpetual source of 
 amazement, and the situation of the 
 Western man in regard to his women 
 makes him an object of secret contempt 
 among Orientals. This contempt, felt 
 strongly by Benchaalal, caused him to 
 ponder now. Although he knew what 
 he would do were he Sir Claude, he 
 could not tell what Sir Claude would 
 do. 
 
 He had looked into the Roumi's face on 
 the river-bank. It had been stern, hard. 
 The eyes were searching. It was a man's 
 face. That was certain. Yet this man
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 181 
 
 had slept each night, leaving his woman 
 to do what she would. And he had de- 
 serted her each day. Perhaps he did not 
 care what happened. 
 
 Nothing had happened yet. 
 
 His mind left Sir Claude and went to 
 Lady Wyverne. And here the Spahi was 
 on surer ground. He had an instinct with 
 women. Western men he did not under- 
 stand thoroughly, despite his intercourse 
 with the French. But he would have 
 laughed to hear any one tell him that he 
 could be long tricked or puzzled by a 
 woman, that a woman could play with 
 him, or read him while keeping the pages 
 of her book closed from his eyes. For a 
 moment he put aside Sir Claude and his 
 possible actions, and concentrated himself 
 upon the little squirrel of the woods, the 
 rose of the garden. 
 
 Granted that Sir Claude did not inter- 
 fere at once, granted that Lady Wyverne 
 was not carried off to Beni-Mora, what
 
 182 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 would she do ? What would she do now 
 if left to herself? 
 
 Very deep grew Benchaalal's reverie. 
 For a while he even forgot to sip his 
 coffee and roll a new cigarette. His eyes 
 were fixed on the floor. His hands 
 dropped down to his feet and held them 
 loosely. 
 
 Presently across the sunlit space of the 
 doorway passed a strange figure clad in 
 bright green, with a green -and-red turban. 
 It was the mad Marabout wandering to 
 and fro, absorbed, led, perhaps, by some 
 hallucination. Two, three times he passed 
 and repassed before the door of the cafe 
 unobserved by Bencha^lal. Then he came 
 in under the arbour of reeds and stood 
 still, peering into the shadowy room with 
 his large, blue eyes, which were like the 
 eyes of a distracted Christ. Benchadlal 
 did not look up. The Marabout stared 
 at him, hesitated, moved a little away, 
 then seemed to take courage, stepped
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 183 
 
 furtively into the caf^, came towards 
 Benchaalal, and finally squatted down near 
 him on the floor. 
 
 The attendant stared in grave surprise, 
 for the madman never went beneath a 
 roof, but seemed to have a passion for the 
 sky and the air, and for years had always 
 slept under the stars. After regarding 
 the Marabout for a moment, he made a 
 guttural sound in his throat and pointed 
 towards the brass coffee-pot. The Mar- 
 about paid no attention. He was looking 
 alternately at Benchaalal and at the floor, 
 with a flickering curiosity and uneasiness 
 that were almost wholly animal. At length 
 the Spahi glanced up and noticed his 
 companion. 
 
 " Bring me another coffee, Ahmeda," he 
 said to the attendant. 
 
 When it was brought he held it out 
 to the Marabout, who accepted it furtively 
 and began to sip, looking away with his 
 head held on one side, like one performing
 
 184 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 an unusual action that he fears may be 
 condemned if seen. 
 
 The Spahi began to roll a cigarette. 
 When it was finished he put it into the 
 Marabout's hand. Then he rolled one 
 for himself and again seemed to sink into 
 a reverie. 
 
 The Marabout smoked slowly and care- 
 fully, gazing at the smoke, as it curled 
 away from his lips and evaporated, with 
 an air of childish wonder. And presently 
 Benchaalal began to watch him. He 
 remembered when this man had been 
 sane, when he had been respected for his 
 wealth. A visit to Beni-Mora had been 
 his ruin. In the dusty, dancing street, 
 with its wailing music, its gleaming lights, 
 its small, white houses, he had met his 
 fate in the girl from the south, Ayesha. 
 
 What a strange thing to go mad for a 
 woman, to come to this ! To sit with the 
 Marabout was almost like sitting with an 
 animal. Benchaalal's mind ran on women
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 185 
 
 and the havoc they cause, and he wondered 
 whether he would ever be rewarded for 
 the love of them as this man had been. 
 For a moment the companionship of this 
 poor creature almost moved him to a 
 strange decision. What if he were to 
 mount a horse, set his spurs to its flanks, 
 and go out into the desert, go on and on 
 with never a look behind, never a thought 
 flung back to the Roumi-woman in the 
 gorge. Like to like ! He belonged to 
 the desert and the desert to him. It was 
 as the old woman of the auberge had said. 
 The Arab changes not. Bring him back 
 to the sand and the veneer of Western 
 civilisation drops from him. He casts it 
 away. He forgets it. He drinks the 
 fierce red soup. He puts his dark fingers 
 to the cous-cous. He smokes the keef. 
 And it is gone, the pretence and the dream 
 of other lands. It is shrivelled by the sun, 
 his sun, the sun that shines upon the great, 
 bare world of Allah and of his Prophet.
 
 186 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 The Marabout stirred, whimpered. 
 His cigarette was smoked out. He got 
 up, balanced himself first on one bare 
 foot, then on the other, cast a shifty, 
 sidelong glance at Benchaalal, and crept 
 out of the cafe. The Spahi saw him walk 
 straightforward in the sun until he reached 
 the cemetery beyond the high-road. 
 There he began to wander round and 
 round among the stones that marked the 
 graves, circling almost as a hungry pariah 
 dog sometimes does when it seeks by 
 night for carrion. 
 
 BenchaMal wondered why he had come 
 into the caf6. What had drawn him ? 
 He had surely shown a sort of sympathy, 
 a sort of desire for companionship. Had 
 his possessing thought of a woman gone 
 out to Benchaalal's thought of a woman ? 
 When he met Lady Wyverne in the gorge 
 that night he had come up to her, he had 
 stopped beside her, he had gazed upon her, 
 almost as if he fancied she was his Ayesha.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 187 
 
 Pif! The poor wretch was mad! 
 Useless to think about him ! Neverthe- 
 less, the Spahi's eyes followed his green 
 robe as he circled— circled among the 
 tombs in the glaring afternoon sun. 
 
 It was nearly sunset when Benchadlal 
 rose up, paid for his coffee, and went out 
 on to the white road. 
 
 He did not know yet that the Roumi 
 had gone hunting again in the mountains. 
 Achmed had not told him. But now, on 
 the road, he met the sleepy boy from the 
 inn and he learned the news. 
 
 "They will be out all night, Benchadlal 
 Hamdan ben Mohammed," said the boy. 
 "The Roumi has taken a tent to sleep in. 
 They have gone towards the Tell, to the 
 mountain of the dwellers in the rocks." 
 
 Bencha^lal listened in silence, looking 
 very grave. This news surprised him, 
 but he did not show any surprise. 
 
 "Is Achmed with the stranger, the 
 Englishman ?" he said, at length.
 
 188 BARB ART SHEEP 
 
 " Achmed is with him." 
 
 Benchaalal said nothing more, but 
 walked down the road slowly towards the 
 gate of the Sahara. 
 
 So the Englishman had gone away 
 again and had left his woman to do as 
 she willed ! Benchaalal's astonishment 
 deepened as he realised it. He thought 
 about it carefully as he walked, and 
 turned it over many times in his mind. 
 Crafty as he was, he dismissed the idea 
 that this departure was a trap. He could 
 not help having an Arab's point of view, 
 and it would have been absolutely impos- 
 sible for an Arab who knew the truth 
 to ride off into the mountains leaving his 
 woman alone, even if he meant to come 
 back and surprise her. He must have 
 stayed. He must have acted quickly. 
 His jealousy must have fulfilled its lust 
 promptly, decisively, furiously. 
 
 Benchaalal decided in his mind that the 
 Roumi did not know anything yet. De-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 189 
 
 spite his return in the night, he did not 
 know. But surely Achmed would tell 
 him! 
 
 The Spahi was now entering the gorge, 
 and was close to the rock where Sir 
 Claude had seen him when they spoke 
 together. Near it, with his flute to his 
 lips, sat the perpetual piper playing the 
 perpetual tune. Benchaalal glanced at 
 him, then backward towards the desert. 
 Not far off he saw the Marabout coming 
 furtively along the road, following him. 
 He stopped. The Marabout stopped, 
 too, and looked uneasy, but did not 
 retreat, Benchaalal began really to 
 wonder why the poor creature was intent 
 upon him. Some strange idea must have 
 dawned in his mind. Usually he loved 
 solitude. He attached himself to no one. 
 Many had striven to persuade him to 
 enter their houses, had endeavoured to 
 win some recognition, some affection from 
 him, but always in vain. He accepted the
 
 190 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 food they put into his hand, but that 
 was all. Directly he had it he fled, to eat 
 it alone in some hidden corner of the rocks 
 or some recess of the palm gardens. Had 
 he conceived a crazy liking for the Spahi ? 
 Benchaalal waved his hand, called out 
 to him. But the Marabout only tore at 
 his fair beard, held his head on one side, 
 and looked away. At last Benchaalal 
 desisted and walked on once more. The 
 Marabout followed him to the entrance 
 of the gorge, and there again stood still 
 staring after him. When the Spahi dis- 
 appeared he whimpered like an animal. 
 Something seemed to be disturbing, even 
 distressing him. He hesitated for some 
 minutes, shifting from one naked foot to 
 the other. Then at last, very furtively, 
 like a creature seeking its lair, he left the 
 road and vanished among the rocks be- 
 neath the mountain from which, just 
 then, Sir Claude was looking down upon 
 the desert and the villages among the palms.
 
 XIII 
 
 BENCHAALAL had already for- 
 gotten him. 
 
 As the Spahi approached the inn his 
 mind had gone to the woman within it, 
 and the fires smouldering within him began 
 to blaze up once more. 
 
 Lady Wyverne and he had parted 
 strangely by the river. He had been 
 almost brutally imperious to her, recog- 
 nising the necessity of recalling her to her- 
 self after the hysterical terror which had 
 taken possession of her. And she had not 
 resented his tone of authority at the time, 
 but had obeyed him with a sort of quick 
 meekness. She had washed her face in 
 the river, had controlled her tears, and 
 left him quietly, despite her dread of what 
 
 might have happened in the inn. 
 191
 
 192 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 But all that was many hours ago. 
 Bencha^lal knew well that her mood had 
 probably changed. The terror that had 
 assailed her would have vanished with the 
 departure of her husband on this fresh 
 sporting expedition. And with the depar- 
 ture of terror there would be room in her 
 mind and heart for other emotions. 
 
 These emotions might well be inimical 
 to him. 
 
 At that thought a fierceness leaped up 
 in the Spahi's heart, a fighting energy 
 that was reckless. He forgot Sir Claude 
 finally, dismissed him to the mountains 
 and the Barbary sheep, to the hunting 
 that was surely the only thing he cared 
 for. 
 
 Another hunting engrossed the Spahi, 
 the sport that was the passion of his life, 
 the consuming passion, as it is of the 
 lives of so many Arabs, taking preced- 
 ence of all things, even of the pursuit of 
 money. There was a woman to be con-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 193 
 
 quered. She had nearly been conquered. 
 So he told himself. Was she to escape 
 now because of one contretemps brought 
 about by the lack of ingenuity of the fool 
 Achmed ? His hot blood boiled at the 
 thought. 
 
 As he came to the Judas-trees he did 
 not see Lady Wyverne upon the verandah. 
 The persiennes and the window of her 
 room were open. He fancied he discerned 
 a shadowy figure beyond them, and be- 
 lieved her to be there, perhaps watching 
 for his return. He wondered whether she 
 wished to meet or to avoid him. With 
 difficulty he summoned patience to him. 
 He knew it was quite useless to try to 
 speak with her for some hours, and he went 
 to his room and shut himself in till the 
 bell rang for dinner. Then he came down 
 majestically, in his wide linen trousers, his 
 red jacket, his red gaiters, newly perfumed, 
 his long eyes shining beneath his turban. 
 
 When he entered the dining-room it 
 13
 
 194 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 was occupied only by a young French 
 couple, a painter and his wife, who had 
 arrived that afternoon, and who stared at 
 him with an interest which he did not 
 return ; although he bowed to them in the 
 French manner as he came in, and sat 
 down at his little table, placing himself so 
 that he would be sitting sideways to Lady 
 Wyverne if she came. 
 
 But perhaps she would not come. 
 
 He had hardly formed the words with 
 his mind before he heard a gentle rustling 
 upon the staircase, and she entered, carry- 
 ing a book in her hand. Each evening 
 hitherto she had worn a high white dress 
 and a little black hat at dinner. To-night 
 she wore the same hat with a black dress, 
 that was evidently a day dress. As the 
 Spahi very slightly bowed to her, as to a 
 stranger, he wondered whether this change 
 was caused by any motive, or emotion, 
 discoverable by him. Now and then he 
 glanced at her while she ate, trying to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 195 
 
 read her face. He thought it looked 
 colder, harder than usual, even a little 
 older. But that might be a fancy caused 
 by his knowledge of what had happened 
 to her that day. She did not stay till the 
 end of dinner. After the first course of 
 meat she got up quietly and went out. 
 He heard her dress rustling as she 
 ascended the stairs. 
 
 He lingered a long while at his table, 
 takins: his coffee there instead of outside 
 under the verandah. The French painter 
 and his wife disappeared, and he was left 
 alone. He wondered what Lady Wyverne 
 was doing, whether she had shut herself 
 up in her room, had gone to bed, whether 
 she would be out on the verandah. Surely 
 she would give him a chance of speaking 
 with her. If not, he meant to make one 
 for himself. He waited till the household 
 and the servants were safely at supper. 
 Then he strolled out to the little court, 
 and went to the place where he had stood
 
 196 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 on the evening of the Wyvernes' arrival, 
 by the fence under the Judas-trees. He 
 did not look up immediately, but took out 
 the silver box and carefully rolled a cigar- 
 ette. When he had put it between his 
 lips and lit it, he glanced at the verandah. 
 She was not there, but he saw the gleam 
 of light in her room, the window of which 
 was open. And presently he saw her 
 figure, like a black shadow, passing to and 
 fro in the lit space. What was she doing ? 
 Packing, perhaps, or getting ready to come 
 out. He waited quietly. Presently he 
 saw her figure no more. But the light 
 still burned. Pie had finished his cigarette. 
 He threw the end of it away. Then he 
 opened his mouth and began to sing, or 
 whine, the curious Eastern song with 
 which he had serenaded Lady Wyverne 
 before he had ever spoken to her. It was 
 a song about a Caid who loved a dancer, 
 and who gave her many presents, gold and 
 silver bracelets, amulets and veils, a hedge-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 197 
 
 hog's foot and a powder of hashish. 
 Whenever she danced he was there to 
 watch her, and at last he played upon the 
 derbouka before all the city, and she 
 danced to his tune. And when he had 
 finished he gave her the derbouka to hang 
 upon the wall of her little room as a token 
 of her power. 
 
 It was a song of many verses, but at last 
 it was ended. 
 
 The Spahi looked at the light, smoked 
 another cigarette. Still she did not come. 
 
 Then he sang the chanson des vacances 
 of the children of the Zibans ; and then he 
 sang the song of the Great Mozabite whose 
 love demanded as a marriage gift the head 
 of A.li, the son-in-law of the Prophet. 
 The Mozabite murdered Ali in the mosque 
 with a sabre, and since that time the 
 Mozabites are hated by all the other 
 Arabs. When he got to the last verse, 
 the hatred verse, Benchaalal raised his 
 voice, lifting his head up.
 
 198 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 In the silence that followed he heard 
 the noise of the river rushing through the 
 gorge. His blood was on fire, and there 
 was a noise in his brain — or so he fancied 
 — that seemed to be caused by the surging 
 of this blood on fire through his veins and 
 arteries. The motionless trees angered 
 him. The white road, still and empty, 
 angered him. The black rocks that 
 frowned above the inn infuriated him as 
 he stared up at them. Everything seemed 
 still to watch his impotence, to observe the 
 failure of his desires. 
 
 But as yet he could do nothing. He 
 must wait until the landlord and his wife 
 had gone to bed. Another hour and, if 
 she had not come to him, he would go to 
 her. He moved away from the fence and 
 went out into the white road. There he 
 strolled softly up and down, up and down. 
 Above him the deep-purple sky began to 
 grow bright with silver. 
 
 Surely she would come with the moon !
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 199 
 
 In her bedroom Lady Wyverne was 
 sitting in a hard arm-chair which she had 
 pulled away from the window. She had 
 been putting some things into a trunk. 
 She was devoured by a nervous restless- 
 ness which made it almost impossible for 
 her to keep still, and the act of packing 
 seemed to back up a resolution which she 
 thought she had come to, the resolution to 
 see Benchaalal no more. She said to 
 herself that her husband might leave her 
 alone, or stay with her, might sleep or 
 wake, be careless or watchful. It did not 
 concern her any longer. She had done 
 with her whim. For she had told herself 
 it was a whim. The terror she had felt 
 when she crouched down, hiding in the 
 Spahi's cloak, had struck from her mind 
 the caprice which had always dominated 
 her. For she had only had a caprice for 
 Benchaalal. That she said to herself 
 again and again. She would never risk 
 her dignity more. It was over, this "bit
 
 200 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 of fun " in the desert, and thank goodness 
 it had led to no evil consequences. For 
 Crumpet could not know anything. His 
 unexpected return must have been really 
 due to the discomfort of the inn at the salt 
 mountain. It must have been her own 
 feeling of guilt which had made her 
 imagine a strangeness in his manner, a 
 certain coldness and reserve unusual in 
 him. At the worst his suspicions must 
 have been quite vague. It occurred to 
 her that Achmed might have spoken, or, 
 if he had not, might yet speak, tell what 
 he knew. But why should he ? She 
 divined that he was in Benchaalal's pay, 
 though the Spahi had not told her so. 
 She knew Achmed had been to the villages 
 that day. No doubt he had seen Ben- 
 chaalal. No doubt Benchadlal had made 
 things "all right." She put away her 
 fears, told herself that she had had a 
 lucky escape, and resolved henceforward 
 to have nothing to do with any strange-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 201 
 
 ness that caught at her curiosity in 
 Africa. 
 
 She sat down in the hard arm-chair 
 and took up a book. It was a French 
 novel. As she looked at its first pages she 
 seemed to hear the tap of high-heeled 
 boots upon the trottoirs of Paris, Well, 
 she adored Paris! It would be delicious 
 to see it again, delicious to go to the shops, 
 and — 
 
 Benchaalal began to sing the whining 
 song of the Caid who loved the dancer and 
 who played for her upon the derbouka. 
 
 Lady Wyverne's novel dropped down 
 into her lap. She sat quite still, listening. 
 
 It was ugly ; yes, it was quite ugly. 
 That whining voice would have no success 
 if it sang in her world. That tune would 
 be considered " too shockingly hideous." 
 And yet it won upon her, it fascinated her, 
 it made her regret that she was not free, 
 free as a man is to follow his caprice, to 
 investigate any mystery that appeals to
 
 202 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 him, to set his feet in any path that seems 
 to lead to a land of promise. 
 
 It must be glorious to be perfectly free! 
 Africa and its people had roused in Lady 
 Wyverne a spirit of adventure which often 
 lies dormant in those who are highly caprici- 
 ous, and this spirit of adventure extended 
 its arms to the Spahi, as to a magician 
 who could give it what it longed for. 
 
 Benchaalal's voice died away, ending in 
 the air, like a thing thrown up towards the 
 stars. 
 
 Lady Wyverne took up her book again. 
 But all the fascination of Paris had evapor- 
 ated from its pages, which now seemed 
 arid and hard as the pavements which 
 echoed with high heels. She thought of 
 naked brown feet treading softly in African 
 slippers. 
 
 Again Benchaalal sang. 
 
 She knew quite well why he was sing- 
 ing. It was his summons to her to come 
 out to him. And she was not going to
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 203 
 
 obey. She was soon going to shut the 
 persiennes, undress, put out the light, get 
 into bed. She looked at the bed. It was 
 intended to be slept in. And she would 
 not sleep. How utterly impossible it 
 would be to sleep ! 
 
 The chanson des vacances did not sound 
 very gay to her ears. She did not know 
 what it meant, but fancied it a song of the 
 sadness of the desert. As she listened to 
 it she thought of the morrow. Certainly 
 they would go away on the morrow. Once 
 more she would be isolated with Crumpet. 
 Her intercourse with the Spahi had opened 
 her eyes thoroughly to the nullity of 
 Crumpet — except when he was angry. 
 She felt certain that if he were really 
 roused to anger, her husband could be 
 impressive, even terrible. But otherwise — ! 
 There was something tragic in posses- 
 sing a husband who could only be 
 interesting when he was furious. 
 
 Benchaalal was always interesting, and
 
 204 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 she had never seen him furious. Now 
 he sang the song of the Mozabite who 
 murdered the Prophet's son-in-law in the 
 mosque. The hatred verse sounded quite 
 loudly in her ears. Then there was 
 silence. She listened. She expected 
 another song. But the silence prolonged 
 itself, and presently she felt sure that the 
 Spahi had understood that his summons 
 was in vain. 
 
 Had he gone away ? 
 
 She longed to know, but she did not 
 move from her chair, and presently she 
 took up her novel again. But the rest- 
 lessness in her increased and she found it 
 almost impossible to remain still. Reading 
 about Paris had made her mind go back 
 to the day when she had visited the 
 astrologer with her husband. She recalled 
 his written words. He had foreseen that 
 her husband would be in danger of losing 
 her — for so she interpreted the *'grande 
 perte." He would be in danger of losing
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 205 
 
 her, but had he ever really possessed 
 her ? Had any one ? And she, could 
 she ever give herself utterly, with complete 
 abnegation, to any one ? She did not 
 know. But she knew that the Spahi had 
 had more empire over her than any other 
 man had ever gained. She deliberately 
 thought of this empire as at an end. He 
 had begun to dominate her. But for this 
 fright, which had awakened her sharply 
 to a sense of the true value of events, 
 he might have increased his dominion. 
 Something of the spirit of the slave had 
 certainly entered into her while with this 
 man, who perhaps had wives who were 
 little more than slaves. It was odd that 
 as she now sat thinking of this subjection 
 of her will and spirit to his, she did not feel 
 angry or even greatly humbled. Rather 
 she was conscious of missing a pleasure 
 which she desired to enjoy once more. 
 
 She sighed and again looked at the 
 bed. It was certainly impossible that she
 
 206 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 could sleep. She wondered where her 
 husband was ; probably stretched on a 
 camp-bed under the shadow of his tent, 
 snoring. Mountains surrounded him, she 
 supposed. And at dawn he would be out 
 with his gun. 
 
 And if Achmed had told him ! 
 
 But Achmed's lips were closed by the 
 Spahi's money. She felt sure of that. 
 She knew that she ought also to feel in- 
 dignant about it. Perhaps, in another 
 land, she would have felt indignant. But 
 such enterprises seemed — not unnatural, 
 certainly, not even very culpable, here. 
 
 By the river, as she crouched beneath 
 Benchaalal's cloak, she had felt humiliated. 
 But this sensation of shame had mysteri- 
 ously left her with the terror that had been 
 its companion. 
 
 And yet she certainly did not love this 
 man. She did not love him, yet she felt 
 a strong inclination to follow him and 
 to obey him. It was as if he held in
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 207 
 
 his hand a thin cord to which she was 
 attached, and whenever he pulled, how- 
 ever gently, at this cord she felt that she 
 must move in the direction he desired. 
 
 Even now he was pulling at the cord, 
 somewhere outside in the night. She was 
 conscious of the subtle tugf-tuof. 
 
 If only he were not there, and she could 
 go out upon the verandah and see the 
 night and breathe the air from the desert ! 
 She felt imprisoned in this little room. It 
 seemed to her that the atmosphere within 
 it was suffocating. 
 
 She had packed her things in readiness 
 for the morrow's departure, and was wear- 
 ing a travelling dress, as the Spahi had 
 noticed. It was insufferably tight and thick," 
 and now, unable to be still, she got up, 
 went to her trunk, and took out a dress of 
 a thinner material and dark red in colour. 
 She had not worn it in El- Akbara. Quickly 
 she exchanged the travelling dress for it. 
 Then she looked into the glass. She was
 
 208 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 surprised by the excited expression on 
 her face. Her shining eyes were full of 
 anticipation. This red gown looked un- 
 finished without any jewels. She had a 
 small jewel-case in her dressing-bag. She 
 opened it, took out a long diamond chain, 
 and hung it round her neck. 
 
 She had heard that the Arabs delight 
 in jewels and in all sparkling things, that 
 their women are covered with gold coins 
 and precious amulets. A great wish came 
 to her that the Spahi might see her once, 
 for a moment, in this red gown and with 
 these diamonds. It was the desire of a 
 coquette. After to-morrow they would 
 probably never meet again. No doubt 
 he would quickly forget all about her. 
 She felt as if she would like to leave a 
 last impression that would efface his re- 
 membrance of her, sobbing, tear-stained, 
 and — obedient. 
 
 She sighed, standing still and holding the 
 diamond chain lightly with her two hands.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 209 
 
 Then she did what she had resolved not 
 to do. She stepped out on to the verandah. 
 
 It was already late ; or so the French- 
 man who kept the inn thought. He and 
 his wife and the servants had gone to bed. 
 Deep silence reigned over this cloistered 
 world on the edge of the world of freedom, 
 silence broken only by the voice of the 
 river. And that voice, enclosed in this 
 exquisite casket of silence, seemed in- 
 fluenced by it, seemed to be refined, 
 softened to a tenderness that was pathetic, 
 that was almost yearning. The moon was 
 coming up, thrusting its golden rim above 
 the ebony silhouette of a great rock. 
 
 Lady Wyverne watched it almost 
 breathlessly, as it rose with a mysterious 
 steadiness, till its full circle was released 
 from the fierce and dramatic shadow and 
 was at liberty in the serene and starry 
 sky. 
 
 That prisoner at least was free. 
 
 She looked across the court at the dark 
 14
 
 210 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 trees and at the road beyond. No one 
 was upon it. She looked away to the dim 
 shapes of the mountains. Her husband 
 was somewhere among them. With the 
 coming of the deep night a sHght uneasi- 
 ness that had been lurking in the under 
 part of her mind had disappeared. Sir 
 Claude was certainly away irrevocably. 
 
 And Benchaalal ? 
 
 A shadowy figure stole down the road, 
 going towards the desert. It passed before 
 she had had time to look at it closely, and 
 disappeared into the moonlight. That it 
 was an Arab she had seen. But that was 
 all. The figure had seemed to be running. 
 It fled as quickly, as silently as a shadow 
 over a white sheet. 
 
 Lady Wyverne was startled and held 
 her breath for a moment. She even 
 turned half round to the lighted room 
 behind her, moved by a sudden feeling 
 that there was danger in this solitude, that 
 she had better go in from the verandah,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 211 
 
 close the persiennes, and forget the strange 
 magic without. But as she turned she 
 again heard the Spahi singing, only just 
 heard him. The voice was almost a 
 murmur, and she could not tell where it 
 came from. But she knew that he was 
 waiting, that he had seen her, that he was 
 calling her. 
 
 Once again, as so many times in her 
 life, the hands, the light but wilfully 
 obstinate hands of caprice took hold of 
 her. And she was so afraid of resisting 
 them — knowing that to-night there was 
 alive within her a something that was 
 cautious, that was even afraid — that she 
 yielded abruptly to their guidance. With- 
 out pausing to catch up a cloak, she went 
 softly out of her room down the dark 
 staircase, and out into the courtyard.
 
 XIV 
 
 BENCHAALAL, who was beneath 
 the verandah, smiled when he saw 
 Lady Wyverne come into the court and 
 look swiftly round her. For a moment 
 he did not move, but watched the little, 
 slight figure in its red dress, the sparkle 
 of the thin chain of diamonds in the 
 moonlight. How dainty and elfin she 
 looked, how different from the terrified 
 woman by the river ! She crossed the 
 court, going towards the Judas-trees. He 
 came out and joined her. 
 
 When she saw him she said, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " Did you see that man go past ? " 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 " Just now, a man — running ! He went 
 that way." 
 
 212
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 213 
 
 She pointed towards the mouth of the 
 gorge. 
 
 *' I saw no one, madame. But I was 
 not thinking of men on the road. Was it 
 an Arab ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ** Let us follow him." 
 
 " No. I have come down to say good- 
 bye. We go to-morrow. I have been 
 very silly here and I am very glad to 
 
 go-" 
 
 She stood looking at him. Again her 
 
 hands had gone up to the chain of 
 
 diamonds and held it lightly. 
 
 Benchaalal loved jewels, and all things 
 
 that glittered and shone. His Oriental 
 
 imagination was stirred by them. They 
 
 roused his senses, too, as perfume did, 
 
 and music and bright colours. Their 
 
 fierceness called to the fierceness in him. 
 
 It was not very wise of Lady Wyverne 
 
 to have put them on that night. She 
 
 saw his eyes go to them and stay
 
 214 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 with them for an instant, then look at 
 her with a glance that was bright like 
 steel. 
 
 " Let us walk through the gorge for the 
 last time," he said. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "After this morning — no! I had a 
 fright, a lesson ! " 
 
 She spoke in her most airy, most 
 petulantly childish way, trying to abolish 
 from his mind the memory of her hysterical 
 collapse. 
 
 " A lesson from your husband ?" 
 
 "Well— yes." 
 
 " And he is giving you another lesson 
 to-night, madame. Will you never learn 
 the meaning of Barbary sheep ? " 
 
 As he finished he glanced nervously 
 at the hotel, as if he suspected that they 
 were being watched, overheard. In reply 
 to his glance she said : 
 
 " Well, just beyond the trees, then ?" 
 
 He held open the gate for her. They
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 215 
 
 passed out and went a few steps down the 
 road. 
 
 "You don't understand Englishmen," 
 she said. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! How can I?" He 
 shrugged his shoulders and lifted his 
 slim hands. "We get our blood warmed 
 each day by the sun, madame, we Arabs. 
 How can we understand ?" 
 
 His eyes were again on her jewels. 
 They spoke to him in the moonbeams. 
 Each diamond, when it glittered, had a 
 voice. 
 
 " You think— ?" 
 
 She hesitated. She knew what he was 
 thinking, that her husband cared nothing 
 for her, that his soul was wrapped up in 
 the love of sport. It seemed as if it were 
 so. But she knew that it was not. She 
 knew, and yet so subtle was this man's 
 influence upon her that now he sent to 
 her his doubt — if it were doubt and not 
 pretence of doubt.
 
 216 BARBAE Y SHEEP 
 
 He moved on a few steps very quietly, 
 and she went with him as if uncon- 
 sciously. 
 
 "Madame, I think that what woman 
 chooses not to see she does not see, that 
 what woman chooses not to realise she 
 does not realise. Am I wrong? I am 
 only an Arab. I cannot know. I can 
 only hazard. I can only guess." 
 
 Humility from a man with eyes like 
 his, eyes sparkling with intelligence, keen 
 and searching, almost cunning, came 
 absurdly. 
 
 "Only an Arab!" exclaimed Lady 
 Wyverne. 
 
 She could not think of these dark men 
 as her husband did. To her they seemed 
 subtle as women, imbued with a strange 
 femininity despite their ruthlessness, their 
 fierceness. 
 
 " You — doubtless you think we are 
 barbarians ? " 
 
 She looked up at him. At that moment
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 217 
 
 she knew that it was the barbarian in him 
 which attracted her, or at least the bar- 
 barous strain in him which was combined 
 with something else. 
 
 "You are afraid of us, perhaps?" he 
 added. "You think we are capable of 
 everything?" He used the French ex- 
 pression, capable de tout. "Is it not 
 so : 
 
 " I — I think you might be." 
 
 They were still walking onward towards 
 the orate of the desert. The voice of the 
 river was in their ears, the silver of the 
 moonbeams was about them. Benchaalal's 
 eyes went continually to the flashing fires 
 of the diamonds that hung down to his 
 companion's waist. 
 
 " And is it not better so? What is a 
 man if he is not capable of all when he 
 feels all, when he desires all ? Would 
 you have his manners tame, his words 
 slow, his face calm, when his heart is on 
 fire, when his nature is calling, when his
 
 218 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 blood is crying out, crying out like the 
 river there as it rushes towards the 
 desert ? It wants its freedom, and the 
 man wants his ; wants the liberty to be as 
 he really is, to act no more, but to hate 
 and to love as his blood tells him. The 
 Englishman ! He does not want all this. 
 What does he want ? Barbary sheep, 
 mon Dieu! Barbary sheep!" He 
 laughed low, as if to himself. " Well, 
 then, in the name of Allah and of his 
 Prophet, let the Englishman have his 
 Barbary sheep, but let the Arab have " — 
 he stopped, then he added slowly — " his 
 desire, the desire of his life." 
 
 Lady Wyverne felt as if his words were 
 gusts of heat from a furnace coming to her 
 fiercely. She knew that she did not really 
 care for the Spahi, yet whenever she was 
 with him he forced her, as it were, into his 
 atmosphere. Some men have this power. 
 They spread a magic carpet. They carry 
 you away, out of your window, over the
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 219 
 
 tree-tops, over the seas, far off to the 
 strange lands, where the voices are strange 
 and the flowers strange, and you lose your 
 identity and become as the strange people 
 are. 
 
 Again Lady Wyverne smelt the perfume 
 that emanated from his garments. She 
 stopped. 
 
 " Where are we going ? " she said. " I 
 told you I would not walk with you to- 
 night." 
 
 " Madame, it is the last time. To- 
 morrow you go, and I — I go on my three 
 days' journey into the desert. You will 
 never come there. You will take the 
 train to-morrow. You will go back to 
 England. It is good-bye." 
 
 "Yes, it is good-bye." 
 
 Again she felt tempted. A longing to 
 taste, just to taste, the mysterious African 
 life assailed her, and her own existence 
 presented itself to her as ineffably 
 commonplace, insufferably empty. It was
 
 220 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 safe, yes, protected, but it was frightfully 
 tame. Again she was the child tempted 
 by the Celestial's pigtail. 
 
 " I know ; but—" 
 
 "You must at least say good-bye to the 
 desert, madame." 
 
 "But — what do you mean? We are 
 not going to England to-morrow. We 
 are going on to Beni-Mora to-morrow." 
 
 Benchaalal said nothing. He looked at 
 her in silence, but in his eyes there seemed 
 to be a sort of ironical pity and surprise. 
 
 " Why — why do you look at me like 
 that ? " she said. 
 
 " But — madame does not know ? " 
 
 " Know what ?" 
 
 "That m'sieu turns his back on the 
 desert ? " 
 
 " I know nothing. I don't understand." 
 
 " Then I had better be silent. Madame 
 will know to-morrow." 
 
 " Tell me now. Tell me at once." 
 
 " To-day — did you not notice anything
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 221 
 
 strange in m'sieu's manner to-day ? " said 
 Benchaalal, drawing a bow at a venture, 
 very craftily. 
 
 " Yes, I — what did it mean ? " 
 
 "That m'sieu is tired of Africa, that to- 
 morrow he turns his back to the desert. 
 In Beni-Mora there are no Barbary sheep. 
 Therefore, m'sieu will not go to Beni- 
 Mora." 
 
 " How do you know this ? " 
 
 " But all at the hotel knows it, the 
 patron, the Arabs, every one. Perhaps 
 not madame ! The wise man acts quickly, 
 without speech, when he acts against his 
 wife's desire. Madame will know. To- 
 morrow she will know, when she steps 
 into the train that goes to Tunis ! " 
 
 "Then — then I shall never see the real 
 desert." 
 
 A bitter sense of disappointment, almost 
 of outrage, swept over Lady Wyverne. 
 All the wilfulness, which had ruled so 
 long, seemed to start up, like a wild
 
 222 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 creature at the touch of a whip. She 
 believed what Benchaalal said. He spoke 
 with an air of almost surprised sincerity 
 that convinced her at once that he was 
 speaking the truth. She grew hot with 
 anger. This was why her husband's 
 manner had been strange, furtive with 
 her in the morning upon the verandah. 
 This was why he had tried to avoid her 
 kiss. He had had his sport, his pleasure, 
 and now he was going to take her away. 
 She was to yield to his convenience, to 
 forego her desire. 
 
 Patches of red came out on her delicate 
 cheeks and her eyes shone. Without 
 saying another word she walked on again. 
 
 And as she walked she thought that her 
 desire of the desert had increased. Now 
 that she was not to know the desert, it 
 seemed to her that it was the one thing 
 which she longed to know. 
 
 Benchaalal kept close beside her as the 
 gorge narrowed. He read her feelings,
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 223 
 
 marked his success. But he was too 
 clever to dwell upon Sir Claude. Instead 
 he turned to another subject. He spoke 
 of the desert, of the strange life there, of 
 the freedom, the adventure, the passion. 
 And he spoke sincerely, for he loved his 
 home, although, like many Arabs, he 
 loved also the vices of cities now that he 
 had begun to know them. He strove to 
 kindle a blaze in the imagination of the 
 woman beside him, a blaze that would 
 rival the blaze of those diamonds which 
 hung at her neck, moving as she moved, 
 sparkling in the moonlight. They had 
 given a mysterious impetus to his desire 
 which no one not an Oriental could have 
 comprehended. He connected them with 
 their wearer, their brilliance with the 
 brilliance of her angry eyes, their fairness 
 with the fairness of her face, their glitter 
 with the glitter of her hair. In his mind 
 he compared her to a jewel, to a chain of 
 jewels. And as he longed for them he
 
 224 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 longed for her. He desired to take them 
 into his hands and to take her into his 
 heart. And he spoke like one of the 
 Goblin men of Goblin market. And she 
 listened as to the voice of a Goblin man. 
 
 " Ah ! " he exclaimed, at last. "If you 
 were not going to-morrow ! Going back 
 to England ! " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall not go," she said. 
 
 There was almost a fierce ring in her 
 clear voice that was no longer petulant. 
 
 " But if your husband is going ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall not go," she repeated. 
 * We women are not like women who 
 are veiled. Western women are not 
 slaves." 
 
 " But he will do what he chooses. I 
 saw it in his eyes when I spoke with him 
 by the river." 
 
 " He is not my master." 
 
 " I should be your slave." 
 
 They were near the mouth of the gorge 
 now, and were walking at the base of
 
 ^ BARBARY SHEEP 225 
 
 that mountain on whose summit was the 
 rock shaped like a resting camel. 
 
 "You must not speak to mejike that," 
 Lady Wyverne said. 
 
 " I should be your slave," he repeated, 
 as if he had not heard her. 
 
 " But," she answered, with a faint- 
 hearted attempt to restore a light tone 
 to their conversation — " but in this land 
 it is the women who are like slaves." 
 
 *' The dark-skinned women ! But you 
 — you are fair. You are like a diamond, 
 one of those diamonds you wear." 
 
 His hand went out towards the swing- 
 ing chain instinctively, but he drew it 
 back, making a strong effort to control 
 himself 
 
 " The dark men worship the fair women. 
 
 You are like the silver moon. You are 
 
 like the sun when it shines upon the great 
 
 prayer after the fast of Ram-a-dan. When 
 
 I see you I am looking at the East. Do 
 
 you not know it ? ' 
 15
 
 226 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 All the time he spoke he was watching 
 her craftily. And yet he was fiercely 
 moved, and by a double desire of pos- 
 session. Two hearts seemed beating in 
 his breast, the heart of a robber and the 
 heart of a lover. The two controlling 
 passions of the Arab were simultaneously 
 alive within him. At that moment he was 
 capable of falling at Lady Wyverne's feet 
 and giving up his life to her, if she would 
 yield to him. But he was also capable of 
 murdering her for the chain of jewels at 
 her neck if she resisted him. And this is 
 only to say that he was Arab. 
 
 Yet though Benchaalal was on fire at 
 this moment and knew not what he was 
 going to do, what deed of passion or of 
 terror, he never ceased to be watchful of 
 his companion. His cunning waited for 
 the moment when her face should give 
 him a sign that he might dare all. 
 
 She had seen his dusky hand go out 
 towards the diamonds, and for an instant
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 227 
 
 had felt a thrill of something that was like 
 repugnance or even fear. But it vanished. 
 For she told herself that the gesture was 
 an absolutely natural one, according with 
 the comparison he made. Nevertheless, 
 there had been something in the look of 
 his hand, as it darted out from the folds 
 of his garments, which had startled her 
 and left her more highly strung than she 
 had been before. He knew that, and his 
 following speech had been deliberately lan- 
 guid, like the speech of a poet of the tents. 
 
 " Do you not know it ? " he repeated, 
 going a little closer to her, so that his swing- 
 ing cloak touched her gently as he walked. 
 
 " I turn towards Mecca when I pray 
 at dawn, but I turn to you when I pray 
 at night. And you, will you hear my 
 prayer ? " 
 
 "Hush!" she said. 
 
 She spoke quietly, scarcely with repro- 
 bation. As she was going to see a last 
 vision of the desert, there was no reason,
 
 228 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 surely, why she should not listen for the 
 last time to the voice of the desert. And 
 in this desert man she personified the 
 desert for the moment. To-morrow the 
 vision would have faded from her eyes 
 and the voice would have died away for 
 ever from her ears. Once more she 
 would have resumed her life with Crum- 
 pet. Her sense of resentment against 
 her husband, too, restrained her resent- 
 ment from falling on another. 
 
 In answer to her pretence of rebuke he 
 was suddenly silent. They walked on 
 very slowly. She heard the tap of her 
 high-heeled shoes on the hard road, and 
 thought of the tap of the shoes on the 
 trottoirs of Paris. Then she thought of 
 the look of the Spahi's naked feet, that had 
 seemed to clasp the river stones like hands, 
 and of how she had dreamed of those feet 
 padding softly over the desert sands, with 
 a woman's feet beside them. 
 
 Well, now a woman's feet were tread-
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 229 
 
 ing beside them, and towards the 
 desert. 
 
 For a moment she gave herself up to an 
 imagination. She conceived the impos- 
 sible accomplished. Suppose she had 
 allowed her caprice to develop ; suppose 
 she were a headstrong, unbalanced, 
 passionate, reckless woman, instead of 
 merely a whimsical, pleasure-loving, wilful 
 little creature ! Suppose she had been 
 carried away, had gone mad over the 
 Spahi ! Suppose that they were really 
 afoot for the great journey, that the past 
 was left behind for ever, hidden like a 
 dropped burden among the rocks of the 
 gorge, that the desert was opening out 
 before them and that she had cast in her 
 lot with the dark people of the waste 
 places of the earth ! How extraordinary 
 that would be ! For the moment her 
 feather-headed caprice delighted in this 
 imagination, played with it like a child 
 with a coloured ball that floats upward on
 
 230 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 the wind. She forced herself to live in 
 this dream. Yes, it was so. Her old life 
 was gone for ever. She had done the 
 strangest thing that ever woman had done. 
 How they would talk of her in her old 
 haunts, in the boudoirs of Paris and of 
 London, on the race-courses of Newmarket 
 and of Ascot, on the moors of Scotland 
 under the misty mountains ! What would 
 they say of her ? Did it matter ? They 
 were nothing to her any more, these 
 friends and acquaintances of the past. 
 Their talk would never again be her talk, 
 nor their fads and their crazes hers. From 
 the tyrannies of fashion she was for ever 
 freed, from the changing modes of the 
 hour and of life. To the immutable East 
 she was setting her face, to the land that 
 does not change ! 
 
 For the moment she was so much under 
 the influence of her own deliberate im- 
 agination that she almost was the woman 
 she thought of, and he, the Spahi, almost
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 231 
 
 became to her that woman's master. Or 
 slave ? Which was it ? Which would it 
 be? 
 
 Which would it be ? 
 
 As she asked herself this question she 
 glanced at Benchaalal with an expression 
 in her eyes which had never been in them 
 before when they had looked at him, an 
 expression of deep inquiry, so feminine 
 and yet so searching that it startled him, 
 and added to her personality a charm that 
 hitherto it had lacked, the fascination of 
 mystery. They were close to the opening 
 in the gorge. The desert lay before them. 
 Already in the distance they could see it. 
 Their feet were almost touching the fringes 
 of its vastness, and its magnetic wind came 
 sighing to their cheeks. 
 
 To Benchaalal at this moment it seemed 
 as if events rose to a climax almost 
 dramatically arranged by fate. The three 
 visions — of the diamonds, of his com- 
 panion's searching eyes, and of the moon-
 
 232 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 washed desert to which he belonged — gave 
 themselves to his gaze almost as one. 
 They were blended together, fused into a 
 whole. And that whole — he must have it. 
 It must be his, now. He could wait for it 
 no longer. The jewels, the woman, and 
 the desert — they must belong to him, now. 
 His dark hand shot out again and 
 closed on Lady Wyverne's hand. He did 
 not speak, but the grasp of his hand 
 frightened her. It told her unmistakably 
 that she was in danger. It was arbitrary. 
 It was the hand of a robber as well as of a 
 lover, a hand that could tear to pieces as 
 easily, and perhaps almost as happily, as it 
 could caress. And his eyes now, as they 
 met hers, answered the question hers had 
 asked them, answered it with a fierce 
 frankness that left no room for doubt. 
 The barbarian forced his way up into the 
 light, splitting through the thin crust of 
 civilised culture that had covered him, as 
 an iron bar splits through a pane of glass.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 233 
 
 The desert came upon Lady Wyverne 
 and the desert man came upon her, show- 
 ing himself exactly as he was. 
 
 When his hand seized her hand she 
 instinctively recoiled. Instantly his other 
 hand shot out, and seized, not her other 
 hand, but the diamond chain at her Heck. 
 
 The whole man was nakedly revealed 
 in those two quickly following actions. 
 
 As the Spahi's thin fingers closed upon 
 the diamonds Lady Wyverne knew the 
 depth of her folly, and there came to her 
 a sickening horror in which the desert was 
 condemned with the man. Tradition 
 rushed back to the place in her nature 
 from which her caprice had ousted it. 
 Her heart clamoured for the blessed pro- 
 tection of the commonplace which she had 
 been rejecting, and the peculiar disgust 
 which so many white-skinned people feel 
 towards the dark races of the earth sud- 
 denly rose up in her, rose to the level of 
 her husband's.
 
 234 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 All this vehement recoil of her nature 
 the Spahi felt as it was born. His right 
 hand abandoned her hand and joined its 
 greedy brother on her jewels. The lover 
 in him, rejected, became the parent of the 
 passionate robber. 
 
 His hands tore at the diamonds. 
 
 Hidden among the rocks to the left of 
 the road, a watching man had, for some 
 seconds, which seemed to him long nights 
 of impenetrable blackness, held a gun to 
 his shoulder with a steady hand, his finger 
 upon the trigger. One reason alone had 
 prevented him from firing, a strange but 
 tremendous indecision in his heart. 
 
 He did not know whether he wished to 
 shoot the woman or the man upon the 
 road. 
 
 While he waited, still as the rocks 
 which concealed him, the woman started 
 back from the Spahi and the Spahi's hand 
 left her hand and darted at her jewels.
 
 BARBARY SHEEP 235 
 
 Then the man among the rocks knew. 
 He moved slightly and he levelled his gun 
 at the Spahi. 
 
 But before he could fire there came 
 upon the Spahi a rushing figure, whose 
 bright green robe showed clearly in the 
 moonbeams ; and the hands that clutched 
 the diamonds broke the chain that 
 united them, as the Spahi sank down 
 upon the road with a knife between his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Allah ! Allah ! Allah ! " 
 
 The long, fierce cry went up in the 
 night. 
 
 Sir Claude leaped into the road. As 
 his arms went round his wife the cry rose 
 up again. 
 
 "Allah! Allah! Allah!" 
 
 Then it died away in a whimper that 
 was like an animal's, as the mad Marabout 
 dropped down to his knees beside the 
 Spahi's body, and began carefully to pick 
 up, one by one, the jewels that were
 
 236 BARBARY SHEEP 
 
 scattered over it, gleaming in the moon- 
 beams like crystals of the desert. 
 
 When day dawned the Arab boy strolled 
 lazily along the bank of the river till he 
 reached his nook in the rocks. There he 
 squatted down, folded his burnous round 
 his slim body, drew forth from his breast 
 his little flute of reed, and, putting his 
 dusky fingers to the holes, sent forth airily 
 to the sun the melody that was like 
 caprice personified in music. 
 
 COLSTON AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
 
 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY METHUEN 
 
 AND COMPANY: LONDON 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET 
 
 W.C. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 General Literature, . 
 
 2-22 
 
 Ancient Cities, 
 
 22 
 
 Antiquary's Books, 
 
 22 
 
 Arden Shakespeare 
 
 23 
 
 Beginner's Books, . 
 
 23 
 
 Business Books, 
 
 23 
 
 Byzantine Texts, . 
 
 24 
 
 Churchman's Bible, 
 
 24 
 
 Churchman's Library, . 
 
 24 
 
 Classical Translations, 
 
 24 
 
 Classics of Art, 
 
 24 
 
 Commercial Series, 
 
 25 
 
 Connoisseur's Library, 
 
 25 
 
 Illustrated Pocket Library o 
 
 
 Plain and Coloured Books, 
 
 25 
 
 Junior Examination Series, 
 
 26 
 
 Junior School-Books, . 
 
 27 
 
 Leaders of Religion, 
 
 27 
 
 Library of Devotion, 
 
 27 
 
 Little Books on Art, 
 
 28 
 
 Little Galleries, 
 Little Guides, . 
 Little Library, 
 Little Quarto Shakespeare, 
 Miniature Library, 
 Oxford Biographies, 
 School Examination Series 
 School Histories, . 
 Simplified French Texts, 
 Standard Library, . 
 Textbooks of Science, . 
 Textbooks of Technology, 
 Handbooks of Theology, 
 Westminster Commentaries 
 
 PAGE 
 28 
 
 28 
 29 
 
 30 
 30 
 30 
 31 
 31 
 31 
 31 
 32 
 32 
 32 
 32 
 
 Fiction, 33.39 
 
 Books for Boys and Girls, 39 
 
 Novels of Alexandre Dumas, 39 
 
 Methuen's Sixpenny Books, 39 
 
 MARCH 1909
 
 A CATALOGUE OF 
 
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 PUBLICATIONS 
 
 In this Catalogue the order is according to authors. An asterisk denotes 
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 Colonial Editions are published of all Messrs. Methuen's Novels issued 
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 12 
 
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 General Literature 
 
 13 
 
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 22 
 
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