of the Sands 'Frances Everard A Dauhter of the Sands A NOVEL :.' :: :: FRANCES EVERARD NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD 6- COMPANY 1922 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, PRINTED IN U. 8. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I SAADA 1 II THE DECISION 13 III THE MAN OF DREAMS 27 IV THE SHADOW 49 V WHISPERING DEVILS 60 VI DESTINY 67 VII SHEIKH MEDENE 77 VIII A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 98 IX EL BOUIRA 113 X THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 123 XI THE SACRED CIRCLE 143 XII THE SECRET OF LONG-DEAD YEARS . . 172 XIII THE CABLEGRAM 184 XIV THE SALE OF A WOMAN'S HEART . . .203 XV THE MAN WHO WON . 220 XVI SEPARATION 240 XVII THE MAN BETWEEN 261 XVIII MUHAMMED BEY > . . 280 XIX GREAT POSSESSIONS ........ 287 XX GOD'S GIFT . . 300 2135400 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS CHAPTER I SAADA JEANS, the Railsfords' odd man, and last of a once considerable retinue of servants, was just bringing the trap into the drive, when Lance Railsford called him. "I don't think Miss Medene will drive to the station, after all," he said, glancing at the open letter in his hand. "We shall probably walk by the fields as far as Whitcombe, so if you take the luggage and pick us up at Hugglecote . . . Wait a moment, though we'd better hear what Miss Medene has to say." "As you wish, sir." Jeans led the mare towards the house. "But the young lady will miss the early London train, for sure, and " The girl herself was waiting by the stone balus- trading which edged the tiny terrace, for Redlands, the Railsfords' pretty home, was quite an estate in miniature, with its shrubbed paths, well-kept lawns, and tastefully-laid-out flower-beds. Above the i 2 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS ceaseless murmur of the trees on the hill she had heard neither Jeans' nor Lance's approach; her dark eyes were turned wistfully on the mist- wreathed valley backed by the jagged line of the distant Welsh mountain*, and her thoughts were far away. She turned, however, as Lance hailed her, and stooped to lift the small dressing-case at her feet. "Is Jeans ready? I was getting a little anxious about the time," glancing at the watch on her wrist. "The train leaves Gloucester at 8.10, and it won't do to be late." Railsford smilingly relieved her of the luggage. "Oh, bother the office, and* what the others may say!" he returned good-naturedly. "You're going by the ten o'clock. Jeans will pick us up at Hugglecote. The post is in early for once and this letter well', it just alters everything. You haven't seen mother?" Saada Medene shook a wealth of raven-black hair. "She isn't down yet. It is still very early only half:past seven. But I thanked her last night, and said how much I had enjoyed the week-end. It is very kind of her, Lance, to let me come so often ; but over breakfast I made up my mind . . . this must be the very last time." He eyed her amusedly as she swung down the drive in the wake of the departing trap. Then he stopped to light a cigarette, and watched her beautiful, troubled face over the flicker of flame in his cupped hands. SAADA 3 "Saada, you're still turning over all we discussed last night . . . telling yourself that because you're my secretary it's not good for the discipline of the London office that you should be here. It's all nonsense, Saada: surely a man can have with him the girl he loves, and as to what the rest may think " "Lance !" She regarded him steadily, her lips sud- denly firm. I'm going to give you my answer now. Last night you asked me to marry you. I almost gave in. For hours I lay awake, turning each point over. I've decided ... it would be an an appalling mistake." For one usually so impetuous, he took the decision if decision it were very calmly. Some- how, he felt, the letter, which as yet he had not shown her, would make all the difference to her final decision. "An appalling mistake to marry the man who worships you 1 , and whom you love! You'll con- cede that, dear; you do love me?" They had turned into the wide road, a silver ribbon against the green shoulder of the hill. Be- low them, emerald fields -of lush grass powdered with moon-daises stretched to the rose-clustered walls of Whitcombe with the stately spires and towers of Gloucester gilded by the early morning sun beyond. Saada Medene set her hands on the stone wall behind her, and faced Lance Eailsford gravely. "I suppose I love you, Lance . . . though I'm 4 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS not quite sure, because, you see" with a sad little shake of her head "I've never really known what it is to love any man . . . except, of course, my own father. You've been ever so kind . . . and very generous, too, since that day when . . . when, without a friend in London, without any- thing but a knowledge of languages, I asked you to find me something to do. Since then. . . . well ! you know what's happened. You have learned to care, and perhaps I care, too. But I'm certain, if ever you married me, you'd very soon regret." "And why should I regret, sweetheart?" he re- peated, taking from her long slender fingers the flower with which she was toying, and tossing it to the ground. The girl's head was lowered, and the wide- brimmed hat hid her eyes, deeply shadowed. "I've already told you, Lance . . . because of my race and blood. I'm a coloured girl, really though, except for my name, few would ever guess so. Still, the fact remains, my father is an Arab . . . oh," looking up suddenly, her face exquisitely flushed by the passion in her voice, "I'm not ashamed! My mother well-, she may have been European ... I do not know, but in any case, you would have a girl of colour for your wife." His fingers reached out and lingered on hers caressingly. "As if I care, darling ! Aren't you* all the world to me? What does race matter? Isn't an Arab as highly born as any English man or woman? SAADA 5 Weren't your people noble your father a sheikh, a man highly honoured? And you you have all the instincts and feelings of a white girl." Saada smiled even* as she shook her head. "My dear, eight years in French and English schools haven't changed the colour of my blood. I am, and always shall be an Arab girl." "Yet your face is fair, your skin as white as my mother's." "That is nothing," she said resolutely. "There are scores of white Arabs in Northern Africa, row- mis, we call them, because of their partial Roman ancestry. For a generation, here and there, the white strain ig uppermost: I sometimes feel it is uppermost in me. Apart from my dark eyes and hair, I am, as you say, as fair as any English girl. Yet the Arab blood remains " "You believe that makes any difference?" he questioned with swift vehemence. "To you now? Perhaps not. But to others . . . yes. Let me tell you. I have worked in your office, Lance, for tv/o years. I haven't a friend, except you. Why? Because I made no secret of my birth or parentage. I admitted quite frankly that I was an Arab, my father Sheikh Me- dene, and my home in Tunis. You don't realize what a barrier the colour-streak forms. Because of my people, I am an outcast " "Don't, Saada, don't !" His fingers pressed upon her lips. The girl drew them away. "It is true. Every one in the office looks down 6 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS on me : they don't like working beside me. I had resolved when I was asked to Redlands this week- end, that it should be for the last time." He nodded, but his voice had taken a masterful tone. "Yes! For the last time, dear: because you are going to marry me. I won't hear any more ex- cuses. You know you care for me : you can't look up and say you don't love me." Her lips began to quiver. "I can't ! I can't ! I do care ever so much, and that is why I want to go away . . . and never . . . never see you again" "Listen !" He held her wrists and drew her arms to her sides. "There is no one in the world you care for so much as you do for me?" "No one except my father." "And you think you could be happy with me?" "Were I of your race and colour yes." "Surely the risk is mine?" "The risk is too great here, in England." "Wait. If some of the people you have met look down on you, it is because you are poor and un- protected the way of the strong with the weak. But as my wife " "We should never be happy in England, Lance. An Englishman with a native wife is always an object of scorn." "But in her own country?" "Ah, then it would be different!" SAADA 7 "Exactly. You could be happy with me in Africa?" "I I think so/' she answered tremulously. "Both you and your mother have been so very kind " "My mother thinks always of me, Saada." "She would never consent to your marrying an Arab girl." Lance Railsford smiled as he unfolded the letter. "On that score trust me. Saada, I am off to Tunisia." Her eyes grew suddenly round. "To Tunisia? Oh, how wonderful!" "It is wonderful," he said gaily. "You remember Curzon sent for me a fortnight ago? I was asked then if I would take a post in North Africa. Now I've been offered one resident vice-consul at El Bouira a growing frontier town. I want to take it because the salary is good. I shall go only on one condition." "Yes, Lance?" her voice falling to a whisper. "That you promise to marry me. We shall be intensely happy out there under the sunny sky of Africa . . . and no one will bother whether you have Western or Eastern blood in your veins. Be- sides, what does it matter? . . . You will have me, and my love . . . always. Saada, will you come?" For an instant she continued to look down, with her sweet mouth a-quiver, her lovely face sadly troubled. But the heart in her cried out for the 8 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS deep, full measure of a man's love. She raised her head. "Yes, Lance," she said shyly. "If you want me, I will come." An hour later Eailsford w r as walking the odd five miles back to his mother's home on Birdlip Hill. He felt supremely happy and not a little elated with his victory. Indeed, any man might have felt proud of such a conquest. Saada Medene was superbly beautiful. Perhaps he was in love only with her physical loveliness : that is the thing for which most young men, with a narrow ex- perience of life, love women. If deeper and more reverent emotions were lacking, Lance did not realize it; always a creature of impulse and tem- perament, having gained the point dearest and nearest his heart, he was satisfied. He broke into the drive whistling a love-song. At last, it seemed, the Kailsford star might rise again. There had been a time, long since, when this Golden Valley of smiling land and prosperous homesteads had stretched under Bailsford rule from far-off Stroud to the fringes of the Malvern Hills. But time had stripped them of one rich possession after another, leaving the last of the line with only a small house, a peevishly discon- tented mother to keep, and a post in the Foreign Office at six hundred a year. He was in no mood for regrets, as he crossed the tidy lawn towards the big cedar beneath which his mother sat. She saw by the smile on his good- SAADA 9 looking, sunburned face that something eventful had happened, and so far forgot her habitual gloom as to relax the fretful lines of her mouth. "Well, dear! What has induced you to take a day off?" she asked, setting down her needlework. "Why haven't you returned to town with Miss Medene?" Lance drooped on to the grass and linked his hands about his hunched-up knees. "Saada's gone back to square things up at the office. I shall say good-bye to London at the end of a week. I've just heard from the Foreign Secretary." "A new appointment at last?" "H'm," balancing his hat on one knee and slowly rocking his big form to and fro. "Something good this time. We're going abroad." "Oh ! Where? I hope it won't be a horrid, out- of-the-way place. You know, Lance, I never could exist without my creature comforts." Kailsford laughed, not unfeelingly. "My dear mater, creature comforts, as you call them, would soon have been at a premium if this hadn't come along. Six hundred won't keep Red- lands going any longer, and " "You ought to have married a rich wife. There was a time when a Railsford " "Never mind, dear," good-humouredly. "Things are going to look up from now on. We couldn't have stayed here, anyway, with debts hedging us in all round. Redlands must have shared the fate 10 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS of the Hall . . . and then you'd have spent the rest of your days in Knightsbridge or Kensing- ton. As it is, we're booked for Tunisia . . . and Saada is coming with us." The placid look on Helen Railsford's face vanished. "Saada? Whatever for? Surely you can do without a secretary?" "I might do without a secretary, because I don't suppose the Foreign Office will let me run to one, but I can't do without a wife." "You are never dreaming of marrying her?" She sat up very straight,, the light of battle in her cold blue eyes. The ghost of a smile played about the young man's mouth. "I am. Saada and I became engaged this morning. We arranged everything on the way into Gloucester. Curzon has given me the vice-consul- ship at El Bouira. Saada will come out with us, at any rate as far as. Tunis, where, of course, she would put in some time with her father "Lance, you must be mad." The blank astonish- ment had not yet subsided. "I am mad madly in love with her. I always have been ever since she first came into my office. You've known it all along, surely?" Helen Railsford looked away. "I never dreamed you'd be such a fool. I knew Saada was useful to you, that her knowledge of Eastern languages had helped you in your work." SAADA 11 "To the extent of getting me one of the plums of the Service," Lance admitted with unusual can- dour. "I should never have got El Bouira but for Saada. Our engagement was inevitable." "To a coloured woman ! It's monstrous. You'll be a byword among all decent people." He laughed a trifle uneasily. "Oh, it won't be as bad as that. Saada isn't black. You couldn't tell her from an English girl, except that her hair and eyes are dark. Besides, the Arabs are highly civilized at least the well- to-do classes are and there's no one better born in all Tunisia. Her father is a sheikh " "Without means ; now living in a derelict palace in Tunis. Well, I, for one, don't agree." She began to gather up her work. "If you choose to throw yourself away, when by waiting you might have had every girl in the country at your feet " "Waiting for what?" he asked, a contemptuous sneer on his handsome face. She swept the balls of cotton into her lap. "Your uncle's death. He's on his last legs al- ready. Who besides ourselves can he leave his money to?" Lance took out his case and tapped a ciga- rette on the back of his hand. "Well, considering that you and he are bitter enemies, and he hasn't allowed me near him since I left school, I don't see that his phantasmal three- quarters of a million is worth bothering about. No, mother, you won't move me. Saada is more to 12 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS me than a very unlikely inheritance. I want to get married; I've found the girl I love; she cares for me, so that's all there is to it. Kedlands must have been given up in any case ; at El Bouira I shall have fifteen hundred a year more than enough to keep you and a wife in comfort. We'll make a holiday of the trip across the desert " Mrs. Bailsford emitted a sigh in which discon- tent, scorn, and surrender were equally commin- gled. "I suppose I've no alternative. But you know my views . . . marriage to a girl with the colour- streak means social extinction. You might have waited ... to see if Uncle Hugh relents. There's Norwiches and several hundreds of thousands for some one . . . some day." "It's the 'some day' which decides me !" laughed Lance. "I prefer to take my happiness now." Mrs. Kailsford, looking inexpressibly grim, be- gan to move towards the house. "I can't help saying you're a fool, my dear. Yon might have had one of the finest seats in England, a* position in society, a wife from the station to which you belong. Instead, you chose an Arab girl. Mark my words, Lanceyou'll live to regret it." For an instant he turned his mother's last phrase over in his mind. It was rather curious : they were almost the exact words Saada herself had used. But, with youth, passion has often the casting vote. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette away and followed his mother into the house. CHAPTER II THE DECISION SAADA was quite happy in her engagement. To Lance she felt that she owed all that had come into her chequered life since the finan- cial ruin of her father had taken her from an ex- pensive English school and thrown her, friendless yet full of courage, on a curiously hostile world. It w T ould have been quite easy to return to Tunis, to the shelter of Sheikh Medene's house. At first Saada had been tempted to go; she felt for the aged man, who had always shown her both a mother's and a father's care, an affection which mounted to a passionate adoration. Yet it was this very devotion which kept her in England. From a servant of the once noble house of Medene she had learned of her father's great poverty and of the secret struggle he had long kept up to main- tain her education. This decided Saada; from school she went to London, and from the first found a staunch friend and ally in Eailsford, who had given her employment. Ever since, week by week, her hard-earned sav- ings had gone to support the broken old man lan- guishing amongst the decayed splendours of his 13 14 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Tunisian home. And now Saada herself was re- turning to him with the news of her engagement. As she stood by the deck-rail of the magnificent Transatlantique steamer, pulsing steadily south, across the blue waters to the sun-kissed shdres of Africa, she wondered what Sheikh Medene's atti- tude would be. Always he had shown a great and respectful lik- ing for English people ; yet, from Kairouan to Cas- ablanca, no son of the Prophet was prouder of his Arab blood. Still, Saada had taken the step, not unmindful of what it would mean to him. As Eailsford's wife no longer would he need to bother about her future ; rather, every penny that was her own would go to care for him in his last days. This, indeed, was the outstanding feature of her unselfish nature, an intense and loyal gratitude. She had shown it in the complete surrender made to Lance's impetuous wooing. Because he had been so good a friend, because his home had thrown wide its door to" bid her enter in a land alien and unsympathetic to her race, she had willingly prom- ised to give the very most that any man could ask of a woman. As yet she did not quite understand him. At times she doubted if he understood her. But com- plete ingenuous frankness on her side had marked every hour of the friendship which had brought the passionate declaration of his love. When Saada gave, it was characteristic of her to give with both hands freely, unselfishly, without reserve. She THE DECISION 15 wanted to love Lance, to hold back nothing that might compensate him for his devotion. His mother was more of a,n enigma to a nature so guileless as her own. There was about Mrs. Kails- ford's attitude a restraint which, though it scarcely bordered on hostility, yet at times suggested a scornful dissatisfaction. Saada knew that her Arab blood was the cau?se, and more than once, on the journey across, she discussed with Lance her willingness, for his mother's sake, to release him. Lance however, stood firm. Of his own free will he had made his choice, and no power on earth would shake him. He loved her for her beauty, her sweet- ness of disposition, her charm. Under the warmth of his avowal the little cloud dispersed, and he was perfectly happy when they arrived in Tunis. Saada saw little of her father, for an early op- portunity offered to get them comfortably to El Bouira. One of the Transatlantique Company's luxurious Pullman motors was due to leave on the Saturday following their arrival and would take them with all their baggage as far as Constantine. She spent, however, three days in the once lux- urious Arab house in the Eue Sidi Abdallah, still beautiful with its marble-paved courtyard and pil- lared doorways, yet stripped by the ruthless hand of poverty of the many treasures which had brought it fame. Sheikh Medene, noble of bearing, with his long white beard and kindly face, and picturesque in his loose flowing robes, clung to her tightly and 16 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS cried like a child at their parting. For all this, he was happy; Saada had found a good husband who would cherish and protect her: more, a man of English blood. He gave them both his blessing, and returned, light of heart, to the solitude of his house. At Constantine the difficulty of procuring camels to travel the rest of the journey delayed them ; they put up at the Company's hotel overlooking the rushing torrent of the Rummell, and there in the care of Monsieur and Madame Caret spent three ideally happy days. Lance meanwhile had pushed ahead with his plans. He had heard of a house at El Bouira which could be bought fully furnished when the present tenant gave up a few weeks hence. There was a church too, at the El Bouira, where he and Saada could be married, and in the interval, a comfortable hotel to receive his mother and his fiancee while he was up-country learning the details of his official duties. Saada had just gone off to make purchases in the souks when the mail arrived. Mrs. Railsford, in a fever of excitement, found Lance in the blazing sunshine of the terrace, settling terms with an Arab camel-owner. He turned and saw by the unusual pallor of her face that something was wrong. "You must leave me out of your calculations, dear," she said. "I must return at once to England." THE DECISION 17 "Oh!" he muttered, turning on her a look of blank astonishment. "What's happened?" She flopped into a wicker chair and mopped her face. "Your uncle Hugh is dangerously ill. This cablegram has been forwarded from Tunis asking me to go to him." "Of course you will go," he said slowly. Helen Railsford's eyes were strangely bright. "I must . . . for both our sakes. Whatever happens, I for one don't intend to run the risk of losing a fortune. You and Saada can go on to El Bouira, and when everything is over, one way or the other, I'll join you there." Lance drew out his watch. "Saada ought to be back long before this. How- ever ... I suppose she will soon come." An hour lengthened into two; the noon train steamed eastward to Tunis, taking Helen Railsford back to England, but still Saada did not come. Railsford felt little uneasiness over Saada's absence. Although Constantine is a rabble city, it is French garrisoned and governed, well-built and prosperous, with spacious roads and wide, open squares. Of course, there was an Arab town of narrow streets with overhanging houses, and shadowed courtyards filled with idle men, but it was hardly likely she would linger there with so much to attract her in the fine modern shops of the Place de Nemours. 18 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Yet, indeed, it was the native quarter, with its silent-flitting veiled women in rlilals of gauzy pink and loose white dresses, and picturesque huddled forms drowsing in a sea of sunshine, that delayed Saada. In the shop of the armourer the previous afternoon she had looked at a beautiful sheathed dagger, richly damascened in silver and gold upon the finest steel. Lance had loved it for the sheer exquisite beauty of workmanship, but the price was beyond him. So Saada, with her big generous heart, had nursed a secret Before leaving Tunis, Sheikh Medene had forced upon her a tiny silken bag of gold coin, which through long years, he said, had been put by to form her wedding gift. To Saada had come the sudden inspiration to spend some of this money upon her sweetheart; almost guiltily she had stolen away back to the souk of the metal- workers. Her mission over, the strange lure of the East came upon her in those thronged, tortuous ways where men and women of her own flesh and blood lazed life away, chattering, sipping coffee, or squabbling among themselves over the .price of a bargain. Often enough, through the drear, cold days of an English winter, she had dreamed of blue skies and golden sunlight, of perfumed air and cool court- yards where the splash of the fountains in marble basins was the sweetest music in this land of per- petual afternoon. She was back again in the world of her childhood THE DECISION 19 ... in the shade of cream- washed walls painted purple and red with bougainvillea and cluster roses; and beyond, stately against the turquoise blue, the square towers and needle-like mina- rets of the mosques the same graceful, slender daughter of the East, yet changed by her smart London frock and French shoes, and the strange Northern tongue that had become her own. When she stopped before the bazaar of Hadji Ahmed, the seller of perfumes, she asked' for jasmine and musk and attar of roses in the language of the rhoumi. Hadji' Ahmed leered at her with his slumbrous brown eyes and gave her change only for a fifty-franc note. Saada's pretty nut-brown cheeks flamed. "I must ask you to give me the correct money," she said firmly. "I handed you a Bank of Tunis note for five hundred francs. My purchases come to thirty-five. You will give me four hundred and sixty-five change, or I fetch a gendarme." At this Ahmed rose, and gathering the loose folds of his red silk ghandourah around him, hobbled to the back of his shop and called in a loud voice for Halek his son. A tall young fellow, brown of face, and sensuous of lip and eye, appeared, and after hearing his father's story, approached Saada with a coaxing smile. "Indeed, there is no mistake, lady," he said, twirling his string of amber beads between his fingers. "We have not taken so much as five hun- dred francs this livelong day. Mohammed, the 20 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Prophet, the Camel Driver and the friend of the poor, bear me witness. Here is all my father's money : if it pleases you, step inside and we will go through it together." Saada's dark eyes flashed as he pulled out the drawer under the counter upon which Hadji Ahmed had sat cross-legged when the purchase was made. "Indeed I will," she said, following the young man briskly. "And though you give me back my money see, here are your perfumes, I do not want them -I shall still inform the police." "That would be most unkind of the English lady," Halek said, quietly closing the shop door. "We should prefer to give all the money back. . . ." "I am not English," Saada flashed back. "I am Arab, and it is a shame because you think a girl is English to try to rob her." The young man bent nearer, for in the low-ceil- inged room hung with Persian and soft-toned mats from Khordofan the light was dim the sole illumi- ination the yellow flame from the Moorish lantern hung from the raftered ceiling. The reek of a scented cigarette oppressed the close atmosphere; after the dazzling brightness of the hot afternoon, Hadji Ahmed's little back room seemed to Saada to belong to a far-away world. "So you are native girl," purred Halek, taking the crimson rose from behind his ear and holding it caressingly under his thin, sensitive nose. "I like THE DECISION 21 native girl who spik English. You are pretty, too. I see," his eyes lighting with insolent admiration as he looked her up and down from the wealth of dark hair about her face to the tips of her dainty shoes, "you come from France or London to find rich young man among your own people?" Saada's small head lifted proudly, and eyeing him contemptuously, she said, "Will you please give me the five-hundred franc note and let me go. I have to get back to my hotel." Halek glanced over his shoulder, and she could not help thinking what a fine figure he made in long silk robe and yellow turban. "I am sorry you must wait," he said, his soft voice tinged with regret. "See," lifting the hang- ing that covered the middle glass door, "the shop is closed. My father has gone to drink coffee in the house of Choaib-el-Salim." Saada picked up her purse. "Thank you r I don't care to wait. I shall return later with the prefect of police. Please stand aside." But the tall young man only smiled, his big form interposed between her and the door. "By the Prophet, I could not let thee go with- out one kiss from those sweet red lips," he laughed. "Come, I will caress thee as my sister . . . just once, and you shall go away." For a wild moment Saada felt her courage streaming from her finger-tips. A coldness ran 22 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS down her spine; she essayed to speak, but her tongue clave to her mouth. She tried to put the low ebony and nacre-topped table with its tray of tiny gilt coffee-cups between herself and the young man. Halek, however, merely laughed, and reaching out as she cowered back, seized her slim wrist, and, though she struck him smartly in the face, his free arm encircled her waist. He drew her close, knocking the table to the floor ; the little cups shattered musically, and above the noise rose her sharp cry, "Oh, don't! Don't! Please let me go." The scent of the crimson rose, gripped between his teeth, sickened her as he lowered his face, no longer dusky brown but flaming brick red; the rose dropped and petalled against her bosom . . . she screamed, this time with a shrillness that pierced the curtained windows and broke upon the quiet of the courtyard without. On the far side of the wall a dark, misshapen mass woke dazedly to life ... a bundle of tattered garments that re- solved into the semblance of a man. He rose stu- pidly, rubbing the torpor out of eyes steel-grey be- hind their mistiness; the blinding light struck at him less fiercely than that cry for helpr in his mother- tongue. The great arms, bare and brown as the dust in which he had lain, swung up and gripped the wall; six feet of wrecked manhood surged over the spiked top. He dropped with a thud that shook the breath from him, but recover- THE DECISION 23 ing, swayed: across the sunlit court and reeled like a drunken man against the door. The woodwork splintered beneath his great weight; the cry reached out again, and, driving his immense fist through the panel, he snapped back the catch and lumbered in. Against the gloom the pallor of a girl's beauti- ful but agonized face called to him; there was a redness before his eyes, as, fastening a grip of iron upon the broad shoulders of Halek, son of Hadji Ahmed, he caught him up and threw him far across the courtyard. The scream of terror as Halek's battered body rose drowned the sobbing thanks which Saada, with her small hands clinging to her rescuer's shoulder, muttered against his breast. She clung to him, weak and trembling; and hold- ing her like a c'hild he moved towards the door. In the path of sunlight that streamed from over- head he halted, -staring about him uneasily, for Halek's cries had drawn a full dozen of his fellow- countrymen into the court. They crowded about him, hidden knives flashing from the sleeves and waistbands of flowing ghanddurahs. "Don't be afraid, little lady," whispered the big Englishman, patting her arm. "We're in a tight corner, but I shall get you out. Take your parcel and follow me." Saada drew back, her frightened glance on the throng moving towards the door. In the struggle her hat had fallen to the floor ; her dress was torn 24 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS and her abundance of thick hair flowed loosely about her shoulders. To the man she seemed ador- ably beautiful, so beautiful indeed . . . "Quickly !" he said, and drawing her behind him he pushed resolutely forward, aiming a terrific blow at the first to bar his path. The crack of the Arab's chin as he went down turned Saada faint; she saw the blood and bit her under-lip to keep back a cry of horror. The Englishman blocked the door; she saw little but the leer of fiendish faces and the glint of long, curved blades : there was a second scream as Halek went down again, his face almost unrecognizeable by the dreadful blows which her rescuer rained upon it ; then as a knife gashed his arm from wrist to elbow he slammed the door to, and drew her to- wards the stairs. "Come ; there's only one chance to get out alive," he muttered. "In the next street, across the way, is the house of a friend. We may make it." They ran through a number of low-ceilinged rooms and by a short ladder reached the roof. From the parapet he leaned down and picked her up quite easily. He poised for the spring, jumped far out and landed heavily on the roof of the oppo- site house. "This way without a sound," he counselled, lifting a wooden trap. "Hark ! The street is fill- ing. We cannot get away here. You feel quite safe with me?" "Quite," she whispered faintly, staring up at him THE DECISION 25 in the gloom of the walled chamber ... a terrible figure in his ragged clothes. He set her upon a ledge against the wall and drew the iron bolt below the trap. Then tearing a strip from his tattered jacket, he endeavoured to bind his lacerated arm. "Let me do it for you," she said, rising and tear- ing a length from the softer material of her dress. "Oh, they have hurt you terribly !" "It is nothing. One gets used to blood in these parts. I am thinking of you . . . how to get you out of this." A deafening clamour filled the air. Natives were flocking in from the winding alleys and tor- tuous side streets. "We should find them as thick as hornets if we looked down from the roof/' he said, wincing un- der the pain as her deft fingers drew the edges of the wound together. "Yes! Give me a drink but first take some yourself." She took a metal bowl from the floor and held it to his quivering lips. As he dropped back on the stone ledge, for the first time she had a sight of his face . . . once handsome and finely formed, now dissipated and reckless looking. "What's in there?" he asked suddenly, point- ing to the long narrow parcel at her side. "A dagger," she replied. "I bought it in the souk, as a present for " "Give it to me. We shall need it if they find us here," he said roughly, and tearing off the wrappings, threw them on tl o 'oor. 26 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "Is there no chance to get away?" she asked, suddenly afraid. "None whatever !" he returned with brutal frank- ness. "You've got to stay here with me ... until it's dark." CHAPTER nr THE MAN OF DREAMS SAADA tried, to suppress a shudder. The fanatical screeches and the surge of feet on the rough cobbles below; the sight of this terrible figure with haggard and bearded face and ill -kempt clothes huddled against the stone wall; the long absence from the hotel and the dread of not getting safely back filled her with terror. She was not by nature afraid. Struggling against Halek alone she had shown a fine courage. But there was something almost revolting about this strange Englishman, prematurely old, wrecked by the follies stamped on every line of his once handsome face. Now the murkiness had come into his eyes again ; he regarded her with a scornful smile. "Come ! I want you to talk to me/' he said in a Voice curiously cultured for one so low down in the human scale. "Tell me what brings you, an Eng- lish girl, to an Arab house." Her head lifted. "I am not English. I am a native girl. My name is Saada Medene, and " "Nonsense," he retorted, almost rudely. "That 27 28 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS won't do at all. You can't tell Forrester that tale. By the by" drawing himself up quickly "that's not my name, really. It belongs to a very great friend and I speak of him so often, I get into the habit of using it. You'll forget, won't you; my name's Williams John Williams, so remember that. What were we saying? Oh, I know!" pressing his hand to his forehead in an effort to remember ; "about your being a native. Of course, it's all nonsense: you're an English girl; I knew . . . directly I heard your voice. You'll excuse me, won't you; I don't suppose I can offer one to you?" He took from the belt about his ragged shirt the latter was open at the throat and showed an ex- panse of broad chest and shoulder as burned and sun-tanned as the mud-baked wall against which he rested a small metal box. The lid flew back and she saw a number of small black pellets, one of which he took between a well-shaped thumb and finger and eyed longingly before placing it in his mouth. Then a sigli of intense satisfaction escaped him, and leaning his head against the wall, he said in a more conciliatory tone, "I'm glad to have been able to render you this service. You won't forget what I told you, though . . . about my name. It's Williams . . . not the other which I mentioned. By the way, what did I say?" "I've almost forgotten," she answered nervously. THE MAN OF DREAMS 29 At that he laughed. "You've almost forgotten. That's right. Now we can talk as friends again. You'll forgive me . . . for taking these things, won't you?" Again he opened the metal box. "One has to, you know, with a wounded arm. They help one to forget the pain." "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, struck by sudden compassion. He shook his head, and a smile took all the bitterness out of his livid face. Slowly his eyes closed. "Thanks! There's nothing you or any one can do. I -Tm beyond help. Lots of people think they can pull me up, when they find me here . . . like this. God! How this arm hurts." She went closer and knelt by his side. She wished he would open his eyes. "Wouldn't you like me to fetch a doctor?" He laughed again, oddly she thought. "Doctors can't do anything. I've seen lots of 'em. French and English, too. They know I'll only go my own way. No, the cut isn't hurting at all. I didn't say it was, did I?" "I must try and find somebody." He roused himself suddenly. "If you go you'll never get out alive. Hark at 'em now . . . sheer devils howling for the life of a pretty English girl. I thought you were an angel when I saw you ... in that room. It's getting 30 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS quite dark ; you won't be going yet. I I'm afraid to be alone. I want some one with me. I want you. ... I say you haven't gone? You're still here?" His hand reached out and touched her arm. Im- mediately all fear vanished, and the woman in her returned. "Yes, I am here still," she said softly. "Thank, God," he muttered, and then his chin dropped to his breast, and he slid forward . . . and slept as would a child in the arms of its mother. For a long time Saada sat thus, afraid to move lest she should disturb the sleeper. About the loose-limbed, ill-conditioned man in his torn, thread-bare clothes, was something distasteful to her sense of orderliness; yet there had been a look on his face, a gleam of wistful appeal in his eyes, which instinctively touched her heart. She remem- bered, too, how magnificently, and with what reck- less courage, he had fought on her behalf . . . and the knowledge strengthened her to stand by him as long as he needed her. As he showed no sign of awakening, she released him gently, then, creeping to the door, tried the handle. It was locked! She stared about her hopelessly. How long had elapsed since she first went into Hadji Ahmed's shop she did not know. The watch on her wrist, broken in the struggle, had stopped. The damascened dagger on the crude painted table her intended wedding-gift to her THE MAN OF DREAMS 31 husband was the closest reminder of the terrible experience through which she had passed. High up in the wall a tiny window, shuttered and barred with a shield of ornamental painted ironwork, admitted slender pencils of red-gold light which lay in streaks of flame upon the Moorish tiled floor. Cautiously she drew the table to the furthest wall. John Williams still lay in the shadows . . . an inert mass. She looked at him and wondered at the expression of ineffable peace upon his grey lips. He muttered something and stirred in his sleep; she caught the scarcely audible words, "Williams not Forrester. Don't forget John Williams." As if she were likely to forget ! A surge of grati- tude warmed her to this broken man, still young, yet with the mark of years heavily on him. Her trembling hands raised her to the table ; she looked out and swiftly drew her scared face away, for an angry mob still patrolled the street and fierce cries suddenly broke the quiet of the drowsy afternoon. They were hunting for her, or Williams or both. She started as a voice came out of the darkness, and glancing over her shoulder, she saw Williams rising unsteadily to his feet. "What are you doing?" he asked, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his rugged face. "I want to go back to my friends. They will be getting anxious." 32 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "Of course!" He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His voice dropped to a thoughtful monotone. "You must consider them . . . but I must consider you. Have I slept long?" "About two hours, I should think." He looked penitent. "I am ever so sorry. Please forgive me. I felt very ill. It seems unkind to keep you shut up with me. Yet I dare not let you go. Listen ! You hear that!" He raised his hand. "The heathen rage ever so wickedly. Is that correct? I do not know. It is so long since I read a prayer-book. They scream to Allah to give them the blood of the Christian dogs. Bah ! It was an unlucky stroke of fortune that brought you here." "You 1 don't think it would be safe to try He shook his head. "I shan't let 3'0u. You are in my care. I am responsible to your friends. Your blood would be on my own head. God knows, it carries enough already. You must trust yourself to me, till it is dark and all is quiet. Then I can take you, by a way I know, over the flat roofs and lead you right into the Kue Liblane. You will be safe then." "You are very kind." His eyes shone. "It is nothing only w T hat any Englishman would do for one of his own countrywomen. But . . let me think; how my memory fails me!" hold- ing his hand to his forehead. "Didn't you tell me you were a native girl?" 33 She nodded. "Yes. My name is Saada Medene . . . and I am staying at the Transatlantique hotel on the road out of the town looking towards the Rummel and the El Kantara bridge. My father, Sheikh Medene, lives in Tunis. I was born in Tunis." He was looking at her in a dreamy, far-away fashion, searching every line of her beautiful face and form. "It is strange. I see nothing of the native about you. You are dark, but neither your hair nor eyes are Arabian. No, it can't be; there is a mistake somewhere. And your voice ... it is so typically English ... I am sorry I interrupted you. You would like something to eat." "I am hungry and very thirsty," she admitted. He fetched a derelict cushion from a dark cupboard and set it on the ledge. "Sit there. I can offer you both food and drink of a sort. By the grace of God, and the generosity of an Arab friend, to whom once I rendered a service, I am allowed to live here. This," with a wave of his hand which took in the uncarpeted floor and bare walls, "is my home. You will take a little wine?" Saada began to feel more at ease. The rough, almost brutish manner had gone, given place to an old-time courtesy. He spoke and behaved like a gentleman. There was unmistakable breeding in every line, every movement of the ill-conditioned figure as he crossed the room and brought from the 34 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS cupboard a wine-jar, a glass and a box of crudely- made native cakes and biscuits. She ate and drank eagerly, hoped he would sha.re the frugal meal. He negatived the suggestion with a lift of his hand. "I never eat. Sometimes I take a little water. My meat and drink are here," and he brought out the tiny metal box. Her eyes darkened. "They are not good for you, I'm afraid," she said chidingly. At this he laughed. "It is a form of haschish, Miss Medene. I should die without it. But for once out of respect for you I will forgo," and he slipped the box back into the folds of his ragged shirt. As he stood there, in the middle of the wretched room, the westering sun fell upon his tired face. A slow change came over it: the thin mouth gradually lost its weakness; she saw the muscles of the lean jaw flex and the grey eyes took on a brightness denied them through many weary days. The big capable hands rose and fell : he caught her curious watching glance, and the long arms dropped to his side. Then he took a step forward, and coming to the ledge, sat down at her side. "You've done more for me than I reckoned any human had the power to do," he said gravely. "Oh!" she answered, staring ahead into the gloom. "In what way?" THE MAN OF DKEAMS 35 He bent his elbows on his knees and propped his chin in his hands. "You've helped me to remember ... I was once a man." Her voice rose on the strained silence. "Once a man! What do you mean? You are a very fine man to do all you have done for a de- fenceless girl," A bitter laugh escaped him. He took the lapels of his torn jacket, and holding them, stared down at himself. "Look at me! Can you call me a man? ... A battered, loathsome semblance of what I might have been. A drug fiend . . . yes, that's what I am; a horrid speck in the dregs of civilization washed up by most mixed Oriental cities. Do' I disgust you-, Miss Medene?" She shook her head and regarded him with melancholy. "No, but you sadden me. Isn't there anything I can do?" His lips parted contemptuously. "You ! You do anything for a piece of human flotsam like me? There's not a soul under heaven could lift me out of the slime . . . even if I wanted to be lifted." "But you do want to be lifted," she said earn- estly. "You proved it, a moment ago, when you put that dreadful box -away. You know ... I will help you, if I can. Won't you . . . won't you try?" 36 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS In her sweet womanly sympathy she allowed her white fingers to touch his shoulder. He drew away as though the contact seared him. "Don't!" he said thickly. "You make me feel . . . ashamed." Her voice was full of compassion now. "Isn't it good sometimes to feel ashamed? You are not happy like this." "I was happy once," he said, looking up. "But it was a very long time ago so long that until you spoke of it ... I ... I had almost forgot- ten. There was a time when I was like you full of youth and strength. . . . My God, how good it was to live!" "Cannot it be good again?" "No." The fine head with the matted brown hair, flecked about the ears with tiny strands of silver-grey, moved sideways. "The past is done with. I shall go on to the end, sinking lower and lower until ... I find forgetfulness. I try to now: generally, my mind is numb and you you are trying to make me remember." "Only for your own sake," she said softly. A slow smile crept up about his mouth. The clearly-cut sensitive nostrils quivered ever so slightly. He turned on her a haggard, pained glance. "It sounds strange to hear words of comfort from the lips of a young girl. And yet . . . you don't mind my telling you this?" "Of course not." THE MAN OF DKEAMS 37 "It was a girl like you who brought me down. Does that sound cowardly?" "In a way yes/' she answered. "A man should be the captain of his own soul." "So you think!" He smiled bitterly. "A man gives his soul to the woman of his choice ... at least, I did, or I shouldn't be here now. Once I was full of hope and vigour. Love was my life, as perhaps it is yours." "I don't know," she answered thoughtfully. "Men and women have other things in life besides love." "Then they aren't in love," he flashed back promptly. "I know now that I wasn't in love. Three long happy years I thought I was. That woman was the world to me. Then my luck turned: my prospects went, and her affection went, too. That was how I came to find myself." His fingers began to move blindly towards his vest. She closed them in a warm friendly clasp and drew them away. His glance met hers challengingly. "Why shouldn't I?" he began . . . halted, looked down and, breathing a deep sigh, relapsed into silence. "Would it be safe for me to go now?" she asked. He looked up at the bars of light, touched with changing hues of amber and tawny gold. "Not yet. When the mueddin calls the last prayer from the Djama Salah Bey, the big mosque at the end of the Place Negrier, it will be dark. 38 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS We shall hear him, * Allah Akbar, ayah sal at' you know the words? 'Allah only is Great: there is but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet. Allah is Great.' Don't you say them every day?" "Not now," looking him between the eyes. "You see, I am a Christian. My father was Mahom- medan. When I had been a little while in Eng- land I felt the need to change my faith. In the Christian religion I found something more satisfy- ing than the beliefs of Islam." "But surely your father " "I told him when I reached Tunis a little while ago. At first he was sad, but he said, 'What will be, will be. It is Allah's wish.' I do not believe I could have become engaged to an Englishman and remained a Mahommedan." "Then you are engaged ... to be married?" His tone was quite passionless. "Yes. I am staying with my fiance and his mother at the hotel. His name is Railsford . . . perhaps you hove heard it. He used to be in the Consular service in Algiers." Williams shook his head. "I have never heard the name. What were we saying when you talked about having to go?" She rose and moved towards the window, look- ing up at the interlaced woodwork. The fading twilight painted the upturned face with a warm, flushed rosiness that added to her wondrous beauty. THE MAN OF DREAMS 39 "You were telling me about the sadness in your life." He stretched himself to the full height of his magnificent stature and began to pace the narrow room with slow, grave strides. "It is nothing," he said, something of his old recklessness returning. "The woman threw me over, that's all. I became a bad egg, and have re- mained one ever since. I drifted East, and you know what that means to a man who has nothing to live for." "You have yourself," she rebuked gently. He shrugged his shoulders. "Myself! What am I?" contemptuously. "A scrap of human wreckage thrown up by the under- current of an Oriental city. I stay here, in Con- stantine, so that I may live as I shall die . . . un- known." Saada turned, and her face was lit by a sympa- thetic smile. "You- are not to think of yourself alone," she replied, reaching up and laying her palm against his shoulder. "Won't you believe that in me you have a friend?" He laughed in quiet derision. "Yes! A friend whom I shall never see again." Then, a change coming over him, "All the same, I shall treasure the memory . . . and sometimes, when I am tempted to sink "But you are not going to sink lower," she said 40 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS bravely. "You are going to make a great fight, to win your way back again to the level of other men." His hand closed over hers suddenly. "I wonder is it worth while?" he questioned, regarding her wistfully. "There is so little left to build upon." "And yet so much," she answered gravely. "The sympath}' of a friend will help you. I will stand by you; Lance will, too. He is ever so good." "The man you are to marry?" "Yes. We are leaving Constantine shortly for El Bouira. Won't you come to see us there? Per- haps, if you want a helping hand, Lance would find you something to do." "Why should he?" the man asked. "Because," she assured him, "you have done so much for me. You saved me from something ugh !" "We won't talk about it. In a little while you will be safe in your hotel." "But you will come to see us?" "Perhaps." 'Why do you say that?" He spread his hands in a gesture of self-con- tempt. "How can I come as I am? No decent people would want to know me." "I want to know you. Won't you promise "To try and give up this thing?" tapping the belt at his waist. THE MAN OF DREAMS 41 "Yes," she said. "Give me your word. I know you'll never go back." "Don't you think so?" Her eyes were shining with a serene light. "I am sure of it. Something tells me . . . you will win through." For a long minute he was silent. Then he held out his hand. "I promise ... to put up a fight, little lady . . . and if ever I do win through I will come to El Bouira . . . just to show you that I have made good. See, it is quite dark: in a very little while you will be safely home." Saada looked up. The advantage of his great height had enabled Williams to raise the trap in the low ceiling; she saw a square of purple sky, hazy with the faint luminance of stars. She smiled bravely, though the dread of the unknown still lurked in the background of her mind. "You think it is quite safe to try?" Long since she had lost all fear of him ; it seemed quite natural to look to him for protection. "As safe as anything ever is by night in the na- tive quarter of an Arab town. It will require nerve to jump from one roof to another. You aren't afraid ... to trust yourself to me?" She met his serious questioning with a steady gaze. "Haven't I trusted myself to you all this time? Of course I'm not afraid. Why should I be?" 42 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "I don't know," he answered awkwardly, as he lumbered across the room towards her and looked down sheepishly at his rough attire. "I'm hardly the type to inspire confidence. May I lift you?" An hour since she might have shuddered at his touch. But time had brought an understanding of John Williams; she knew that her sympathy and faith had touched the man in him, and that for a time, at any rate, the brute in his nature was con- quered. She made the slightest motion of assent and stood quite still as his big brown hands caught her by the waist. Then he raised her until her hands touched the side of the trap and she was able to draw herself into a sitting position. "Can you manage?" she asked, watching his fine figure moving to and fro in the gloom. "Just give me your hand. Sit tight when you feel my weight! So!" Her soft, warm fingers closed on his : a surge of feeling swept through him at the; touch; he fought it down, and leaping up- ward, caught the ledge. A moment later they crouched together on the flat roof, breathing heav- ily with the effort of their exertions. Her eyes smiled at him through the peachy blue- ness of the night; he caught the white glint of her teeth against the vivid scarlet of her lips, and a self -satisfied laugh escaped him. "I wonder what your people would think, could they see us now\ I I almost wish . . . I'd never met you." THE MAN OF DREAMS 43 She shook her head as she sat there, recovering her breath. "You shouldn't say that. I might, by this time, have been dead." "Or worse,'' he muttered thickly. "These parts are no place fcr a white woman after dark." "You forget" merrily "I am Arab." "Of course." He passed his hand over his fore- head and brushed back the thick cluster of dark hair. "I so easily forget. Tomorrow, perhaps, almost all you have been kind enough to say will have gone from my mind. But I will try to re- member I promised, didn't I?" "You did indeed," she answered encouragingly. "And when we meet again you'll have such won- derful things to tell me. You will say, 'I haven't fallen back! I've stuck to my guns, and I'm win- ning through.' Won't that be splendid?" He leant closer, a heavy mass against the sharp whiteness of the parapet; the slight warmth of his breath touched her cheek. "Why why do you take all this interest in me?" She looked up into the straight grey eyes, heavy with pain. "I I don't know. I simply can't tell you; un- less it is ... you saved my life. Of course I shall never forget that. Always I shall think gratefully of you, and I shall hope that, very soon, you'll be the fine strong man you used to be." He laughed almost mockingly and shook his massive head to the stars. 44 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "Good Lord, I'm as strong as a horse as a lion, tonight. I could do wonderful things, if only , . ." He checked himself and held out his hand. "Come along," he said curtly. "I've kept you too long already." "Have we far to go?" rising. "A goodish way. Some of the roofs adjoin. At others there is a leap. No one takes the slightest notice except when a guilty Arab takes this way to visit his lady friends. Then, often enough, there is a shriek in the dark, and later his body is found sweltering in the sun. Life doesn't count overmuch with them." They moved forward, quickly putting several streets between them and the scene of their first meeting. A stillness had descended on the town. Saada saw she was at a great height, and marvelled until she remembered that the ancient city is built upon a block of rocks rising perpendicularly nearly a thousand feet above the surrounding countryside. The restless murmur of the River of Sand added its music to the hushed sounds of night life in the native quarter, and afar off a crescent moon sil- vered the rugged line of the distant mountains. Beyond the sable windings of the ravine the cul- tivated fields were darkened here and there by olive groves. And against the blackness of one they caught the white glint of a marabout's tomb. "Your friends will be getting anxious?" The man's cultured voice broke in upion her re- flections. THE MAN OF DREAMS 45 "I'm afraid they will," she replied in a detached sort of way. "My fiance will be wondering what has happened. I left the hotel before noon, and now " "It is past eight, I'm afraid. However, you won't be long now. This ladder leads to a courtyard with an open door. Let me go first, in case you stumble." Once more she surrendered herself quite will- ingly to his strong clasp, and allowed him to grip her hand as he drew her into a narrow shadowed passage. "You had better leave me now," she said, as they struck into the well-lit Place du Palais. "I'm afraid not," he replied with grave deter- mination. "You have a good mile to go along a badly lighted road. I shan't leave you until you reach the hotel." Her eyes kindled. "That will be splendid. I want you to meet Lance." "Who's Lance?" he asked abruptly, puckering his brows. "Don't you remember?" she said, "The man I'm engaged to Mr. Eailsford. I told you . . . when we were in that room." Williams drew his wandering thoughts together with a great effort, The effect of the drug had not yet entirely vanished. "Yes I do recollect . . . something. And didn't you tell me you had been in England?" 46 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Saada nodded. "My father sent me to England to be educated. To Paris first . . . then I was at school four years in Tonbridge. After that I went to London." "London," he repeated. "It seems ages since I was there. How is it in these days? I haven't been to England since before the war." "I saw very little of it really." Her manner had become grave. "You see, I had to work to keep myself. My father lost all his money. He used to to be one of the richest sheikhs in Tunisia. Then misfortune came . . . and he lost everything ex- ce"pt his house. I couldn't stay at school after that so I just took the only job for which I was fitted. I became a translator of Arabic for Mr. Railsford at the Foreign Office." "And now you are going to marry him?" She was conscious of Williams' glance searching her face. "Yes," she said slowly. "We are to be married almost as. soon as we reach El Bouira. I told you that, too. Your memory is very bad." "It is the wretched drug," he said heavily. "I've brought myself to a terrible state. So," as though repeating the words to himself, "you are to be married very soon." The sigh that left him did not escape her. "It seems strange you should marry an Englishman." "It is strange," she agreed. "And yet I don't feel like an Arab. All my thoughts and inclina- THE MAN OF DEEAMS 47 tions are English. I suppose because I've lived so long in your country." "Will you ever go back?" "I think so ... one day. Mr. Kailsford must return to London before he takes up another post elsewhere. One never knows where it may be China, the Far East, Turkey. But I'm glad to be back in North Africa again." They walked the next quarter of a mile over the dusty rise in silence. Williams had relapsed into moody reflection. Something of the buoyancy which he had shown in his squalid lodging had left him; he walked heavily, as a man long denied the power of sleep. Saada's heart went out in sympathy. "When you get back, promise . . . you will rest?" she asked. "Yes, I will rest," he said drowsily. "Without touching the drug." Then, a fresh thought striking her, "Don't you think you had better give the box to me?" "No," he said almost roughly, "it is mine. I prefer to keep it." She accepted the rebuff good-naturedly. "Very well! This is the hotel. You will come in " "Thank you. I prefer to get back." "But Lance " "I have no wish to meet him, or any one ... in my present state." 48 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "Please don't talk like that. You promised not to be hopeless." "Did I?" His manner softened as he caught her pained glance. "I am sorry. Forgive," and he held out his hand. "Will you come before we go?" she asked. "We shan't leave for a couple of days." Williams drew himself to his full height. She noticed the swift heave of the broad shoulders, the squaring of the long jaw. "If you don't see me you'll know I've gone under. Then you needn't bother any more." "If I don't see you I shall come and find you," she said firmly. "I should know the house again. So until we meet again good-bye." A mysterious smile flitted over his face: their fingers met in a warm clasp, lingered a moment; then he drew away, and as a voice called to her from the terrace he turned and swung down the white dusty road. s CHAPTER IV THE SHADOW * """"'^ AADA, wherever have you been?" Lance Railsford came swiftly across the terrace, his voice edged with sharpness, as peering beyond her he watched the tall figure of Williams disappear into the night. "I met with a most extraordinary adventure," she said calmly. "To begin with, I lost my way in the souks. . . ." "To begin with," he repeated irritably, "you had no business to go alone into the souks at all. You know my wishes in the matter." "But, Lance ^" "Don't make excuses. You've no right to follow your own sweet will regardless of other people's feelings. It's a side -of your character which I won't put up with." She looked up coldly into his flushed, angry face. "If you will only be reasonable " He cut her short with a guesture of impatience. "Be reasonable! Good Lord! Is it reasonable for a girl to set off alone and wander at this time of night through the native quarter . . . and then re- turn, lamely excusing herself, in the company of a 49 50 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS strange man? If this is what the return to your beloved East means . . ." His sniff of derision whipped a spot of angry colour into her cheeks. She faced him, calm-eyed, but secretly furious. "I think, Lance, you forget yourself. At least behave like a gentleman." The rebuke sobered him. "It's all very well for you to take the high hand. I've had a most horribly anxious time. You left before eleven. Half an hour later mother received a cable calling her to England." Saada's anger melted. "Nothing serious, I hope, dear?" she asked in a conciliatory voice. He walked the terrace with quick, impatient strides, every now and then glancing back along the road which Williams had taken. "Serious enough," he muttered brusquely. "My uncle Hugh has been taken ill, and I suppose he wants mother to nurse him. Haven't even heard of him for years ; now, when he needs somebody " "Lance, dear, you are in a very bitter mood to- night. Don't be angry." He glowered at her. "But I am angry, so what's the use of denying it? I had to help the mater scramble her things together: she's gone, without your saying good- bye to her . . . and, goodness knows, she's none too friendly disposed to you as it is." "What?" THE SHADOW 51 The words had slipped out almost before he realized their significance. Saada was regarding him with a hurt expression. "Well, what I mean is," he equivocated, "she never has been any too friendly, and now you've absolutely offended her by going off on your own sweet pleasure and . . ." A great fear knocked at Saada's heart. All the same, her voice was restrained. "You have told me something you have never mentioned before. Mrs. Railsford does not ap- proave of me because of my Arab blood. Is that what you mean?" There was something in the perfect control of voice and emotions that he began to feel afraid of. Perhaps he had gone too far. . . . "Oh, I don't know. You made me very angry, and I spoke hastily," he replied in more concilia- tory tones. "I don't care a button what other peo- ple think or say. I want you for myself " She stood full in his path, and the tall graceful figure seemed suddenly to have added to its height. Her brown hand came to rest on his sleeve. "Wait a moment; don't go in just yet. I want to talk to you." "But dinner's ready. You must be tired and hungry. The gong sounded half an hour ago," he said, hedging unskilfully. Saada forced the ghost of a smile. "Thank you, I'm not hungry. I want to know why you said . . . what you did a minute ago. 52 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS You told me when we discussed this question be- fore our engagement that your mother had no objection to your marrying me. You know, Lance," her voice suddenly becoming tender, "I care for you well enough to release you . . . rather than she should be unhappy." The sight of her standing there in the moonlight, the peerless loveliness of face and form, the subtle perfume of her hair, the haunting sadness in her dark eyes, swept the last shred of reserve away. "Darling, don't talk like that!" he slipped his arm about her with passionate warmth. "Yon know I love you more than any woman in the world. Only I was very angry : I do want to see mother and you the best of friends, and this foolishness on your part promised to raise a barrier, that's all. She wasn't well pleased at going off without your being there to say good-bye. Now tell me . . . all that happened." The girl drew a slow breath of relief. She wanted to make Lance happy for all his goodness to her. "I met with an adventure. The first part was decidedly unpleasant." "Oh !" His mind flew back to the stranger. "I was kept shut up in a room at the back of a native bazaar. I went there to buy several things. A young Arab tried to make love to me. He wanted me to kiss him " "Good God!" "I struck him. Then, when he took hold of me, THE SHADOW 53 I cried out, and an Englishman came to my rescue." "By Jove, that's lucky! Who was he?" She looked away, but the white ribbon of road was deserted now. "He told me his name was Williams ... a tall, big fellow." A derisive laugh left Kailsford. "Oh, I've heard of him." His sensitive upper lip lifted in contempt. "Williams, the dopey man of Constantine . . . the biggest blackguard that ever disgraced a fine name." Saada winced at the scorn in Railsford's voice. But just as quickly came the instinct to fight the cause of the man who was down. "I shouldn't like to call him a blackguard, Lance," she said, a strange tenderness underlying her words. "He may have been weak and foolish s to give way as he has done. But I've seen an- other side of his character, as fine as any man could possess. The way he pulled me through was simply splendid." Railsford was idly caressing his close-clipped: dark moustache, and still staring beyond her towards the lights of the city twinkling on the rocky crest of the hill. "Well, what did he do?" he asked. "He appears to have made a creditable impression on you." The girl purposely ignored the scarcely-veiled sneer. For the first time since she had known Railsford she was experiencing a sense of repug- nance. 54 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "I wonder how you would feel if you had been in my position at the mercy of a beast? John Will- iams came and taught the fellow a lesson he will never forget. A score of other Arabs heard his shrieks and swarmed round us. Mr. Williams had to fight his way through. He was as brave and strong as a lion. I saw four men go down. But, of course, he couldn't beat them all, so he took me by a narrow little staircase to the roof, and shel- tered me in his own room till night came on." Railsford, regarding the cameo-like beauty of her face against the darkness, was suddenly conscious of a deep, uncontrollable jealousy. Another man had obviously awakened an interest in her. "I suppose he did what any other decent Brit- isher would have done," he said w r ith cutting sar- casm. "You can't imagine a white man allowing "That is why I don't like to hear you speak of him dear ... as you did," she remonstrated. "He can't be such a blackguard. . . ." He swung round sharply and she caught the swift glint of anger in his eyes. "I tell you, Saada, the fellow's an irreclaimable brute, a public disgrace . . . and I don't want you to have anything to do with him. Of course if a sum of money would meet " The blood rushed and flamed to the roots of Saada's hair. She felt like giving Lance a good shaking. "I don't know what's come over you tonight, Lance. You're not at all your usual self. Why THE SHADOW 55 insult this man because he has fallen? Don't you think, if he had been the sort to repay with money, I should have offered it? He asks nothing, wants nothing but your sympathy and mine." "Did he say so?" Railsford asked foolishly. Her lip curled. "Of course he didn't. But I understand men well enough to know when a kind word, a friendly look, means everything. John Williams promised me ... to give up this drug-taking, and " "My dear girl," he said, faintly amused, "I never yet met a dopey man who wouldn't promise any- thing. It's part of the disease . . . the exhibition of maudlin sentiment which accompanies vows of regeneration. Where does this fellow live?" "In a room in the native quarter." , "You would know the place again?" "I think so. Why?" "I should like you to go there now," he answered in a self-satisfied way. "You would find this John Williams ... by the by, that's only an alias; his real name is John Brandreth Forrester, and he be- longs to one of the best families in Leicestershire . . . I've no doubt you'd find him dead to the world with haschishj or whatever beastly stuff he takes, about as unworthy an object of compassion as one could find." "I'm sorry, but I don't agree." Saada fell in at his side as he slowly walked the length of the terrace. Below them, the voice of the ever-swirling Eummel was full of strange whisperings that 56 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS stirred again the emotions Williams had awakened in her. "My faith in him is unshaken, Lance. I believe he will keep his promise to give up this drug-taking and win through." "And if he does?" Lance eyed her critically. The moonlight showed the sudden surge of colour in her cheeks and the quick brightening of her eyes. "I shall be very glad," she said, clasping her small hands together. "I shall have the satis- faction of knowing that I helped him that I made some return for all he did for me." Her sweetness swept him with a chill of shame. How petty and how despicable his ungenerosity compared with her bigness of heart ! He drew her nearer. The warmth of her body against his own swept the last of his bitterness away. With a hushed murmur of passion he placed his hands upon her shoulders and reverently lowered his lips to hers. For a moment neither spoke; he looked away as he saw the tears, swelling under the dark lashes, break upon her cheeks. "I'm ever so sorry. I was jealous." His manner was penitent. "Something seemed to get hold of me when I saw you two together. I watched from the end of the balcony. I saw him take your hand . . . and hold it. I thought he was going to kiss your fingers. And when you looked up into his face you were smiling ... as I remember you smiled at me the night you promised to be my wife. , THE SHADOW 57 She pressed her warm palms against the back of his hands and her eyes were filled with a great longing. "I want to see other people everybody just as happy as I am." Her voice was vibrant. "I have so much. God has been so good to me. My heart is full. Lance, don't be bitter because it overflowed to this poor human wreckage." Railsford shook his dark head. "Yes, that's what he is, I'm afraid a piece of flotsam thrown up by the back waters of an African town. There is no hope of salving him, really. When he gets quite sodden he'll just go to the bottom, and neither you nor I will ever find him." "We must! We must!" she said vehemently. "I promised I would. Always I shall be ready to put out a helping hand." "But, sweetheart . . . next week we shall be in El Bouira, and it's a thousand to one against our ever staying in Constantine again." "I know where he lives," she said thoughtfully. "A letter from us will find him perhaps help him ever so much when he's tempted to slip back. And if you should meet him, I want you to be kind because he risked his life for me." A spark of generosity momentarily flamed in Railsford's heart. "I didn't realize it at first, Saada. I suppose I ought to admit . . . this man gave you back to me." "That's what it amounts to," she replied, sud- 58 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS denly becoming practical. "But for him I shouldn't be here now. You would never have seen me again." "Was it really as bad as all that?" in a hushed whisper, and his clasp tightened. He caught the swift rise and fall of her bosom as she laboured under the remembrance of the dreadful experience. "They were quite mad, Lance. Most of them carried knives. One brute slashed Mr. Williams' arm. I bound it up as best I could . . ." He held her very fast, and his eyes were shining "with the light of longing. Never before had she seemed so desirable. The warm glow of passion which her nearness always brought kindled to a white heat of desire. This thought of hers for an- other man was torture inconceivable. He hated to think that those little brown hands had soothed the drug fiend in his pain. His face was lowered. "Dearest," he whispered, "you do belong to me . . . every little bit of you?" "Of course," she said, smiling up at him. "I've never given you cause to feel otherwise." "And you will always be the same?" "As long as you love me, yes." "You know I love you." Her lips tried to frame the answer in her heart. Deep down, a little fear was stirring, brought to life by this revelation of a side of his character hitherto unsuspected and unknown. Then she said, very slowly, THE SHADOW 59 "I believe you do, Lance. Only sometimes" her voice breaking "I feel afraid." He put her a little away from him and regarded her with a puzzled expression on his handsome face. "Afraid, dearest ... of what?" But Saada could only shake her small head. She could not tell whence they came, or what was the nature of her fears. There is in the hearts of women an instinct which affords them glimpses into, the unknown. CHAPTER V WHISPERING DEVILS A WORLD of mud-baked walls whose sole light was. the small high window through which heat more than sun penetrated in a perpetual drowsy stream that dulled the senses and stifled hope; the drear drab world of John Williams, once a gentleman. He stared at it dully in the fitful glow from the candle held in his shaky hand. A little hour of life, born by the presence of a wonder-woman, was gone; he was back again crushed by the walls, stifled by the oozing heat, despairing in the great moonlit silence. The guttering flame, as he set it on the stone ledge upon which she had sat, smoth- ered the bars of silver that struck from one wall to the other. He stared at the ledge to him it was an altar whereon lay the deadest of dead hopes. Tonight had shown him a vision the vision of a woman's heart and of a woman's love . . . not the carnal affection of passion, but the love which is so divine that it can reach down and lift from the mire such vileness as he. He sank down, his long legs crossed under him in the fashion he had learned from the Arabs long years before, and tried to fill the room again with her presence. The 60 WHISPEKING DEVILS 61 attempt to recall her physical beauty, the glory of hair and face and eyes, the graceful figure, was a failure; but something finer, stronger, remained . . . the music of her voice, the sweetness of expres- ,sion, the wistful yearning of the glance bent on him in hope. Why should he think thus of her? Why think of her at all? The folly of it struck him as incon- gruous; he laughed derisively at himself, and the hand that long had toyed with the box in his belt lost its indecision. He snapped back the lid and stared in dreamy fascination at the little heap of black pellets. In each was wrapped the power of forgetfulness . . . the pain of remembering what and who he once had been. Across the amber glow that lay upon the crude tiles a shadow fell. He turned with a start, peering over his shoulder, and his finger-nails drummed shakily upon the lid of the box. It was closed now, and the shadow gone. Whose was it, and whence had it come? He asked the question a score of times, pacing his lone prison, and always cheating himself of the answer. There was a gnawing in his body ; an ache of soul, too, so grievous that solace lay only in oblivion. Deep down within him something stirred furtively ; under the sun-tan of his shrunken cheeks a pallor crept till it whitened his face from brow to chin. The breath of the drug glowed in his veins, the voices of the whispering devils were already 62 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS busy in his ears . . . the lid slipped back, the pellet touched his lips . . . and at the touch the man in him awoke. With a moan like the cry of an animal in pain, he looked back and once more saw the shadow on the floor; but even as he stared in horrified amaze the dim lines faded: the nebulous shape vanished and before him. stood Saada Medene. He looked into a face radiant with a great love ; saw her arms outstretched in pleading. The flame of the candle guttered, went out, and across the white streamers of light from the window hurtled the small black box that had brought him to ruin. With a groan of despair Williams dropped back to the ledge and there sat like a figure carved in wood, his mouth resting on his wrist. When, after a while, he lifted his head and stared with childish, expectant eyes at the crazy door, as if some power could bring again the girl of his dreams, the marks of his strong teeth showed against the sun-tan of the skin. The silence, the hopelessness of his position be- came intolerable. He stood up, peering at the window through which he had thrown the box; and then, with both palms pressed against his eyes, he began again that ceaseless pacing of his prison. The craving for movement ebbed and flowed as the desire for the drug alternately deepened and was conquered. At times he made unconscious movements with his arms, sagging and reeling from one wall to an- ^ther, and beating his clenched fists upon the hard, WHISPERING DEVILS 63 dry earth. This was his danger hour, and he knew it ... the contest deliberately taken up for the sake of one almost a stranger to him. In his eyes Was a dreadful luminance : the torture fires of the damned. His fingers brushed back the moist hair from his clammy forehead ; it was wet with dew, yet his lips were parched and burning. For an hour the craving held him. With nothing to aid but the remembrance of a woman's touch and a woman's voice, he struggled on till physical exhaustion drove him to the ledge again. But now he discovered he could think coherently, frame one thought after another from the moment of his first meeting with Saada to the time when she had clasped his fingers in farewell. The knowledge came as somewhat of a shock. He laughed ... to him it seemed a foolish laugh, knowing how many leering devils the shadows held. A girl's frail hand lifted him from the slough of despond ; had tried to place his faltering feet on: the first rung of the ladder that reaches to self-re- spect again. A woman had done this, just as surely as another woman had drawn him along the way to destruction. To him the East had never been a trap baited with irresistible allurements; he had taken the path merely to find forgetting. Life was a boomerang; it had recoiled on his own head and brought him back to worse than the starting-point, only with this difference: his mind and soul were prompting him to think of a good instead of a bad woman. 64 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS The chain of reasoning was both warped and illogical. Did it matter very much, so long as he reached somehow the firm ground of his promise, to try for her sake, as well as his own, to redeem himself? Perhaps she had not said "for her sake" ! Did that matter very much? He had been asked to fight for a principle -ihe duty of man to cease from defiling the image in which God had created him. Shocked by the realization of the depths to which he had fallen, and to the height which he felt within his power to reach, he poured water into a cracked basin and buried his face and hands and; arms in the delicious coolness. The night seemed no longer hushed; the voice of the girl soothed and caressed his ears ... he had; ceased to be alone. He brushed his hair, replaced his jacket and mounted unsteadily to the flat roof. There was a glory of the moon as well as of the stars. He felt both, and raised his arms to them, stretching his gaunt frame as a giant who long has slept. At its zenith the sickle of silver blanched the white walls and threw shadows beyond the gently nod- ding trees. Far from the city, across the quiet of the fields where the night wind made a gentle mur- muring, a dog, guarding the entrance to a Bedouin gourbi, barked. Then came the shrill cry of a jackal. He shivered and looked away. Beyond the river glowed the lights of the hotel. In the wonderful clearness of the air he made out the balustraded balcony, and against it ... black WHISPERING DEVILS 65 shadows like the forms of a man and woman. His mind pictured one of them as Saada Medene; did she think of him as he was thinking of her? It was an idle, useless thought, but tonight he was in the mood to reflect on anything that lifted him away from himself and what he had been. There was the big invisible barrier the realiza- tion she had forced upon him of his own falling away. To keep that always in mind . . . From the gloomy doorway of the street below a young Arab in a flowing white ghandourah moved leisurely among the garbage littering the cobble- stones, and from the henna-stained flute at his lips streamed a cadence of sweet sound. Williams forgot the filth beneath his feet, yet marvelled that such beauty could rise from a quarter so squalid. Surely this should typify his future life: Out of the depths a god did rise, To tear death's veil from eyes That long the darkness held. He had read the lines in the original Greek in far-off Trinity days, when life for him had been a song. There came, too, a fragrant memory of home ... of a grey-walled house, set in the midst of a slumbrous countryside ; of summer days when there was more sunlight than shadow on the fields of golden corn, and a horizon faintly edged with fleecy clouds. England far off, yet brought near by his fleeting acquaintance with an Arab girl. From one end of the parapet he moved to the 66 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS other. The Roman and the Eastern city stretched before him, proudly majestic on its impregnable rock, scarred yet never shattered by its eighty sieges. If rock could stand so much, how vastly more the soul of a man lifted from its vileness by the ennobling influence of a woman ! In the sweet coolness he threw himself down on the blanched stones, and the murmur of the distant river soothed him to the peaceful sleep of an innocent child. CHAPTER VI DESTINY LANCE RAILSFORD found the Transat- lantique Hotel at Constantine all that could be desired. He revelled in the choice cuisine, the bright, exhilarating company, the at- tention to creature comfort which was Monsieur Caret's special pride. Yet inevitably the time would come when he and Saada must tear them- selves away and start for El Bouira. The method of travel promised difficulties; El Bouira lay off the regular track beyond Biskra, supplied by the Chemins de Fer Algerie and the excellent service of the Transatlantique Pullman motors. The agent of the latter company came to the rescue on hearing that transport by camel across the desert had fal- len through. "We can place both a car and a commissaire at your disposal," he said, mentioning extremely moderate fees. "You will travel via Batna and Biskra and complete the journey in five days." Lance went back to Saada, delighted at this good turn of fortune's wheel. "This gives us four more days in this delight- ful place," he said, as he joined her at tea on the hotel terrace. "Time enough to send to Tunis for 67 (68 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS your father and to get him to stay with you in El Bouira until the wedding." Saada was immensely pleased with the prospect. The time with her father in Tunis had seemed all too short, and now that Mrs. Railsford was no longer there to chaperone her, it was essential some one besides Lance should go with her on the long journey across the desert. Accordingly, she telegraphed to Tunis and received a reply saying that Sheikh Medene would join her the following day. They were to leave on the Saturday, taking the road beyond Ain Yagout, where Lance very much wanted to see the remarkable Medrassen monu- ment supposed to be the tomb of a famous Numid- ian king, to Batna, the ancient rampart city of the Third Augustan Legion, where the wonder- ful Koman ruins of Lambaesis still stand, and so through the beautiful mountain and valley scenery of Oued-Ksour to the oasis of El Kantara. The great plain of El Outaya beyond would bring them round the corner of the last range of craggy heights to Biskra, the Queen of the Desert. To Saada the journey appealed immensely a return to the scenes of her happy girlhood's years. But before she left she wanted very much to see Williams again. Lance himself possibly to make recompense for his unreasonable outburst had expressed a desire to go with her to thank Williams for his gallantry. Saada no longer felt afraid as they DESTINY 69 plunged into the network of cream-walled streets heavy with the odours bred by every Eastern town. Her terror had been confined to the small cur- tained room in which Halek, son of Hadji Ahmed, had dared to make love to her. Memories which had haunted her since that night flooded back as they probed further into the labyrinthine ways which Williams had made his home. Was it only the fickleness of a woman's love that had brought him there, away from the world of decent men, to the vicious haunts of the Orient? She shuddered at the sight of impudent painted faces, leering at them from cool recesses made attractive with coloured hangings and tubs of flowering plants. There were other places less alluring, where vice in its naked reality was flaunted without shame. Yet through it all her tender womanliness felt more than pity for this man sunk beyond the ken of his own people. She hung a little more closely on Lance's arm and turned a questioning face to his. "I've been wondering, dear, if it would be pos- sible for you to find something for Mr. Williams to do. I'm sure, if only he could get away from all this, he would be glad of any chance to stand on his feet again." Railsford shook his head doubtfully. "My dear, it isn't that I won't help the poor chap. You'll find when you get to the heart of the matter he won't let you help him. The last thing those poor devils ever dream of is work. By the 70 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS time a fellow's doped the best years of his life away he doesn't possess enough backbone to sell matches. Now where are we?" Saada had stopped to take her bearings by the tall square tower of the mosque of Djama Salak Bey. "That is the house over there. I know it by the small square window in the top storey." Lance nodded and went briskly forward to the entrance a recessed door studded with copper- headed nails beneath a horseshoe arch of carved stone. It opened into a tiny patio with a balcony supported by marble columns with Corinthian capitals Arab loot brought from a Roman city in the plains. A wizened little woman in a thread- bare mahalfa, spotlessly clean, rose from the dish of cous-cous which she was tending at a brazier, and turned her face to the wall at sight of the un- believers. Saada stilled her fears by saluting her in her own tongue, and the wrinkled features expanded in a glad smile that one so beautiful and richly dressed should have honoured her humble abode with her presence. "The blessing of Allah be upon thee and thine for ever!" she mumbled, touching her forehead with her hand and then kissing her finger-tips. "May riches come to thee to the end of thy days, and Mahomet the Camel Driver, the friend of the poor, guide thee from the uprising to the going down of the sun." DESTINY 71 "Great joy also to thee, O true follower of the Prophet!" replied Saada. "It is an honoured privilege that we may enter thy house." Extravagant compliments having thus been ex- changed, the woman drove the young kid and the fowls from the combined living and bedroom, and intimating that she was about to partake of her evening meal, began to spread mats for them on the floor. Saada, however, got over the obligation by pro- ducing a small wad of five-franc notes which she pressed into the skinny palm. Then she said, "We wish to see the rhoumi who lives at the top of the house. Will you give us permission to go up?" The old woman shook her head. "You have come too late. The Englishman you seek has gone away. I am sad and afflicted, be- cause he has been to me, so despised of men, almost as a son. For the third time at the Feast of Ehamadan has he honoured me with his presence ; even as a son, according to the word of the Prophet, honoureth his own mother. But two nights since he shook from his feet the dust of my dwelling, and Kamela will see him no more." Saada kept back the sigh that rose involuntarily to her lips. "Do you know where he has gone?" The other shook her head. "Neither where he has gone nor why he went away. He appeared in great trouble, sick both in 72 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS mind and body. Because the hands of a woman had touched his eyes, he was afflicted with great misery." Saada knew that Kamela was referring to her. "You know, O daughter," she went on, "that for many moons this unhappy Infidel had tempted the wrath of Allah the Great One by taking that which is forbidden both by the Mahommedan and the Christian law." "I know he took haschish" the girl admitted unhappily, "but he promised never to touch it again." The aid woman looked wise. "Does not the Koran say, O pretty one, that to please a woman a man will lie to his god? Even so has the rhoumi done to you. But stay: I am unmindful* of my word to him who was like a son. Is this your name?" and in the thin film of sand that lay upon the courtyard flags at the entrance to her dwelling, she traced with her finger in Arabic characters the name of Saada Medene. "I am Saada Medene," replied the girl. "Why do you ak?" The woman made no reply, but moved to the high wooden bed with its corner-posts of red and gold wood and its silken canopy surmounted by a bevelled mirror beneath a flaming crescent. The claw-like hands groped beneath the canopy, and from the folds of gauze-like material she took an envelope and on it was inscribed in a neat, firm hand Saada's name. DESTINY 73 "He said that one day you would come," the old woman muttered. "I was to give you this . . . and when your eyes have read it the heart that is in you will understand." Railsford apparently took no interest in the conversation. Having taken stock of the Arab woman's room, he had found, in a cupboard-like place without, the gaudily painted sepulchre of a marabout or holy man, a fantastically crude ar- rangement resembling an old-fashioned cradle suspended between wooden supports. Evidently the aged woman thought highly of the guest who honoured her house with his dead presence, for she had covered the coffin with a silk cloth em- broidered in gold thread with verses from the Koran. "Don't bother any more about that fellow," Lance called good-naturedly. "Come and look at the last resting-place of a marabout. I don't sup- pose you've ever seen such a thing before." And then he checked himself abruptly, remem- bering with a shock that Saada herself was of the same race and blood as this revered son of Islam who had found his last resting-place among the goats and fowls in a backyard of Constantine. Of late he had been prone to lose sight of Saada's nationality; it had not struck him nearly as for- cibly as when they were in England, probably be- cause there it was a very uncommon thing to meet Eastern people. Apparently she had not caught his last remark. 74 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS She came towards him, looking troubled, with John Williams' letter in her hand. "We shall never see him again. W T e've come too late," she said gravely. Kailsford's glance went to the sheet of common paper, and he read, "MY DEAR Miss MEDENE, "When you get this I shall have gone. I tried to continue the struggle but found it too much for me. Something tells me that you will try to see me again to test for yourself the sincerity of my promise. Hav- ing failed, I find myself without the courage to face you. "For your big unselfish effort to save me I thank you most gratefully. Fate has been too strong: the help I needed came just a little too late. Try to think of me still with some compassion ; I shall treasure the thought to the journey's end. "Very sincerely yours, "JOHN WILLIAMS." "Well, that settles it. My prophecy is justi- fied," exclaimed Lance, refolding the letter and handing it back. "You can't help such people, because they won't make an effort to help them- selves. Tell the old lady if ever the poor chap should show up again, we looked in to thank him for all he did on your behalf; and if at any time money will help . . ." Saada turned away, her heart too heavy to say more. She could not tell why Williams' failure hurt her so deeply unless, of course, it was be- DESTINY 75 cause she owed her life to him. Under the pres- ent stress of emotion she had no desire to analyse her feelings. She left a gift of money on the Arab bed and passed out into the busy life of the na- tive quarter. Straight-limbed, dark-skinned men and fat women devoid of the veiling adjar slithered along in heelless shoes; not a few turned their faces to the wall as the accursed Christian denied the air with his presence. A water-carrier, in filthy rags, jostled Saada's shoulder with his bulging skins, and a pock-marked man riding his over- burdened ass edged her into the garbage of the gutter. These were her people . . . and Williams had fallen lower than they. The blazing sun beat fiercely down and drew a haze of mistiness over her eyes; the pulsing heat and riot of movement, colour, and sound were blotted out; she was alone once more in a bare- walled room, clasping the hand of the man who had saved her life. She picked her way blindly at Lance's side through the flocks of sheep and goats with which the street was congested. A little crowd gaped open-mouthed at a wandering story-teller in a scarlet turban and blue bernous. Coins were fall- ing into his grimy palm. At the entrance to a cafe black-faced men from the South were beat- ing on skin drums, and scantily-dressed, sensuous- limbed girls were twisting their shining bodies into the most amazing contortions. Yesterday 76 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Williams had belonged to this life had formed part of it; now . . . She shut out the picture and was glad when they struck into the clean sunshine of the Place de Nemours. Somehow she was beginning to hate and dread the East to which she belonged. It was easy now to understand Helen Kailsford's secret antipathy. She stole a sidelong, unquiet glance at Lance's good-looking face. It was set in contemptuous lines, the silent disapproval of all that he had witnessed. Saada felt afraid lest the happiness she had hoped to give him should prove as great a chimera as her faith in John Williams had turned out to be. CHAPTER VII SHEIKH MEDENE IT was late, and Constantino gleamed and scintillated like a jewelled crown against the purple canopy of the night sky, when the slow-moving train rumbled over the El Kantara bridge and drew into the dimly-lit station. Saada had driven down in the hotel motor to welcome her father. As the faintly-illumined carriages, packed for the most part with standing Arabs and perspiring soldiers destined for the Casbah, perched like an eagle's eerie on the high point south of the town, flitted past, she caught a glimpse of a round, good-natured face beaming at her through horn-rimmed spectacles, and waved her small hand to Yakoub, son of Abd-el-Hak, her father's confidential servant and odd man. She had known and loved Yakoub who de- lighted more than anything else in his self-styled English title of Yors Truley ever since she was quite a small child. Sixteen years before, Sheikh Medene, then a prosperous Arab, had bought the man from a Bedouin caravan-owner who had treated him cruelly, and on asking his name Ya- koub had replied, with his fingers pressed to his 77 78 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS forehead, "Yors Truley, my lord," and Yors Truley he had remained ever since. He lowered the window and let down an im- mense armful of luggage. Then with much puff- ing and blowing he waddled to the platform and bowed low before his young mistress, his baggy seroul causing him to look quite as broad as he was tall. "With rev'rince and much pleasureness, Yors Truley, a wretched but fortunit child of the Prohpet, salutes the daughter of Sheikh Medene his master and a Great One of the Earth, yiss," he said in a sing-song voice. "May Allah smile kindly upon her and bring some one more worthy than this worm to move the bagg-ages." Saada laughed and extended her hand, which Yakoub kissed. "The man will see to the baggage, Yakoub. Please take me to my father," she said. But already Sheikh Medene, a frail little man in a green turban and a white silken bernous, on which gleamed a number of French and Tunisian orders, was coming towards them. His faded, kindly eyes lit warmly at sight of the young girl, who kissed him first on each cheek and then on the forehead, and in return he took her bare arm and reverently raised it to his lips. "Indeed, this is the great hour of my life, to see thee once again, my dearest jewel," he said, holding her a little way from him and regarding SHEIKH MEDENE 79 her affectionately. "Your telegram came as a most pleasant surprise." Out of deference to her he generally addressed her in English. Saada led him to the waiting car. "In a way, father, Mrs. Kailsford's leaving was fortunate. I couldn't stay at El Bouira alone with Lance, so he kindly suggested you should be with me until the wedding." The old man gravely inclined his head. "That was a most kind thought. I reverence him for thinking of an old man. Now tell me you are quite happy?" They were drawing down the long road to the town, with Yakoub sitting up very straight behind them, his arms folded after the manner of the servants who attend his Excellency the Governor when he drives through the streets of Tunis. "Oh, quite!" the girl answered, after a short pause. "Lance is very good to me, and I'm sure we shall have a happy married life. But, father," glancing up into the once-handsome face on which age had set its seal in deep lines, "you are not looking so well as when I left you in Tunis." The kindly almond-shaped eyes took on a shadow of sadness, the gentle mouth quivered. "Allah the All-Wise and All-Powerful has de- creed that these unworthy shoulders of mine shall still be heavily burdened," he answered slowly. "It is the price one pays in old age for the sins 80 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS of youth. Through suffering alone the heart of man learns wisdom. Let that pass, light of my eyes; the French Government bears heavily upon me for taxes. Ever I am becoming a poorer man." She looked away, troubled. "I only wish it were in my power to help. But as the wife of a comparatively poor man I shall be able to do but little to repay all your good- ness to me." "Dear child" the frail hand closed over hers "I look for only one reward to see you happy. My own trials are but the visitations from the Most High. Could I but know that always a smile will light on your face " "Dear, I have found happiness. My husband will be everything to me, even as I shall strive to be all in all to him." "But your husband's mother, of the shrewd eyes and double-edged tongue . . . does she wish you well?" The colour drained swiftly from Saada's cheeks. "Oh, I think so, father. Generally she is very kind; though sometimes I imagine . . ." Her voice was lost in the throaty roar of the car as it toiled the rise. "Well, what do you imagine?" asked the sheikh insistently. The tired eyes had become in an in- stant pin-pricks of flame. "Perhaps it is hardly fair to say so, when she is not here," the girl went on. "But I have SHEIKH MEDENE 81 thought that she resents . . . her son marrying a woman of another race." "So! So! I had feared it!" sinking back against the cushions. "The natural prejudice of the West against all that is Eastern. Perhaps it is inevitable; they are different peoples. Has she said aught to you?" To no one else in the world could Saada have made the confession. "Not to me, dear; but I fancy more than once she has raised objections with Lance. I myself went over all the ground, put every obstacle in his way when he first proposed to me. I do realize that there are vast differences between the English and the Arabs; I realize that, more and more each day, now that I am back again in the land of my own people." A sigh drifted from him. He averted his glance and appeared to be watching the hurry- ing night-life of the town. Then, very gravely, he asked, "Do you feel very much that these . . . are your own people?" Her head rose suddenly; she shot him a sur- prised glance. "Why, what a strange question to ask! Of course, when I see the clear sky, the burning sun, the colour and picturesqueness everywhere, I know that I am back again in the land where I was born." "But the people the people?" he repeated. 82 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS The slender shapely shoulders rose and fell. The expression on the sensitive mouth presaged a disavowal. "I I must confess I am disappointed," she said gravely. "To me they appear indolent and dirty, with no desire in life but to sleep the hours away. The girls seem to live only for love-mak- ing and fine clothes; the men drink and smoke and gamble from sunrise to* sunset. . . . Mind you, father, I'm speaking only of what I've seen." He looked troubled. "I fear it is all only too true. Except for the better classes, there is little real work done. And does not the Koran rightly say, 'The hand that goes not willingly to labour takes full toll of soul-destroying pleasure?' This is the curse which has fallen on our land since the rhaumis came and took possession. We see their follies and strive to imitate them; strong wine, for- bidden by the Prophet, becomes our drink, and eyes that once were famed through all the world for brilliance now grow dim through this accursed thing. . . . But we come back to the mother of your future husband." "She has returned to England to be at the bed- side of a dying relative." "True, true. But I am thinking is it possible her son is sharing in secret the view she holds?" Saada shook her small head. "I am certain he does not. Lance made his SHEIKH MEDENE 83 choice of his own free will after every objection I could put forward had been raised. Once only has he referred to his mother's attitude. . . ." "So the seed is already there?" She smiled confidently. "I offered to release him. He will not let me go." "But in England when you return?" "In England," she replied honestly, "I was made to feel my position. People who knew of my Arab blood looked down on me. Their doors were shut in my face. For this reason alone I was glad to return to Tunis." "One day you will go back?" Her lips trembled. "I suppose I shall. Everything depends on Lance's work. He might be posted to the Foreign Office again. In that case " "You will be at an unfair disadvantage." "Why unfair?" she asked quickly. Sheikh Medene stroked his white beard. "I ought not perhaps to have said that. The re- sponsibility is your husband's. If he loves you for yourself " "I'm sure he does. The difference in blood will not count with him. Mrs. Eailsford's objections such as they were he overruled: Ah, here we are at the hotel ; you must be very tired." The sheikh rose heavily on a gold-mounted cane. "We will talk further of this another time 84 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS before your wedding-day," he said enigmatically. "Allah has been good to give me this chance of seeing you before you go to your husband." Railsford was standing in the vestibule beyond the short flight of steps leading to the hotel terrace when the car bringing Saada, Sheikh Medene, and his servant drew into the circle of radiance cast by the overhead lights. A number of young fellows two from the Eng- lish bank, one from the British Engineering Com- pany of North Africa, and one attached to the For- eign Office Intelligence Department had strolled up from the town to smoke and chat an idle hour away before dinner. The hum of conversation between them ceased as Yakoub, pompously self-important in his master's interests, waved imperiously to the little group of servants clustered on the steps. "Now, fellahs yoh ; mak' way dah for one ob the great wans ob dis earth, indeed. Get you some carpet for set down; dis gravel am wet, and the Sheikh ob Medene, inshallah, will mek de Pilgrim- age agen, and say Fatihaho only for dem that reckernize him greatness. This is the word ob Yors Truley, humble servant to his mos' illustr'ous master. Tek that luggidge, bye." Yakoub jumped down amid a general flurry of excitement and drove the hotel servants like sheep before him to do his master's bidding. In his eyes, Sheikh Medene was of more importance than the SHEIKH MEDENE 85 Bey of Tunis, and just as important, to Yakoub, was this unique opportunity to air his uncompar- able English. Purkiss, of the Credit Foncier d'Algerie, turned to the aristocratic-looking man beside him and! wrinkled his brows. "Good Lord, Barville, what sort of circus is it a page out of the Arabian Nights Entertainment or a Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera? The old gentleman looks as though he might have stepped out of ancient Baghdad; the fat bespectacled boy from the stage door of the Savoy . . . and the girl . . . my God! she's pretty! Who is she?" Railsford, moving towards the entrance, caught only the end of Purkiss' remark. He was in time to hear Barville's reply, "The lady must be Miss Medene, Railsford's fiancee. The sheikh, I believe, is her father; isn't that so, Railsford?" Lance reddened. He had been careful to keep Saada's nationality a profound secret. Yet some- how an inkling of the truth had leaked out. Be- fore he could put in a word the middle-aged man on the edge of the group had taken Barville up. "Nonsense, Sir Louis," he said in a guarded manner. "That girl belongs to Constantine. I've seen her myself in the native quarter. It's hardly the thing, you know, to suggest Railsford is engaged to a lady of colour." Lance could no longer remain silent. As the 86 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS sheikh came forward, leaning on Saada's arm, he turned to his friends. "I'm afraid you fellows must excuse me. Miss Medene has been to the station to meet her father. He is very old, and must be tired after the long journey. Perhaps you will come along to dine be- fore we go. What about Friday say at half -past seven?" Saada had been halted in the midst of a barri- cade of luggage and was issuing orders to Yakoub. Barville eyed her frigidly through his monocle. "Sorry, Railsford, but I've promised to feed young Rivington at the club on Friday." "And I am leaving for Algiers by the morning train," interjected Purkiss, lying easily. The others excused themselves with equal clumsi- ness. For the first time since his arrival in North Africa Railsford experienced a sense of shame. He had always half feared the fact of his being en- gaged to a native girl would bring about social ostracism, yet, now that he w r as faced with the fact, the prospect alarmed him. He bade his friends good-night, and turned away, making no endeavour to introduce them to Saada. Purkiss looked back and grinned over his shoulder as Sheikh Medene greeted his future son- in-law in truly Eastern fashion by kissing him on each cheek. "Shade of Hermes, but some fellows do ask for trouble !" he muttered, falling in at Barville's side. "I can understand his falling in love with the girl SHEIKH MEDENE 87 no man with blood in his veins could help it ... but as to marrying her ugh!" "And to take on the family !" Sir Louis stared blankly at his companion. "Would you dream any fellow could be such an unutterable fool? And I believe, too, he's got something of a position out here." "Not such a position as he'll have when his uncle dies." Purkiss was official news-gatherer to the little English colony in Constantine. "Thorburn, of the Lyonnais, who was up with him at Cam- bridge, told me only yesterday that when the old man pegs out, Railsford comes into nearly half a million, and one of the finest seats in the home counties." "And yet," scoffed Barville, pausing to- light a cigarette, "he ignores the hundreds of nice' English girls and commits the unpardonable sin of touching the colour streak." Purkiss looked serious. "I feel more sorry for the girl than for him. At least he goes into the business open-eyed; she doesn't dream what's in store for her. Where are they bound for after the marriage, I mean?" Carew Hopson, who had hitherto kept silence, broke in on the discussion. "To El Bouira, of all places. He's going to be the new Vice-Consul there . . . and of course, so far as the English-speaking community is con- cerned, it's about as select as it can be. General Bravington's wife queens it; you can imagine the 88 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS sort of reception an Arab girl married to an Eng- lishman will get." Barville shook hi's head. "It's a mistake, a colossal mistake. I never yet knew a case to turn out satisfactorily especially when the man is in a public position. Either he has to hide the woman away or clear out himself. In this case ... I shouldn't blame him for stick- ing to the girl. She is very beautiful." Purkiss laughed. "I'm afraid Railsford's not built that way. He's lost his head and senses to a pretty face and fine figure. When the edge of passion wears off he'll make some excuse to get out of his bad bargain . . . pension the old man to take the daughter back with him to Tunis, or wherever he comes from." "For myself," interrupted Hopson, as they struck down the high-walled road towards the town, "I should say the girl's half English the product of a mixed marriage, an Arab father and a white mother." "You can't tell," said Purkiss dogmatically. "Because she lacks the slightly slanting eyes and the Semitic nose of the true Arab is no criterion. I've seen natives in the Kroumerie in Ain Dra- ham, to be precise as fair as ever came out of Devonshire. Descendants of the Romans, no doubt; and at every fourth or fifth generation the Western blood comes to the top. Barville was thinking of sweet-faced Saada. SHEIKH MEDENE 89 "Anyway, it seems jolly rough on the girl ; that's all I can say." And there the discussion ended. Railsford, however, was almost as intimately conscious as though he had been present. He had caught the changed expressions of their faces, the sudden frigidity of manner, scented the lameness of the excuses why they should not meet again. The thought haunted him for the rest of that night; made him more susceptible than he otherwise might have been to the surprised looks directed at them over dinner by the other guests The raised brows, the interchange of glances, the hush which fell upon the diners when Saada, followed by the sheikh in his flowing white robes and rich turban, took their places at the table, told him more plainly than any words that the sending for the old Arab had been an act of colossal indiscretion. He could not find it in his heart to blame Saada ; he put the burden, subconsciously and unreason- ably, on his mother, who had led him into such an impasse. Through the long formal meal Mbnsieur the proprietor had taken great pains to get prepared a special com-cous in honour of his distinguished visitor Lance ate and drank hardly anything. Instead he relapsed into a moody silence un- affected by the unusual animation Saada displayed. It was plain to see how happy she was at the oppor- tunity of reunion with her father. Six long lonely years had drifted since the sheikh, then a man of 90 A DAUGHTER OP THE SANDS considerable substance, had sent her to Europe to be educated. And when her school days were over and Saada had intended to return to her beloved sunny Tunis, the blow of financial ruin had fallen to keep her in England. By shrewd design rather than inadvertently Mrs. Railsford herself had so arranged matters that their stay in Tunis was short. Powerless to dissuade Lance from his purpose to marry Saada, at least she could so plan their journey from the coast to El Bouira that there was little opportunity to asso- ciate with the Arab family into which her son was marrying. Now all these skilfully-laid plans had been rendered void by Uncle Hugh, in his dotage, sending post-haste for the sister whom he detested. Altogether not a happy chain of thought, for a young man of Railsford's temperament, consider- ably susceptible to circumstance and environment, to indulge in. To make matters worse, he showed no desire to hide his feelings. To Sheikh Medene a pattern of cultured old-world courtesy he was stand-offish and guardedly supercilious. He sel- dom interjected a remark unless directly addressed, and then only in monosyllables. At first Saada failed to notice his change of man- ner, but as the time to leave Constantine drew on it became more plain that Lance was already regret- ting the step he had taken in suggesting the sheikh should join them. Not having fully counted the cost in loss of prestige among his own people, the price was making its weight felt. SHEIKH MEDENE 91 That afternoon, through the courtesy of M. Moray, the Transatlantique's- resident agent, who had taken unending pains to make their stay in Constantine enjoyable, and, in fact, had gratuitously placed at their disposal a car to visit all the sights in the city" and neighbourhood, they had driven to the Palace of the Bey el Hadj- Ahmed, a wonderful example of Arab architecture enclosing four beauti- ful gardens surrounded by handsome pillared gal- leries. The sheikh had much admired the wonder- ful show of orange and citron trees, and the party were turning away when a message came from the resident French general who occupied the gorgeous ujfper rooms of the Bey's pavilion requesting that Saada and her father, whom he had known years before in Tunis, should be presented to him. To this Lance took exception, and did not even try to hide his ill-feeling. He had no wish to be received by the general in company with an Arab, even though the Arab might be a sheikh and person of high degree ; he made an excuse to sheer off, and Saada and her father went in alone. The ebullition of ill-feeling was purely tempor- ary, by the time the hotel was reached Lance had put it almost out of remembrance. Saada, how- ever, felt the slight deeply, but said nothing until a late hour brought her and her lover to their custom- ary good-night stroll on the hotel terrace. Beyond the gravelled drive stretched rising grass land where immense blocks of grey granite, half -buried, told the romantic story of a once- 92 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS proud Roman occupation possibly a temple to Venus or Celeste, judging from the exquisite carv- ing of the stones. On the broken capital of one of these immense columns Lance had seated himself and was idly watching the play of light on the turbulent water rushing through the ravine below. He felt instinc- tively that Saada had waited for this hour, when they should be alone, to speak of things she could not mention in the presence of her father. He had a vague, semi-repentant consciousness of guilt, of having fallen away from those ideals of chivalry and unselfishness which Saada always associated with him. Secretly he felt mean : conscious of hav- ing made a bargain which in some respects had not quite fulfilled expectations, and because the results had been somewhat different from anticipa- tion, he had allowed her clearly to see his dissatis- faction. Saada was frankly honest. She came directly to the point. Kneeling on the warm earth beside him and resting her hands on his knees, she met him with steady, unflinching gaze. "Lance, I want you to reconsider your decision about marrying me," she said very quietly, fighting back the emotion under which, she laboured. "I know all you have been feeling and suffering these last few days, and " "You know what?" he asked, suddenly fearful of his own happiness. Her small head tilted farther back; he watched SHEIKH MEDENE 93 the rippling quiver of the tiny muscles about her throat. In the soft luminance of the stars her teeth were dazzlingly white, her eyes beautiful, despite their shadowed sadness. "I know that things have happened to make you wish you had never engaged yourself to me. I know that the coming of my father to Constantine, the closer association of Eastern with your Western ideas, have made you half regret the step you have taken." He leant forward, and placing his hands beneath her arms, held her supple body fast. "You think I have ceased to care for you, dearest?" he whispered, carried away by the lure of her beauty. The mouth that was willing to sub- mit to his impassioned kiss grew suddenly firm. She drew a little away from him, and her voice was strong with resolution. "I don't think you have ceased to care, Lance, but I do want you, for your own sake, to let me go." Eailsford had not dreamed it would come to this. He had satisfied his own meanness 1 of soul up to the safety-point of immunity from consequence; now, faced with the loss of Saada, he felt suddenly afraid. For a moment he made no answer to her unex- pected request : his tongue passed over his dry lips ; he drew a long deep breath of surprise. Then, regaining his self-possession, he said, "You really don't expect me to take you seriously, 94 A DAUGHTER OP THE SANDS dear . . . unless, of course, you no longer care for me." It was a coward's way, to throw the blame on her, and his voice failed over the last words. Saada merely regarded him with a look of tender compas- sion. "When you asked me how much I cared . . . I told you without any reserve, Lance. I had never known what it was to love a man except my own father until I met you in London. Then . . . well, you know how it happened ; we just seemed to grow fond of each other, and when you asked me to marry you . . . I I was very happy . . . be- cause I thought you would be happy, too." "Well, and have you since lost faith in me?" "Perhaps I have lost faith in myself. I wanted to feel that in me you had found all you could need in this life ; some one to fill every hour with happi- ness." He knew that she was taking the major burden on her own small shoulders. Still he remained selfishly obdurate. "You don't believe you can make me happy?" he asked. "Not unless your love is deeper, stronger than it is now, Lance" raising her troubled face to his. "I don't want to hurt you, but I am anxious to save you from a step you might afterwards regret." "Why should I regret?" he asked, almost roughly. SHEIKH MEDENE 95 "What sort of a man should I be to regret having married you?" "You are beginning to realize . . . the truth of what I told you that afternoon in the Cotswolds. Blood will tell. There is a difference; the East and the West are so far divided that nothing but perfect love can bridge them. I believed you to be in earnest about our engagement : perhaps you are still . . . but I am more than afraid for your sake." In an instant he had clasped her shoulders, and bending, kissed her. "Of course I love you," he said impatiently, as though hurt and surprised that she had ever doubted him. "I have always loved you . . . ever since I first saw you in London. I wanted you then . . . made up my mind to win you . . . and now now you are talking about breaking off the engagement." "Only, sweetheart, because things seem so dif- ferent," she remonstrated gently. "We are getting very near to our wedding-day. Sometimes I have fancied a change has come over you ; that you have felt you would be standing in your own light if you married an Arab girl. I know how you have felt about my father. His being with us sets the stamp of race upon me." The poise of her head told him more plainly even than her words the pride she took in her father. "I am not ashamed. Can* you say the same?" 96 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "You quite misjudge me," he said, looking hurt, "because I do not understand Eastern people and Eastern ways as you do. I respect the sheikh, and honour him immensely. You mustn't blame me, darling, if I haven't as much affection for him as you have." "The last thought in my mind is to blame you for anything," she replied. "I shouldn't blame you if you said now, 'Our engagement is a mistake; I want to break it.' I should admire you for be- ing strong." His long fingers smoothed the softness of her hair. "You are very foolish tonight, little sweetheart . . . filled with strange fears. I have never at any time wanted to let you go: least of all now, with our wedding-day so near. Every hour you grow more precious, more necessary to my happiness. I couldn't ever ever let you go." In the shelter of his arms she ceased to feel afraid. Her warm body moved yieldingly to his; she hid her face against his shoulder and he felt the softness of her breast. Then, with a gesture of thankfulness, she lifted her head, brushed the tears from her cheek and raised her lips. Kailsford thrilled at the touch of her childish mouth. In his nostrils was the subtle perfume of her flesh, her hair. He held her fast, his breath coming quickly . . . and in turn kissed her on the lips and the brow. SHEIKH MEDENE 97 "Saada, I am in heaven with you/' he murmured passionately. "Have I been very cruel, Lance?" she asked, still nestling close. "Not cruel," he said, smoothing the troubled lines from her forehead. "Only a little unjust. You made me feel as though I had done you an injury." "And all the time you weren't really dissatis- fied with your bargain?" "Of course not" laughing boyishly. "How could I be? You mustn't worry your dear head because I haven't quite accustomed myself to your father's Eastern ways." She slid her hand trustingly into his. "And you will never regret, Lance? I would ; rather you said so now . . . before it is too late." "Darling" gently releasing her "I have told you. I shall never regret . . . never." CHAPTER VIII A HERITAGE OF BLOOD AS they stood together on the terrace the following morning, Lance with her father and Yakoub, grouped about the magnifi- cent car which was to take them to the desert, far to the south, Saada felt almost ashamed of her over- night fears. Lance positively radiated enthusiasm as he looked over the motor with the stalwart driver whom the Transatlantique had supplied. "The machine is simply wonderful," he said, re- joining the girl on the hotel steps. She'll run like quicksilver on a thousand-mile sheet of glass. The body can be covered in if we get rain in the mountains ; there's ample room for all the luggage. It's another amazing example of road transport beating the railways every time." "And in Africa, too," Saada's dark eyes sparkled. "That's what fascinates me, Lance to know we can go from one corner of this marvellous country to another, visit Roman ruins and long-lost cities, without once having to consult a time-table." Francois van Ecken, the Belgian chauffeur, six- feet two in his shoes and strong as a lion, touched his peaked cap politely. 98 A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 99 "Mademoiselle will see all the wonders of Algeria for the first time. Parbleu! they are tres magni- fique . . . the mont&gnes, the Kabyle country, the hot springs pouf! those Romans knew somedink. And my car ah! she is tres bon, tres bon. You see." She laughed as she watched him purr over the beautiful engine, the spotless bodywork, the roomy interior, and felt that this break in* a somewhat strained situation had come just at the right time. Lance had apparently quite forgotten if ever he had really nurtured his aversion to his Arab companions, for he laughed and chattered with Yors Truley and the sheikh as though they had been lifelong friends. Altogether Saada felt more happy than she had done for a long time past. It meant so much to her, to know that Lance was trying to overcome the prejudice which most white men have for people of another race. The keynote to success in their married life lay in this vital surrender. Saada's love for her parent formed so great a part of her existence, that hostility or contempt whether veiled or otherwise on Lance's side must have made a successful marriage utterly impossible. Monsieur Momy, who had so ungrudgingly acted as their cicerone during their pleasant sojourn in Constantine, came to see them off, and handed to Lance personal introductions to the company ; s agents at Batna and Biskra. "Whatever you wish done they will attend to; 100 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS anything you or your friends desire to see you have only to mention it to them." Lance expressed his gratitude and warmly shook Momy's hand. "It is a wonderful way of doing business," he said. "In all my travels I have never seen any- thing to equal it." Monsieur bowed at the compliment. "We aim at a general freemasonry among all who use our service, Monsieur Bailsford. We like you to feel that in every one of the com- pany's servants you have a personal friend. Bon voyage!" Monsieur and Madame Caret, the latter with an armful of poppies nestled against her bosom, waved them farewell; the big motor purred down the white, dusty road and bore them swiftly through, miles of pretty country towards the mountains. Saada sank back, her arm linked through her sweetheart's and her small hand slid affectionately into his. It seemed that at last the realization of her fondest dreams was coming true. All through the long lonely years in England, where her herit- age of blood had so cruelly isolated her behind a barrier of prejudice and scorn, she had turned her thoughts to the hour when once again fate should lead her steps to the sun-kissed, flower-garlanded land of her birth. As the car sped on, devouring the miles of blanched roads bordered by fields, where the wild flowers grew in such a riot of abundance that Nat- A HEKITAGE OF BLOOD 101 lire seemed to have splashed all the world with vivid colour, her mind was full of these things ... a warp and woof of grateful remembrances and sad regrets. Bitterness found but little soil in her loving nature; she wanted to forgive and forget those who had made her unhappy: Mrs. Railsford, perhaps, who had been her bitterest secret enemy Saada tried hard to attribute it to mother-love for her son. There was only one other sadness, and that did not belong to England the remem- brance of John Williams and his unavailing endeavour to free himself from the toils. How she would have rejoiced to the full measure of her big generous heart had he but sustained a little longer the effort to win freedom. One day, perhaps, she would hear of him again. . . . "Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" Lance broke in on her reflections, pointing to the edging of petite 'bleu which for miles bordered the track like a ribbon of purple velvet against a bar of silver. On either side were vast stretches of tawny red marigolds, flaming poppies, tall moon- daisies ; and here and there, sheltered from the sun burning in an unflecked sky by groves of olive, citron, and the cool foliage of dark green cypresses, were tiny farmsteads, the homes of French colonists who had left their beloved land to plant in the soil of Africa the roots of a new Colonial empire. In the wide stretches that lay between these brave little outposts of civilization were the tents and gourbis of wandering Bedouins and olive-skinned 102 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Kabyles who had immigrated from their mountain fastnesses in the West. But, more wonderful still the relics of the greater civilization that the ages had failed to sweep away the bridges, roads, aque- ducts and mighty buildings left by the hands of Imperial Rome. Here they stood, shorn of but little of their former grandeur, magnificent tem- ples, mighty cisterns, deserted amphitheatres and triumphal arches which long ago had echoed to the steps of men famous in the history of the world. Lance was boyishly enthusiastic. Here, indeed, was recompense for the long period of seemingly profitless work done in London. The lure of the sunshine, the ever-present fragrance of flowers, the caress of the soft winds were a perfect setting to the adventure upon which he had embarked. It was early evening when they reached Batna, a clean, well-built garrison town, whose chief claim to consideration, so far as the hot and dusty travel- lers were concerned, lay in the superb hotel accom- modation awaiting them. They bathed and changed and sat down to dinner prepared by a chef who had learned his skill at the Carlton. The sun was still glowing grandly in the west by the time they had finished coffee in the beauti- ful shady gardens. Lance was chatting with Sheikh Medene and Yakoub when Francois van Ecken approached. The four drew to where Saada w r as sitting. "The chauffeur has just made an excellent sug- A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 103 gestion," Railsford announced. "We may as well crowd every hour while we can. What do you say to a glimpse of the cedar forest of Mount Tour- gourt? We get some magnificent views from the slopes, besides a sight of very interesting Kabyle villages." Saada was delighted with the prospect and hurried to her room to fetch a coat, for after the short twilight, cool winds sweep down from the hills. There was a short walk through the town to the place where horses can be hired. Saada waited under the palms with Yakoub and her father while Lance went off with Frangois to arrange terms. She stopped abruptly in the act of saying some- thing to Sheikh Medene : a tall big man was cross- ing the further side of the square, and as he paused and looked back across the tree-bordered space, Saada recognized him . . . John Williams, the pariah man of Constantine. He still looked shabby, almost as poorly clad as on the fateful night when he had rescued Saada from the fury of the Arab mob, but there was this difference : the ragged clothes had been darned and brushed, the abundance of crisp dark hair was no longer tousled and matted, the face glowed clean- shaven in the sunset; his bearing was that of a man who had passed through deep and troubled waters and was striving to emerge victorious. Saada watched him in pleased surprise. Quite unconscious of her scrutiny, he had halted in the 104 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS shade of an arch of purple bougainvillea that stretched at the entrance of a narrow turning from one side of the street to the other. Behind rose the squat octagonal tower of a mosque, balconied and canopied, the uppermost portion surmounted by a pepper-box-like structure of coloured tiles, bear- ing at the summit a glittering crescent. Under the blanched walls a little group of dark- faced, lustrous-eyed children in home-made gar- ments of green, yellow, and vermilion were eyeing longingly the stall of an itinerant seller of grapes. At sight of the big Englishman who halted to watch a procession of richly-dressed Arabs following in the wake of silk banners and flaming streamers a wedding-party on their way to the bridgegroom's uouse they surged round him holding out grubby little palms and musically tinkling the gold rings in their ears as they shook their heads in a vocifer- ous request for baksheesh. The grey eyes turned on them a kindly smile; he said something that made them all laugh, pat- ted the head of the smallest and gave to each in turn a small coin the entire contents of his purse. The sunlight dimmed Saada's eyes with suspi- cious moisture; a mist blotted out the procession, but she caught the glad, eager cries of the pretty children as with a toss of their coloured peaked caps they ran helter-skelter in the direction of the seller of grapes and aubergine. She saw the smile that lingered on the face of Williams ; the last pair of saffron legs had vanished round the corner; A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 105 then, as he turned in under a shadowed archway, she addressed Yakoub. "Yors Truley, I want you to follow the big rlioumi over there; find out where he lives and what he is doing in Batna." Yakoub's tub-like form wriggled with pleasure at being entrusted with a mission by his young mistress. The tips of his fat fingers met in the centre of his forehead and, making a low salaam, he answered, "Dot is already done. De act am fuss-cousin to de command, mos' high born. Dis crawlin' worm will follow urn if necessarible to de gates ob Mecca." The gaudy banners floated in the wind; the drums were still thrupping and the drone of the singing processionists resembled rather a funeral than a wedding-party. Saada's emotions were equally extreme a feeling of deep satisfaction that Williams, in spite of a temporary lapse, looked like making good, yet tinged with a strange regret because he had passed on without seeing her. As the bernoused and turbaned mob vanished round the corner, Kailsford appeared at the head of a string of horses led by a disreputable-looking ruffian, whose attire consisted in the main of strips of sacking stitched together, with holes for arms and legs. On sighting Saada and the sheikh he ex- plained, with profuse apologies that though poor he was scrupulously honest, and apart from the generous tips which he was sure the "duchess" 106 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS would give him, he was quite content with his lot, seeing that two pilgrimages to Mecca in his youth had assured him a hundred thousand years of pleasure with the houris in Paradise. "Then every one's satisfied!" laughed Kailsford, when the whole party was mounted, and he drew alongside Saada. "But why have you sent Yors Truley back to the hotel?" "I haven't," she replied, blushing. "While you were seeing about the horses a most extraordinary thing happened. I saw Mr. Williams." Eailsford's eyes darkened. "What ! Here in Batna?" "Yes, crossing the square on the far side. He looked better than when I saw him in Constantine physically, I mean but awfully poor. I don't believe he has enough to live on." "So you sent Yakoub to inquire?" She could not fail to notice the sneer that lurked behind the suggestion. "I told Yakoub to find out all he could in case there is anything we can do for him." Kailford's mouth took on an expression of con- temptous disapproval. "It seems to me, my dear, you're carrying this sense-of-gratitude business too far. The fellow wants neither your help nor your sympathy. He showed that plainly enough in the letter he left be- hind. Why not let him go his own way?" Saada's face lit. "I haven't forgotten I can never forget, Lance A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 107 i that every hour of life has been given me by that man. This wonderful night . . . the sunset, the scent of the flowers, the pleasure of having you and father with me ... I owe everything to John Williams. It wouldn't be easy or kind to- try to forget." The tall Englishman leant sideways in the sad- dle and eyed her searchingly. "So all your days you are going to remember that everything good in heaven and earth comes from the hands of John Williams?" She smiled. "I shall never forget what he did, any more than I could forget my father's love, or your goodness to me. Lance, dear, you surely aren't jealous?" "No, not jealous," he disclaimed irritably, flick- ing the ears of the mare with the fly-switch. "All the same, I do think, considering the message he left behind, you ought not to bother your head any more about him. Anyway, the subject is not over-pleasant, so we won't discuss it." Saada said nothing, and the matter was not re- ferred to again during the long and pleasant drive through the fragrant shadowed aisles of the cedar forest. But later, as Saada sat alone on the bal- cony of her room watching the mysterious flitting to and fro of the night life of the town, Yakoub knocked gently on her door and came in to re- port on his mission. "You gif Yors Truley much difficultsome job," he laughed. "Dis wretched dog's body am eight 108 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS pound less in grease than whenum started. I see that man . . . tail big fellah he is ... and he work for frowsy Arab camel-driver out there" and he pointed far beyond the blanched walls of Batna to the fields of stubble dotted here and there with the ugly chaivias 'of Bedouin 1 and Kabyle wanderers. "Sixteen* hour day dat white man work Lord, dis" pore chile ob sin sooner be French prison warder up at Lambessa, Clean camel, feed camel, drive camel from free hour before the first prayer up to now. Bah ! A dog's life eben for a Christian . . . and him only just get eighteen franc ebery seven day." Saada listened, secretly thrilling with satisfac- tion. True, the life was fearfully hard, but what a splendid effort in face of the wasted, ruinous years! "Where does he live?" she asked eagerly. Yakoub pointed to the outskirts of the town, dim and mysterious under the still night sky. "The room, li'l but very clean. Some straw and two sack. Eat cous-cmis twice each day and a li'l drink ob sour wine. Cafe, absinthe, cig'rette neber. Arab woman she tell me him good un- crooked man. Allah be praised for one good rhoumi in the land of no profit." Not Allah, but God be praised was the formless prayer that rose from Saada's heart. Many times since that eventful night had she given long anx- ious hours thinking of Williams, hopeful that all would yet be well with him. She rejoiced in the grim struggle which he was waging, yet fretted A HERITAGE OF BLOOD 109 that bonds of convention kept her from going more practically to his aid. That night she slept more happily than for a long time past. At last it seemed that in every direction her sorrows were coming to an end. Lance's treatment of her father had shown of late a marked improvement, much to Sheikh Medene's secret satisfaction. She would have liked to speak to Williams be- fore leaving Batna, but the car was ordered at an early hour w r hen she knew he would be tending or driving his unfriendly charges across the once-fertile lands of Mauretania. They left Batna in the first flush of sunrise, taking the road once tramped by the proud legions of Rome mov- ing inland to their military headquarters at Lam- bessa. It was. an interesting journey through this once fertile granary, that had fed the Western world. Now all that was left were the occasional cultivated' tracts wrested from desolation by French colonists, the paved ways and ruined tem- ples, the tall columns and the grand triumphal arches on the hills. At length they halted in the spacious stone-flagged streets of Timgad, the "show" city of Northern Africa. They would have loved to spend a week among the fine buildings and' dignified colonnades, the wonderful statues and exquisite carvings, but El Bouira was calling. The land changed. Gone were the grim moun- taifiis-, the rushing torrents-, the fertile plains and 110 A DAUGHTER OP THE SANDS fragrant valleys . . . the 'world was given over to a blazing desert of sand, dotted at far intervals with cool oases of thousands of palms. They made El Bouira three days behind time, being delayed by a' sand-storm which for many hours buried the wide Roman trackway under several feet of fine dust. Fortunately, at the end of seventy-two hours, the burning south wind veered round to the east and brought a breath of coolness from the salt lakes ; the dust lifted, and in the cool of a delicious evening they sighted, clear against the western horizon, the green fields and the tree-sheltered walls of El Bouira. Never had Saada seen anything so beautiful as this first glimpse of the place which was to be her future home. A gem of. softest emerald set in the crown of blazing gold . . . groves of citron, lemon, and orange, springing up at the fringe of the desert and providing cool shade to the very gates of El Bouira. An- immensely high wall, planted at intervals with embattled towers -more picturesque than ser- viceable in their ruinous decay, surrounded the town, and about it frothed and seethed white clematis, purple-bougainvillea, sweet-smelling jas- mine and cluster-roses. At the end of a broad, well-lighted street bordered with plane trees and palms stood a small but dignified building, the English church, raised some twenty years before by the British colony which had been working on a special concession from the French Government. A HEKITAGE OF BLOOD 111 A club house, a new hotel run on first-class lines by the Transatlantique Company, a small but flour- ishing business section mostly occupied by French and Maltese, but with a fair sprinkling of English, completed the European portion; on three sides stretched the native quarter. Saada's hopes ran high as she looked out upon the cool, clean streets. In the open cafes a few uniformed French and native soldiery drowsed or talked with Gallic animation ; on the sanded floors sloe-eyed native youths played dominoes and paused to lend an attentive ear to a marabout dis- coursing on the teachings of the Koran. Below the high walls which formed the backs of better-class houses ran a slowly-trickling stream clear as crystal and deliciously cool, brought from the adjacent oasis of Yene Hadar. In the square beneath the tiled walls and twisted pillars of the Great Mosque groups of cameleers were gathered, bartering with the sellers of water, dates, and other commodities essential to the long southward journey across the Sahara. Life, form, warmth, and colour everywhere: a land of sun- shine, smiles, and love. Saada felt that she had come home at last. The face of the aged sheikh reflected the same spirit. They laughed together and clapped their hands in an ecstasy of pleasure over a score of trivial things which the phlegmatic Northener would pass un- noticed. The sight of the dancing girls of the Ouled Nail, in their black and red dresses richly 112 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS ornamented with gold plaques, the very tinkling of the heavy gold rings in their ears and about their foreheads, drew expressions of childish pleas- ure from Saada. She turned to Lance, her face flushed. "Everything comes back the scenes of my child- hood," she said, her eyes sparkling; then nodded towards her father. "Don't you remember my twelfth birthday before we came up to Tunis . . . the Ouled Nail came, and danced in the moonlight as we sat on the roof till the stars went out of the sky? Then I remember, there was a snake- charmer who came one day from Beni Azoun, a devil-man from the Soudan who did the most wonderful tricks, and, to end up, we went off on camels to the holy city of Halfouine across the plains, and saw the priests walking on white-hot stone. It was very dreadful . . . and yet I re- member the next day I wanted to go and see it all over again." Kailsford, looking gravely at her, became sud- denly preoccupied. Strange thoughts were in his mind ... an aspect that never before had occurred to him. Was it possible, after their marriage, Saada would lose her veneer of Western civiliza- tion and become again one of her own people Arab in sentiment, religion, and feeling, as well as in flesh and blood? CHAPTER IX EL BOUIEA IT was a pity such a thought should have come at the moment of reaching El Bouira. Rails- ford had honestly tried, through the past four weeks to put away every doubt that arose as to the wisdom of his union with a coloured girl. Back in England he seldom thought of Saada as such; at times forgot it altogether, except when in the society of others a covert glance might be directed at her finger-nails, or brows raised over the East- ern character of her name. Had she herself made an effort to cloak her nationality few would ever have associated her with the Arab race; yet here, among her own people, the consciousness was sud- denly borne in on him that neither her Western upbringing nor the tie of her marriage to a white man would really change her nature. As they left the busier quarter a tremendous hush seemed to have fallen on sky and desert, bathed in, an illimitable flood of amber light; in the west the sun throbbed and glowed like an immense plaque of gold, and the air was drowsy with the hum of in- sect life. Saada leaned back, chatting gaily with her father ; the eyes of both were glowing. 113 114 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "Is it not good, O my daughter, to be back in the land which Allah in his great wisdom has so merci- fully blessed?" he asked, passing one thin hand over the other and beaming with delight on the scene unfolded as the car took the straight rise leading to the hotel. "Often in Tunis I have told myself that it is neither the blue sea nor the great cities which makes Africa what she is, but the desert . . . the desert Id!" He stared across a vista of sand edged in the distance with the nodding plumes of palms and the soft green of the oasis rim. Against the turquoise of the skyline slow-moving camels lumbered with measured tread, their white-draped riders, bearing long-barrelled guns across their shoulders, clear- cut as cameos in the crystal atmosphere. Sun and sand, palms and shady groves, the scent of < flowers, and a pulsing heat that turned each day into a love-song and the nights into dreams of desire. Saada turned to her lover. "We ought to be happy here, Lance," she whis- pered, slipping her hand into his. "In all the world have you ever seen any spot so wondrously beauti- ful?" He was forced to confess he had not, and would have caught the same spirit of enthusiasm but for the dark, troublous thoughts lurking in the back of his mind. They were not allayed when, pass- ing up the stone-walled drive banked by masses of wild flowers marigolds, veteres, purple, white, EL BOUIBA 115 and blue, sainfoin gleaming redly, succamelle and purple borage in patches, and stately asphodels he saw the terrace of the hotel crowded with Eng- lish people who had come there, some few to drowse and idle the evening away, the majority to gain first impressions of the new arrivals. In little groups they walked the rose'trellised verandah or sipped iced drinks at marble-topped tables in the shade of the orange trees. There was a general raising of heads and a sudden hush of meaningless chatter, as the car and the attendant luggage-carrier stopped at the entrance. Monsieur Bertrand, the manager, followed by his son, came fussing out to offer a welcome. He as- sisted Saada and her father to alight, while the younger man issued orders for the disposal of the baggage. Lance was conscious of critical glances and guarded whisperings, of shrugged shoulders and smothered remarks, as with the girl on one side and the old Arab on the other, he followed Ber- trand up the terrace steps. He sensed rather than heard "new British Offi- cial" bandied from lip to lip, and knew one was telling the other that the native girl at his side was to be the future hostess at the Vice-Consulate. Through a dead silence they passed the several groups and entered the cool of the vestibule. Said Bertrand, speaking in French, "I trust Mademoiselle and Messieurs have made good travelling. It was expected you would arrive on Tuesday, and there have been many inquiries as 116 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS to the cause of the delay. I hope nothing serious happened." Lance felt that in replying to Bertrand he was satisfying the curiosity of the entire English-speak- ing population of El Bouira. "There was difficulty over securing camels. Your company came to the rescue with their car. We have had a wonderful journey . . . and we are all ravenous for dinner." "For Mademoiselle and Messieurs a special menu has been prepared. Dinner will be ready in one half-hour." "You have a good many people here," Saada re- marked as she handed her motoring cloak to !Yakoub. Bertrand was rubbing his palms together. "Ah, it is the special occasion, m'amselle. News travels fast, even across the desert. There has been much excitement about the approaching wed- ding is it not? Certainly, on that day, the entire town will go on holiday." Lance whitened a little under his tan. "I hope to goodness it won't! I had no idea any one here knew about my engagement, let alone . . ." Bertrand smiled blandly. "Did not Monsieur write to the agent, Monsieur Dobee, as to a house?" At this Bailsford laughed. "Of course. I remember now. However," with EL BOUIRA 117 a careless wave of his hand, "it is of no consequence. I don't suppose they'll set the streets alight." All the same, the feeling grew on him, as they sat at table later on, that every one who was any one in El Bouira had migrated to the Transatlantique Hotel, and had gone to the unnecessary expense of ordering dinner, simply to take stock of him and his future bride. And the fact that she was a native, in the care of her Arab father, would set the tongues of El Bouira wagging faster than they had ever wagged before. All though the meal this thought bothered him. They expected the sheikh in his flaming orange robe and green turban to eat cous-cous with his fingers ; instead he dined like any ordinary European, and the daughter might have graced a Paris salon. There would be many intriguings and not a little disappointment over this. Having discovered the prospective wife of the freshly-appointed Vice- Consul to be the daughter of a pure-blooded Arab, it was natural to suppose they would sit on cushions and take their food out of a common dish. The many surprised glances suggested disap- pointment. If Saada was conscious of the manner in which she and her father were being regarded she gave no sign ; indeed, she was too delighted with her real home-coming to bother over what people thought or said. She had known all along in fact, had often pleaded against herself that such would be the 11& A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS natural consequence of their union ; and again and again Lance had assured her his love was strong and big enough to stand proof against such triviali- ties. They had almost reached the end of the sump- tuous repast, such as Lance never realized a desert town could produce, when the large room cleared rapidly. In little knots the diners drifted out, passing their table as though unconscious of their presence. Eailsford Smothered a sigh. He knew by that sign that the seal of disapproval had been set upon his choice. He glanced across at Saada, wondering if she had noticed it. Her smiling face, as she ex- changed a joke with her father, set his fears at rest "Shall we go to the music-room or into the gardens?" he questioned. She rose from the table. "I think father would like to go to his room. He is very tired with the long journey, dear. The music-room will be full. I'd rather sit with you under the trees while you enjoy your cigar." Lance nodded and they passed out. The music- room was empty: so were the vestibule and the terrace. The throng had vanished as at the touch of a magician's wand. "We appear to have the place to ourselves. That is ever so much nicer," Saada said with a gaiety suddenly assumed. "It's much better to be alone." "I suppose the majority have appointments in EL BOUIRA 119 town," he said, grasping at the first clumsy excuse. "You know what happens in these small places right off the map. Everybody visits everybody else and plays bridge or billiards almost till day- light. I quite agree; it is good to have the place to ourselves." And yet the thought haunted him long after the sheikh had retired under Yakoub's care to the quiet of his room. Tonight had witnessed the first casting of the shadow a presage of the time to come. He sat under the purple-blue of the sky, dimly powdered with stars, answering Saada only in detached monosyllables . . . wondering what the future with this lovely innocent desert child would be. Did it mean social extinction, a sepa- ration from his fellows? To a man of Eailsford's temperament such a verdict spelt disaster. Always pride of race had held him. To be re- garded as an object of pity or derision . . . was it more than he could stand? He looked covertly at the profile of the perfectly- moulded face, clear-cut like purest alabaster in the white light of the late-rising moon. The creature of convention in him passed out and gave place to the man. He told himself that at last he knew what held him enthralled . . . the lure of her physical beauty. Watching her now, he was deeply, dreadfully conscious of it ... that every glance from those dazzling eyes, every movement of the warm, seductive lips, made an appeal which he was powerless to withstand. 120 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS The very nearness of her presence made his senses reel. A wave of passion swept over him ; she turned swiftly and saw the blaze in his eyes. "Why, Lance, what is the matter?" she asked. "Why do you look at me like that?" The straightness of that gaze drew him out of a riot of confusion which he tried to hide under a careless laugh. "Oh, I don't know, sweetheart. I was only think- ing just then how much I loved you . . . and how glad I shall be when we are married. We seem to have been apart so long." "So long, dear !" She laughed merrily and toyed with the ring on her finger. "Why, we have never before been so much together. Don't you remember . . . those dreadful days in London perhaps I oughtn't to say that, because really I was ever so happy . . . but there were times when we saw each other, alone, only perhaps for an hour on Saturday afternoons . . . unless it was one of those great occasions when your mother asked me to spend the week-end at Kedlands." "You you don't understand," he said tenderly. "It has been splendid to be with you here in Africa. But I feel that something is keeping us apart ; that ... I shall never be really happy till we are man and wife." fler mouth framed an expectant smile. "That won't be very long, will it? Already part of the time has gone, through this delay. As soon as the house is free " EL BOUIRA 121 "I shall have to see the parson of the little English church here. We must give at least three Sundays' notice for the banns. It will seem such a long' time, darling; I wish all the wretched for- malities were through, so that you were mine now," "I'm certainly not any one else's," she retorted. "And there's very little prospect of my running away." "Kunning away !" His strong arm suddenly held her, and he drew her dark head to his shoulder. "I couldn't let you. You've grown so inexpressibly dear." "I wonder will yau always say that?" she questioned. "Of course. I haven't changed in the three years I've known you, and I'm not likely to now. Besides, when we're married you'll be a thousand times dearer to me." "I was wondering, Lance," gently freeing herself and brushing back the loose hair from her forehead, "whether we ought not to postpone our wed- ding " "Good Lord! What for?" " To give your mother a chance of rejoining us. She'll think it' rather strange, our being married without her." He shook his head. "It can't be helped. Uncle Hugh may be an un- conscionable time in dying. And certainly she'll stay with him to the end. No, Saada, we can't do 122 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS that. The plans I've made must stand. You don't want to wait ... do you?" Her thoughts were wandering. They had strayed, why she did not know, to a street in the squalid quarter of a reeking city. She stood in a garret room facing a gaunt-framed man whose eyes looked at her full of pity, entreaty, and yearning. She heard his voice above the voice of Railsford at her side : her hand burned at the remembrance of his touch. And then, in a moment, the picture faded; she was back in the garden of the hotel at El Bouira, alone under the white moon and dim stars of Africa, and at her side the other man who within three weeks would be her husband. A little shiver convulsed her; she drew the silken folds of the wrap more closely about her shoulders and rose. "The wind has freshened," she said quietly. "I am getting cold. Shall we go in?" CHAPTER X THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD SAADA was charmed with the house which was to be her future home. Built only a few years before by a French architect for a retired Tunisian merchant, it had been modelled, in minature, on the Kouba of the Belvedere, and combined all the picturesque charm of an Eastern edifice with the latest European comforts. Outwardly square, of cream-coloured stone, three sides were open, save at the corners, forming a large colonnaded entrance portico sup- ported by Corinthian-capped marble columns. Above these on each face were three arches fitted with the most delicate recessed mesribeyeh work. The flat parapeted roof was domed and cupolaed in the centre and had at each corner a faience- breasted turret surmounted by a gilded crescent and star. Bongainvillea gave colour to the blanched walls, so that at a short distance the house looked like a structure of old ivory painted over with purple stars. Walks of golden-hued sand stretched, between well-trimmed lawns and high banks gay with bloom. The flowers were Saada's special delight masses of white jasmine, the heavy scent of which was ever in the shady rooms, beds of purple 123 124 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS petunias, pink and white geraniums, flaming poin- settias and trellises of cluster-roses. The back- ground of dark green jamelon trees, of citron and orange foliage starred with golden fruit, toned the vividness of colour and gave a suggestion of quiet restfulness. Almost at the last moment there was difficulty in securing possession and some months elapsed before the date of the marriage could be finally settled. This gave time, however, for additional furnishings to be sent down from Algiers and Tunis. The walls of the large airy rooms, lit by spacious windows, shielded with green jalousie blinds, were plainly distempered, colour being provided by hang- ing door embroideries and soft-toned rugs, many of which had been brought from the sheikh's seven- teenth-century house and formed his wedding-gift to his daughter. Saada found her time fully occupied, while Lance was absent up country with a number of French government officials, engaged in settling a tribal dispute that threatened international complica- tions. He returned to find himself immersed be- neath a load of work which gave little opportunity to see much of Saada and less still of the house. There was a round of official calls and visits to be paid and other obligations, incidental to his important position, to be fulfilled. The week before his marriage found him depressed by a pro- found disquiet. In all quarters there was a THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 125 scarcely-concealed hostility to the step he was premeditating. More than ever now he wished Sheikh Medene had not come with them. But for that it was scarcely likely any one would have guessed Saada's parentage. Whatever her own innate feelings, she neither behaved nor looked like an Arab ; her long sojourn in Western Europe, coupled with her English education, might well have cloaked the fact which Railsford was so anxious to conceal. From the first hour of their arrival, however, it had been impossible to keep the matter secret. In the European circles of El Bouira brows were raised and shoulders shrugged, while not a few paid her the half-way compliment of suggesting she might be the child of an English mother by an Arab father, and in the next breath detracted from the concession by describing her as "nigger." Not unnaturally, Lance was worried. It had been easy enough to assume the "mind-your-own- business" attitude at the contempt or disapproval shown by the hundred and one chance acquaint- ances which one always makes in foreign lands. But the contempt of people among whom he had to live, occupying, moreover, as he did, a position of considerable public importance, was quite a different matter. At the eleventh hour he realized that there might be a good deal in the objections which Saada her- self had raised. His mother had foreseen them and 126 had not been slow to issue a warning. The remem- brance of it annoyed him exceedingly, knowing that his was not the temper to bear lightly with "I told you so." He was in this mood of thoughtful and occasion- ally bitter reflection one evening following his return to El Bouira. At the office in the Rue Tim- gad, where he generally put in an hour or two after lunch, things had not gone well. A letter had come through from the British Consul's department in Algiers questioning, at the instigation of the For- eign Office, a decision he had given in a concession's dispute. This was only a pin-prick to a greater sore. A dinner which was to have been given in his honour, and to which, before their arrival, Saada was invited, had been cancelled on the most flimsy excuse. He knew that behind it lay preju- dice against his forthcoming marriage. Saada had gone to the villa with her father and Yakoub to put the finishing touches to the room set aside to be Kailsford's study. He was on the point of exerting himself to face the quarter of an hour's hot walk beyond the town when Salem, the hotel's diminutive page, appeared in a state of con- siderable excitement. "Mos' import gintlemans . . . gra' big miling- tary toff to see the Mistah Railsford. Name of Captsing General Bill Bailey wiz no tin hat." "Bailey? I don't know a Captain Bailey,' r said Lance, puckering his brows. "You must be mis- THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 127 taken, Salem. He hasn't called to see me. You had better -" Before he could complete the instructions there was a heavy step on the sanded verandah, and a bronzed, middle-aged man in civilian dress greeted Kaisford with a cheery wave of his hand. Lance rose and stared curiously. The newcomer held out a big palm. "You remember me, don't you, Bailsford? I'm Bailey, of Cuspar Court, your father's old friend." Lance emitted a surprised laugh. "Why, of course! General Murrans Bailey. I couldn't place you for a moment. Sit down, Gen- eral. And Salem, ask Leon to bring two double whiskies and soda, please. Well, this is a stag- gerer ! I'm ever so pleased to see you." Bailey took a cigarette and dropped into the near- est basket chair. "The last time I saw you, Lance, was at a sup- per in the hall of Trinity. I came up to see my nephew, Grandison; I believe he used to keep on the floor above you in Nevile's. Well, how are all your people? Yes, I know your father is dead. Poor chap, I met him the last time I was in Eng- land. We lunched together and he asked me down to Norwiches for the shooting." Lance forced a faded smile. "Norwiches is sold, General," he said tentatively, as he tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand. "I think that was the beginning of a swift end as 128 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS far as the pater was concerned. His affairs were terribly involved, you 'know. The only footing we have left is the little place in Gloucestershire." "Where your mother still lives, in health and happiness, I trust?" "My mother is very well, thanks. She was with me up to a few weeks ago." "Here in North Africa?" The younger man nodded. "In Constantine, She came out for six months, to stay with me till I got the new job shipshape. I've a consular post here." "So I understand." "But, unfortunately, just before we were due to come here my uncle took it into his head to be sick unto death, and by way of a sort of dying repentance thought it would be nice to obtain the mater's forgiveness at least, either that or the hope that she will help to keep him clear a little longer of the naming gates." He spoke without sympathy, his only emotion being one of deep-rooted scorn. "Let's see wasn't your uncle the well-to-do one of the family?" Bailey was essentially a materialist. Railsford looked glum. "The governor happened to be the younger son, and, like Benjamin, received little besides a bless- ing. Not that that availed him much. As you know," with a hard laugh, "it was always a pretty hard job to make ends meet." THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 129 Bailey's sun-smitten face took on a questioning look. "I suppose it hasn't occurred to you, Lance, that being the only male Kailsford left, there may be a chance of one day coming into your uncle's for- tune?" Lance sneered as he tossed his cigarette end into the cool waters of the fountain below the ver- andah. The glow expired with a sharp sizzle that covered the exclamation of derision. "It has occurred to me as one of those possibili- ties not in the least likely to happen. I'm afraid that sounds rather paradoxical. Frankly, Uncle Hugh doesn't interest me. Now, tell me, what brings you here?" Bailey leaned back and casually blew smoke rings into the shimmering sunshine. "My dear chap, I've spent the best part of my misused life, and certainly the bulk of a commuted pension, in wandering about North Africa. I find it cheap: I've a host of friends; there's plenty of sport to be picked up ... and what more can a fellow want? Thank God, I'm not married, so I haven't that responsibility. I can't afford to live in England so I just make the best of a very pleas- ant existence by following the inclinations of a desert Ishmael. I made El Bouira three days ago " "Then why in the name of fortune didn't you look me up before? I'm fixed here permanently. At least," a disgruntled edge to his voice, "I suppose I 130 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS am. Of course you've heard I'm going to be mar- ried." "I have." The admission was not enthusiastic. "The place is full of it. I heard it first at Mrs. Nelleton's. I arrived just in time to 'do' a garden- party. Later it cropped up at the English club. Since then, my dear fellow'," eyeing his young companion with a regretful look, "I've heard little else." "Oh!" Lance's tone was mildly questioning. "Is a wedding out here such an untoward event?" Bailey's glance took in both ends of the terrace and the entrance to the hotel. The place slum- bered in perfect stillness. The General dropped back, his hands clasped about his knee. "I knew your father very well, Lance. He and I were great friends since . . . well as long as I can remember. His dearest wish was for the happiness and well-being of his only son. My boy," rising and laying a kindly hand on the younger man's shoulder, "you don't think I'm an interfering, meddling old fool?" Lance looked up. "General! Of course I don't. But why ?" "Why am I taking on myself to talk to you about your own affairs an affair which you might say concerns you alone? Because, Lance, you are the son of my dead friend . . . because I want to see you as happily married as he was. I've heard " "Yes?" THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 131 "That you are marrying a lady of colour. Is that so?" Lauce smiled a rather jaded smile, it must be confessed. "Quite true, General. I'm engaged to Miss Medene, the daughter of an Arab sheikh. We met three years ago in London. I. fell in love with her . . ." "I'm sorry." Bailey looked shocked. "Very sorry for both your sakes." "But why?" the other asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. "What does it matter who a fellow marries so long as he's happy in his choice?" Bailey spoke gravely. "I'm not an experienced man, Lance. If ever a fellow has knocked about the world, touched society at its lowest and highest, I have. And, as you know, the greater part of my life has been spent East of Suez mostly in India. There, es- pecially, I've seen the consequences of unions such as you contemplate. You could not make a bigger mistake." "You forget, General: Miss Medene is the daughter of a well-born, highly-cultured Arab. The sheikh " The other lifted his hands. "You know the .lines, 'East is east . . . > I won't repeat them. By Jove, they're the truest ever written on the question of colour." "But there are degrees," Lance persisted. 132 A DAUGHTER OF THE Bailey negatived the suggestion with a lift of his hand. "There are -no degrees. The streak is there, whether full or slight. It is bound to come to the top. You can't hide it. Stop me, if I am saying too much." "I know you mean to be kind." "My boy, it's for your good. It T s a duty I owe to my dead friend to warn you in time." Railsford looked serious.. "I know people have been talking. They always do in an isolated place. If they didn't they'd die of ennui. So they've seized upon my approaching marriage as a subject for gossip." "It isn't that altogether," the other replied. "Agreed > they like to- talk. And marriage be- tween a white man and a native, or vice versa, always provides fruitful ground. I'm not think- ing of them at all, Lance.; I'm thinking only of you . . . and as your father's friend, I beg of you to reconsider your decision . . . and not to marry this Arab girl." Lance pretended to take the matter lightly. "Of course I can't do that, General. My engage- ment has been publicly announced and everything is ready in fact, the wedding will take place within, a week. I've hired a house, put new furni- ture in, and generally made the usual arrange- ments for settling down. Apart from which if I don't marry Saada I certainly shouldn't want to THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 133 marry any one else. You wouldn't like to see me go through life a benedict?" Bailey's grizzled brows rose. He grunted audibly as he leaned forward to pick up his glass. With his fingers round the tumbler he looked across at Kailsford. "I always had a notion, young man, that you would do big things." His manner was gruff, though kindly. "At Cambridge you did remark- ably well. In the Service you're thought a great deal more of than perhaps you imagine. I know . . . because I knock about from one corner of the globe to another. I've heard you spoken of as far apart as Singapore and Bagdad as a coming man. You can guess what that means some one high up has marked you for promotion. D'you think you'll ever get it ... tied for life to a native woman?" The look in Bailsford's eyes became graver. For years he had worked and waited for the chance which El Bouira had brought his first step to a big appointment in the East. And no longer could he hide from himself the fact that money and po- sition meant a very great deal. At home things were uncommonly tight, and every year his moth- er's income was dwindling so much that before long unless he himself could save the situation the last bit of Eailsford property must go into the market. "I had a long tough fight to bring myself to 134 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS talk to you like this," Bailey went on. "When first I heard the news I was tempted to say nothing. Then fragments of idle talk began to reach me: bits of gossip retailed in the club and business quarters in the, town. I me men and women too with whom you ought to be friendly. I find one and all have decided to cold-shoulder you if this marriage takes place." Lance set down his/ glass and stared in blank astonishment at his friend. "Good Lord, General, will it be as bad as all that?" Bailey eyed him steadily. "My dear boy, it will be a hundred times worse. You're simply committing social suicide. I don't know the young lady she may be, possibly is, the most charming person in the world; most of these educated coloured women are but she's a nigger, and " "There I'm inclined to disagree with you," re- plied Lance obstinately. "To my mind a nigger is a black, and Miss Medene is no more black than you or I. In fact, General ; unless any one told you she was Arab, you would put her down as Euro- pean with an early Oriental upbringing. She is dark . . . every girl brought up from her birth in the East is. The sun produces a darkness of hair and a tanned skin which never entirely vanishes. Look at yourself, now as brown as a berry, as bronzed as any native. That wouldn't keep you, General, from marrying an English girl?" THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD 135 Bailey bowed in acknowledgment. "Admitted! Admitted! But in the first place this is a question of blood. All Arabs belong to the black races. True, at one time they reached a degree of civilization so high that to this day it has left its mark on Western Europe on Spain in particular. But the argument has been worn threadbare; the roots of many of our sciences are buried deep in a civilization which was old when our land was still in the dark ages of barbarism. I mean the Chinese. Would you, on this account, marry a yellow girl?" "Arabs are different altogether from Chinks." "In what respect? Shall I tell you? It won't sound pleasant, partly because it is so true. The yellow races are moral, their moral code based on the strictest in the w r orld, Buddhism and Con- fucianism. The Arabs are not; from the Little Sahara to the sea, from Arabia to Morocco, a lasciv- ious, sensual, passion-loving people. It is in their blood, the heritage of the ages; and to transmit such through a white strain is about as mad a proposition as any sane man could contemplate." Lance sat up very straight, his hands nervously interlocked. There was something rather alarm- ing in the line of reflection Bailey had started. "I I hadn't thought much about that. To me Saada seems the same as any other nice girl. I've never really associated her with Eastern ideas and Eastern ways." Bailey lay back staring up at the matchless blue 136 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS of the sky shimmering behind a haze of sunlight. The hot air was drowsy with the perfume of flowers, and the music of bird and insect life produced a curiously lulling effect. "You feel all this, don't you?" he said, raising his arm. "The pulsing heat, the pleasant drug- ging of the senses, are part of the lure and charm of Africa. But think of it how for a thousand years it has eaten into the hearts and lives of these people. Look at the women rich and poor, high or low. Shut away, languorous, effete . . . their natures amorous and sensual. They dream, talk, live on love ... on sheer animal passion. And the men are worse, thanks to the polygamy allowed by the Mohammedan law. Call it a religion if you like. I call it a creed of lust, of legalized pandering to the lowest instincts in man. They are not altogether to be blamed: climatic con- ditions and easy circumstances are largely respon- sible, coupled with the fact that out here Nature seems to cast all her women in a lovely mould." "I have always thought them strictly moral," protested Kailsford. "According to their lights, yes ; because life here and life hereafter, the myriad years of Paradise at the back of all their faith, means nothing more than the physical love of men for women and women for men. Look at their literature, in which they are soaked from the cradle to the grave; is it anything better than a perpetual encouragement to unbridled passion?" THE MAN- WHO UNDERSTOOD 137 "You are speaking of a people, not of individ- uals." Bailey bowed. "Exactly. There you hit the right nail on the head. But remember each individual is represent- ative of the whole. That is why all whites hang together and array themselves against blacks, brown, and yellow. We belong to a race which possesses, and always has done, an instinctive re- pulsion against the order of colour. We know from history, from personal experience, that the two things can never be successfully blended. There are religious reasons, social reasons, physi- ological reasons, and they all tend to keep white and coloured blood apart." "There have been happy marriages." "As rare, my boy., as the dodo. Yours might be one of the great exceptions. But, all things con- sidered, the risk is too great. Look at the social side first how many men are big enough and strong enough to stand up under it: the isolation, the contempt, the cold-shouldering? I've seen so much in India the once-honoured Englishman shorn of his friends, of caste, of that respect which is part and parcel of the existence in a foreign land. He retires, or rather is retired, to the se- clusion of his own family circle. Children come along : hated by their mother because they possess the pride and ambition of their father ; despised by him because those selfsame qualities fail to ring true. To him they are make-believe, sham, a rest- 138 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS less striving for something they can never attain. They grow up scorned by their own people, de- spised by the white race to which they aspire. The world shuns them ; they are less than the dust, and all through the years they stand at a barred gate, looking towards a Land of Promise they can never reach." Railsford was visibly affected. This man had touched chords long dormant: pride of birth, and of tradition, the heritage of the well-born Eng- lishman. Bailey continued, speaking with a sincerity in which he faithfully believed, "I understand, perhaps as well as you, the charm and lure of the East. It searches most men in their time ; finds out a few and leaves them in a hell of their own making. The women are beautiful; everything here is beautiful, from the uprising to the going down of the sun. But afterwards comes the dark, which only eyes trained to see can pene- trate. Lance, I want you to see before it is too late." "Why why didn't I think of all this before?" he asked suddenly, and pushing back his chair, moved out of the sunlight into the cool shadow of the trees. "In England one never gave a moment to such thoughts." Bailey regarded him over his shoulder. "Surely your mother, as a woman of the world " "Mother has never been quite happy about it. It seemed to me, though, she was thinking more of social position than of my happiness." "My dear boy, the two are inextricably mixed up. How can a man be happy when he finds the whole world his world against him? Let him be one of those rare and wonderful cases who loves his wife, be she red, black, or yellow, more than the opinions and the treatment he receives from his fellows. He is still burnt up when he looks upon the treatment accorded her. And worse is to fol- low. When the children come . . . what is their fate? It always ends the same way. If the par- ents live in England, the poor little devils are ban- ished to the East . . . and the mother's heart is broken. If the father and mother live out East they are sent home to be put to school or farmed out among money-grabbers. Either way the family circle is broken, and there is general unhappiness and dissatisfaction all round." Lance drew up and stared unsteadily into the burning eye of the sun. On his face the moisture stood out in tiny beads; both mind and body were conscious of acute discomfort. "I'm afraid ... I must confess," he admitted slowly, "Saada herself tried to put all this to me, though not in quite such detail." The General sighed. "You appear to have been adequately warned. Heaven knows, I wouldn't have opened my mouth had it not been for the talk going round in El Bouira. Then I thought of your father, and what 140 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS he would wish were he alive. And I thought, too, of a promising career nipped in the bud." Kailsford walked to the end of the verandah and came back to the table. "Frankly, I haven't paid as much attention to the future as I should have done," he admitted thoughtfully. "Do you really believe it will make so much difference? Thanks, I won't smoke now." Bailey lit another cigarette. "You know the Service, Lance ^the closest cor- poration in the world; and rightly so, because it represents an Empire. You fellows of the con- sular and diplomatic service are the vanguard of a great tradition. These people look up to you, re- spect you. Do they ever respect a white man who descends to their own level? Not much ! They re- gard him as one of themselves and all respect dis- appears. Conversely, the same holds good. One meets lots of important folk in the East mer- chants, travellers, scientists, Government officials and military big-bugs. They are all an insepa- rable part of your existence. Together they make or break you ; and with a coloured wife you would be broken in six months." "The -picture certainly doesn't look too attract- ive," Lance said, laughing weakly. The General reached up and touched the other's sleeve. "You've seen the attractive side and succumbed to it the lure, possibly, of a pretty face and charming manner. Mind you, I feel horrible in THE MAN WHO UNDEKSTOOD 141 talking like this. Miss Medene is no doubt a most charming girl : from all accounts, I believe she is . . . and certainly her old father has a fine rep- utation everywhere. But my contention is, and always will be, you cannot, with satisfactory re- sults, mix English and Arab blood. However" he jumped up and dusted the sprinkle of fine sand from his clothes "I hope I haven't exceeded my privilege as an old family friend?" "Of course, General, I understand. You are thinking of my good." "Absolutely, my boy, absolutely. I'm a rolling stone, and goodness knows I've gathered little enough moss. But at least I've escaped the fate reserved for so many of my friends. I'd like to see you doing well, just what your father would wish. You'll excuse me for hurrying away?" "Won't you stay to dinner and meet Miss Medene? Perhaps then you might feel differently about her." Bailey drew out his watch. "Thanks, but I must be off. I promised to dine with Professor Phillipson and his wife at their villa, He's planning a new expedition across the Sahara, and he wants me to go with him. They leave tomorrow, so you see . . ." Lance left him at the end of the gardens and watched the fine soldierly figure swing down the road through the rose-coloured twilight. He went back to his seat on the verandah feeling curiously ill at ease. A score of times he wished Bailey had not 142 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS found him 'to resurrect doubts which both Saada and his mother in turn had raised in his mind. The solitude bothered him: he went in for hia hat, and turning his back on the hotel, hurried through the town in the direction of the villa. Saada met him on the steps of the canopied pavilion. She looked tired, but happy. "Come and see what we have made of your room, dear," she said, linking her arm through his. He passed into the delicious coolness of the high apartments hung with Oriental draperies and hangings. The floors were dotted with nacre- topped tables; brass braziers of native workman- ship stood in the recesses. And about the stone columns supporting the Moorish horseshoe arches, flowers were banked in immense tubs of Kabyle pottery. The effect was soothing and purely East- ern ; a perfume like the smell of incense hung in the air. He glanced at Saada, a truly Eastern figure surrounded by the beauties of her home, and the General's warning recurred with added force. Insensibly the West was being merged in the subtle influence of the Orient. CHAPTER XI THE SACRED CIRCLE LAJNCE followed Saada from one room to another, trying hard to share her enthu- iasm, yet secretly troubled by the effect which the surroundings produced. He knew that the house was beautiful, but the quick falling of the twilight filled the place with shadows and pro- duced a sombreness as heavy as his own grey thoughts. The lamps had not been lighted, and they hung from the high ceilings, dead, bulbous shapes as unresponsive as himself. He felt he ought at least to try and show pleasure, for Sheikh Medene, out of the goodness of his big, generous heart, had stripped his once beautiful home of many of its choicest treasures. The cabi- net in the drawing-room was filled with rare speci- mens of Tunisian glass crystal bowls shaped as turbans, plates and dishes of rare enamel, gold ornaments heavily chased, bangles and khal-khals of beaten silver, and a set of plaques jewelled with precious stones, heirlooms that had been for centuries in the possession of the Medene family. In the vestibule and dining-room were big oaken coffers wondrously carved and ornamented with Arabesque designs in brass: to Railsford, in the 143 144 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS gloom, they seemed merely depressing. Even the pains which Saada had taken to make his study the last thing in comfort drew nothing more than an ungracious nod of lukewarm approval, and many times as he followed her upstairs and down he wished General Bailey and his well-meaning advice at the bottom of the sea. By the time Saada locked the front door behind her the western glow had melted from tawny gold into the velvety blueness which precedes the up- rising of the moon. The road stretched like a bar of silver to the wall that still seemed to keep guard over the ancient Arab town. Along the road rolled open carriages conveying members of English and French families to visit friends in the villas on the fringe of the oases of El Oukrit. Some of them merely nodded coldly to the distinguished look- ing Englishman; others, taking advantage of the gloom, passed on without even offering salutations. The studied rudeness was not lost on the aged sheikh. He had seen so much of it in the last few weeks. He walked proudly, his head high, his slight frame as rigid as the gold-topped cane in his twitching hand. That which, all along, he had feared in secret was surely coming to pass: the white population of El Bouira was resentful at the intrusion of his daughter into the sacred circle. He kept his thin lips tight and his hawk-like face grim, but there leapt to his eyes a flash of angry scorn when he looked at Saada. She hastened on, however, chatting gaily at her THE SACKED CIRCLE 145 sweetheart's side as though nothing untoward had happened. When they reached the hotel the place was already humming with animation, every window a blaze of light, the soft cadence of a stringed band coming from the crowded dining- room. In the courtyard at the side a number of motors were parked, the chauffeurs busy handing down luggage to perspiring Arab porters. "A large party in from Biskra," Lance remarked, as they ascended the steps. "We've driven it rather late. Can you manage to change quickly?" Saada nodded and hurried off to her room. In the bustle she had little time to reflect on the dis- appointment which Lance's reception of her efforts had caused. Fresh visitors were arriving diners out from the residential quarter glad to get away from the town after the day's work was done. As she went down with Lance and her father she rec- ognized several to whom she had been introduced since her arrival : all were too busy studying menu cards to look up. The general atmosphere was charged with an air of gaiety. Everybody seemed to be talking, the new-comers chatting over the events of their long journey. In such- an assemblage of sound and animation one quickly becomes conscious of the existence of a little backwater where quiet reigns. Seated at a small table near to Saada and her companions were a silent couple who might have belonged* altogether to a different order of things a thick-set dwarfish-looking man with a round 14G A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS smiling face, as red and glowing as the sun at dawn, and a girl, apparently his daughter. The couple attracted Saada's attention immedi- ately, for it was obvious they had' travelled with the party, and yet were not of them ; two of life's misfits who find difficulty in accommodating them- selves to an unaccustomed position. Unlike all the rest, who were in evening dress, the man wore a much-used suit of tweeds a sports jacket, breeches, coloured stockings and serviceable brown boots. From the crown of his shock of straw-coloured hair, slightly streaked with silver, to the soles of his large feet, he looked what indeed he was a rough diamond. That nobody except the waiters appeared to pay the slightest attention to him, apparently did not bother him at all ; in a strong voice redolent with a perfect East End accent he gave his orders in a spirit of marked good-humour. Saada strove hard to repress a smile as she heard him say, "Entry cot. What's an entrycot o' mutton? Blest if I know. Do you, Hetty? Oh, that's what it is, is it? Well, bring some, waiter. I daresay it's very noice, and if it ain't, I shan't blame you. Drinks! Champagne? Not a bit of it, lad; I never touch the stuff, but if you can mix up suthin' sweet and nice-tastin' for that gel o' mine, quite teetotal, you know, well, she'll bless you wi' them kind eyes of hers . . . and here's something to pay you for your trouble. Now, listen, garsong," lay- THE SACKED CIRCLE 147 ing a big coarse hand familiarly on the waiter's arm. "Me and mine this is mine," pointing to the pleasant-faced girl, "is here for a couple o' months ; and if you look after Theodore Snitch and Co. take my word for it, he'll look after you." Saada felt irresistibly drawn to the small Snitch family of two: a father whose proud eye scarcely ever left his plain daughter's face, and a daughter who anticipated every wish of her rough, good- natured father. The way in which each looked after the other was wonderful; a dozen times he asked her if she was "liking all she'd got" ; and a dozen times she restrained her healthy appetite to attend to her father's simple requirements. Lance, too, had noticed them. He turned to Saada after a prolonged stare, during which diverse emotions chased across his aristocratic face, "Really, I don't know what the times are com- ing to. That fellow on your right is obviously one of the nouveau riche, a war-profiteer, by the look of him. Look at the way he eats as though ,he hadn't tasted food for a week. I Really think people like that might have the decency to put up at a hotel where they can mix with men and women of their own stamp." Saada smiled sweetly. "But, dear, they're ever so hungry," she remon- strated gently. "I heard the lady at the table behind you saying that a mishap had occurred to the car in which nine of them were travelling and that they were held up for two days in the desert 148 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS . . . without food or wuter except for a lunch- eon-basket which Mr. Snitch had with him." Railsford grimaced. "Trust any one with a name like that to look after himself. Well !" "And he insisted on sharing it with the rest. I think it's a shame that any one should be cold- shouldered simply because they haven't quite as much veneer as so-called gentle people." Railsford turned his head. "What I complain of is, they do things which aren't done, so to speak, in decent society. Look at the girl now . . . using her napkin like a hand- kerchief ; and the old man pointing out the beau- ties of ceiling decoration with his knife and fork. You can't wonder at their being cold-shouldered." An aristocratic young man in faultless evening dress was crossing the large dining-hall, followed by a friend. He paused half-way to light a cigar- ette ; the match-flame showed up the black intaglio of arms with supporters in his ring. He came to where Railsford sat, nodded frigidly to Saada and her father, then said, with a hee-haw in his voice as he set his hands on the table, "I say, Railsford, old fruit, you didn't roll up for that handicap. We're playing it off tonight. Can't you possibly manage to come along?" Lance glanced across at Saada. "I'm afraid, Featherstone, I'm engaged for this evening. I should like to, but " "My dear, why don't you?" Saada interposed THE SACKED CIRCLE 149 quickly. "You love billiards and you'd enjoy your- self ever so much. Father will be going to bed, and I've such heaps of things to do." "I certainly should love to come," Eailsford ad- mitted. "Are you sure, dear, you won't feel lonely?" The girl shook her head. "Really, I wish you'd go. I must look over my clothes." "Right ho, old top. We shall expect you at the club house at nine o'clock." He swung round on his heel, and lounged out. "One of the best, is old Featherstone," Railsford mused, bending over his glass. "Strange, my strik- ing him here after eight years. He's Lord Brach- leigh's heir, you know. . . . You're very quiet to- night." "Am I?" She laughed and broke the train of reflection. She was thinking she preferred the Snitches to all the Featherstones inside or on the fringe of Debrett. Lance laid down his serviette and followed her to the door. "You are sure you don't mind my going? It rather looks as though I'm neglecting you." The tone was only mildly self-condemning. "But as you've so much to do ..." The rest was lost in the surge as the diners thronged into the vestibule and streamed away in little knots to the smoke-room, the drawing-room, 150 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS or the terrace. Saada moved to the hotel steps to wait until Lance came down. Theodore Snitch and his daughter, looking rather out of place, had hung back until the room emptied. At the foot of the stairs the girl turned to her father. "I've several letters to write: you go and enjoy your cigar in the garden." "Right!" he called out cheerily. "And when I think you're through, we'll get together and go over Flaubert's Salambo. I want you to read me again that bit where they made a mess-up of the Roman gentry's gardens and set Carthage on fire. My, but that was fine, Het! Don't forget to look the book out." He passed out, a solitary little figure as he stood alone in his rough tweeds, while the well-dressed men and exquisitely-gowned women eddied past and were lost in the silence of the grounds. The sheikh had gone to his room ; in a little while Railsford came down, a light dust-coat over his arm. "Don't wait up for me, there's a dear girl," he said as he kissed her. "We shall probably have a late sitting. You'd better be getting along to the drawing-room or you'll miss the coffee." "I shall come with you as far as the gates," she said, and linking her arm through his, they went down the sanded path together. Saada went back in a curiously thoughtful mood. Each day she was learning more and more of Lance's character. There were sides to it of which, THE SACKED CIRCLE 151 in the first flush of their love, she had never dreamed. She had thought him so high above all other men. By degrees she was becoming conscious of having raised an idol of clay liable at any time to crash to the ground and break in a hundred pieces Tonight he had shown in himself a reflection of his mother's nature . . . and the picture had not been good to look upon. She went slowly up the steps. Behind the long windows of the drawing- and smoke-rooms an eager throng was gathered about the red-fezzed and zouave-jacketed Arab waiters serving delicious Turkish coffee in tiny gilded cups. A little dis- tance off Mr. Snitch was leaning over the balustrade deliberately cutting the end from a long cigar. He lifted his battered panama politely as Saada, a slim, graceful figure in white, appeared at the top of the steps. She made a pleasant bow, and ventured, in a friendly tone, "I'm afraid you won't get your coffee unless you go quickly. It is so delicious, and very much sought after. . . ." Theodore Snitch beamed. "My dear young lady, it's very kind of you to take interest in a stranger like me. I'm not want- ing any, thanks . . . but if, as you say, there's a rush on it so as them what don't rush don't get, then . . . permit me . . ." He stuffed the long weed in his vest pocket, ran lightly across the vestibule and was lost among the 152 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS coffee-servers. A minute later he reappeared, per- spiring but triumphant ... a cup in one hand and a chair in the other. "Now," he said, setting the cup on the marble- topped table, "just you sit down there and enjoy your coffee in comfort. Maybe you'll let me smoke and talk to you. I love some one to talk to. Funny, ain't it, miss, but the penalty of having made a cool million o' money p'r'aps a bit more by sheer hard work, is that no one among your own people wants to have anything to do with you?" "Mind you, I'm not a whiner," Snitch went on, leaning back in the bamboo chair while his ruddy, good-natured face beamed up at the stars. "In my short time I've had almost as many knocks as most people my, it would break my Het's heart to hear me forgettin' to talk proper: I do drop back into the real Stratford way; but you don't mind, do you? Well, as I was saying, Miss Miss what's your name " "Saada Medene." "Miss Saada Medene ; that sounds real pretty to me . . . and don't forget to drink your coffee, or you'll find it so thick the spoon'U stick in it. Where *were we? Ah, I know! Talking about those funny people here, who find a sense o' humour in turning the frozen eye on Theodore James Snitch and his daughter. You've never met my gel, have you?" THE SACRED CIRCLE 153 "I saw her with you at dinner," Saada replied. "I thought she might be your daughter." "And as fine a lass as ever an old man was blessed with. Excuse me smoking, but I can't do without my weed. Strange how these things get a hold on you." He cracked a seven-inch Havana between his thumb and forefinger. "Time was, young lady, when I used to smoke a cutty the real genuine penny clay wi' shag in it. Then I jumped to a bob briar; and now . . . well, at six bob each these are meat and drink to me." "You mustn't smoke too many or you'll be get- ting ill," Saada remonstrated gently. The little man laughed and showed gold-filled teeth. "My! but that sounds funny. T. J. Snitch be- ing ill ! Not when he's got a first-class nurse like Henrietta at his elbow ! Which brings me back to where we were when we kicked off you think Hen- rietta a nice gel, eh?" Saada could not fail to catch the note of eager- ness behind the question. "I should think she is a very nice girl indeed. She has a sweet face and appears most devoted to you." Mr. Snitch's flat palm came down with a re- sounding slap on his fat knee. "You've hit it ... she's a real good 'un one o' the best. But, d'you know," the humorous twinkle dying out of the mild eyes, which became 154 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS grave, "I'm thinking of leaving her, of cutting the cable between her and the old dad and letting her stser a course all on her own." "But why?" Saada asked, suddenly interested. "Why?" the strange little man proceeded. "Be- cause you see what keeping an old tub like me in tow means. Tonight was a proof of it." He waved his hand and indicated the lighted windows behind which a hundred guests were gathered. "D'you think there's one among that crowd wants to know my gel so long as she's hooked up to me? Not a bit of it ; not a little bit. For all his money, Theo- dore Snitch ain't good enough. . . . But I tell you she's worth the whole lot put together. There's not a man or woman in those rooms, for all their jewels and fine clo's, can hold a candle to my gel for character. Sire's got 'em all beaten to a frazzle." "I'm quite sure of it," Saada agreed. The red round face was smiling again. "I like talking to you. It does me good . . . sort of safety-valve to T. J. S. w T hich keeps him runnin' under an even head of steam. If I bottled it all up too long I'd go off pop . . . and then, my hat! the bits would fly and there'd be a mess all round. But you've got onderstanding, and you can see how it irks me when my Hetty's cold-shouldered and glass-eyed just because she's got an old dad who's a bit rough in the make-up. I felt real touched-up to- night ... as she and me sat in that big room all alone. Comic, isn't it, to feel lonely among scores of people?" THE SACRED CIRCLE 155 The simple words reached a soft chord in Saada's heart. There was a warm, pulsing humanity about the little squat figure in sympathy with the hidden side of her own nature. She, too, from a different cause, had felt this same ache of loneli- ness, this yearning for understanding and compan- ionship in a world strangely cold and secretly hostile. "I hope you won't feel lonely as long as we are here," she said kindly. "We live in El Bouira, and I'm sure we shall be glad to see you both at any time." The blue eyes widened in amaze. "You mean that?" "Certainly. You are strangersi in a strange land. We speak the same tongue. That alone should suffice to make us friends." "Friends! I've almost forgot the meaning of the word." His tone was bitter now. "It makes me wish at times I'd never coined the money. I remember hope you're not getting fed-up ..." Saada shook her dark petite head. "Well, then, Miss, Medene, I remember when I was a poor chap, working at Harris's soap works just outside Stratford ... I had heaps o' pals. My! but we was pore then, and every Saturday night I had to put the rent, six bob I remember it come to, on the clock; and then, all of a sudden, I struck this idea for Snitch's Patent Oil Cake. For five years I worked on it in my spare time, but I won through, and soon had things goin' strong 156 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS in more ways than one. Then the war came. The Government applied for cattle-fodder. I wanted to fight, but they said I was too tight about the Plimsoll mark to do good. So I put in my price for Snitch's best eighty per cent, lower than everybody else's, because I didn't want long profits out of a country that was fighting for me and mine. But my word! ... in a month you couldn't find me for orders. They just swamped in from all the world . . . France, Italy, Japan, America. I netted a million, after giving two away: I might have had ten. And now I've got my reward. The men and women I gave my brains and time to, don't know me or mine. It's a rum world, ain't it?" "Some people certainly are difficult to under- stand," she admitted. He stared at the glowing end of the cigar, and turned the long brown weed thoughtfully between his fingers. "Scarcely any one knows how much I might have made from the Government, if I'd had the mind: millions more. Some chap high up knew. He offered an O. B. E. : I refused it. Then they came along with the better-class things, with a ribbon and a K. C. in front. Could I see myself Sir Theodore J. Snitch, K. C. B. E.? Not a bit of it, my dear. My missis could, though ; so could my sons and three other daughters. Living in Park Lane they are today, on an allowance I make 'em . . . twenty thousand a year. Het, she stuck to THE SACRED CIRCLE 157 me, and here we are, together, as merry and bright as a couple o' new ha'pennies." "It sounds most romantic and certainly very creditable," Saada agreed. "I'm ever so sorry if people aren't nice to you." "Nice !" he echoed scornfully. "They don't want to be nice to folk who won't dress for dinner or say 'Bai Jove!' and 'How w r ipping!' I'm a blunt, plain stick, T am : an' I don't sport a crest or swank about my hancestors and so we sit in carriages all alone, we ride our camels a bit way distant from the rest . . . and at table we're stuck in corners, so as not to give offence . . . jest because people won't be their real true selves. At times I get fed- up and tell my gel she ought not to stick to the old man. What do you think about it, Miss Medene?" Saada's manner was serious. "There is only one thing to think, Mr. Snitch. You and your daughter are happy together. She wouldn't want to leave you merely to win social approval. A good many of us have to face and endure what the world thinks and says. What does it matter so long as we remain true to our- selves?" "My ! but that's well thought out and nicely put ; my sentiments to a 'T,' except when I get a fit o' the blues . . . same as tonight; then I begin to wonder and ask myself questions, and it takes a little touch of real humanity to set me right agen." "You will remain happy while the rest pass on," the girl continued. "Here there is so much that is 158 A DAUGHTEK OF THE SANDS beautiful the sun, the warmth, the blue sky and the wonderful flowers. They help to make life very beautiful." "I guess you've settled in these parts, then?" "Yes, I am going to be married and spend a good many years in North Africa." "Well, that's fine! Now shall I tell you what me and Het are doin'?" "I'd like to know." "Perhaps," stroking his chin reflectively, "you could help me. I'm in a bit of a quan-daxy that's the right word, isn't it? Fin settling, for a year or two at any rate, with my gel in Tunis." "I was born in Tunis, Mr. Snitch. My father lives there. Where is your house?" "I've bought a place mebbe you know it, the old palace of Dar Cheikh Ben Hassen in Sidi Ben Said." "Yes, I have often seen it close to the Palais du Bey at La Marsa." "You've got it ... a wonderful cream-coloured place with domes and spires and' little minarets, between the Phare and the Archbishop's palace. That's to be our home, Miss Medene, when we've finished with it ... but the finishing's the job." "Oh !" her interest deepening. "It was like this," the little man continued. "I got dead beat with England. I'm too low down in the social scale for there to be much room for me. I left them as like the 'tuft-huntin' ' to it. Het and me come out here, to a fresh land. And when THE SACRED CIRCLE 159 we saw Dar Cheikh Ben Hassen, well, we simply fell in love with it at first sight . . . the marble paved courtyards, the columns sneaked from Car- thage, the fountains what oughter be filled wi' gold- fish and ain't; the balconies where creepers and trailing roses and flowers in pots should stand . . . only the pots are empty. And then the big airy rooms with high gilded beds, an' carved stone winders . . . my ! but don't you think that mesrib- eyeh work is bee-ooti-ful?" "I can imagine the Dar Cheikh Ben Hassen be- ing made fit for a king." "Now, if that's not my very idea! Gee, but it's clever of you to think of it. I mean to make it fit for a king; not king Snitch, tho' he'll live in it till it's finished, but the King of England; and if His Majesty refuses of it then I'll make it over ... a gift to the British people in Tunisia." "I'm certain they will appreciate your generos- ity." The little man shook his head. "It's not a matter o r generosity at all, Miss Medene. It's a responsibility which should fall on a rich man. Let me explain, if I can. When I set foot in this wonderful land ten months ago w r hat did I see? Art treasures, some of the mos' wonderful treasures in the world, thought no more of than that," snapping his fingers. "Loot from ancient cities like Athens and Syracuse; statues, carvings and arches left to decay in Carthage, Douagga and Roman cities that scarcely any one 160. A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS knows anything -about : mosaics, enamels, coloured tiles, pottery, vases and furniture hundreds of years old. Says I to myself, 'Theodore, here's a chanst to do real good with your money. Save those relics from destruction for future genera- tions; get 'em together in a fine house, give 'em to the King or the British nation, and when you're gone at least some one will reap the benefit." "The notion's splendid. I suppose you came south to add to your collection?" said Saada en- thusiastically. "That's it. I've bought the palace, and at the moment it's being cleaned up, ready to receive the things. But now comes the difficulty I spoke of. I haven't the taste or the knowledge to know what is real and what is fake. Mind you, I must have the best ... no hole-and-corner business is good enough for me." "There are dealers and experts like Ahmed Jhemal in the Souk el Attarine in Tunis who would advise you honestly." "I know, but Mr. Jhemal isn't here a hundred miles across the desert. He's got his own business to attend to. I had a look round, a month ago, before I came here, right down west, in the Arab country beyond Tunisia, and visited the half-buried Roman city which they now call Beni El Ourit, be- yond the oasis of Kheiroun. It belonged to an Arab sheikh named Okba. I agreed to give him a quarter of a million francs for the site, just as it is. THE SACRED CIRCLE 161 My ! but there's heaps of stuff there in the way of marble and carved stone." "Your difficulty is transport?" "No. Honesty. I want some one to watch my interests. A man who I can trust. They're not easy to find nowadays. I've been looking round, and what I'm afraid of is ... as the best things are brought to the surface, they'll disappear." "It would be a thousand pities." "And then," the millionaire went on, "I want some one who can travel round to other cities in Tunisia and Algeria and buy up old carpets, rugs, and hangings; real antique Arab furnishings, like chests, tables, and mirrors. I suppose you don't know of anybody?" In the back of Saada's mind a strange thought was stirring. Was it possible such a wonderful opportunity could be secured for John Williams? "I see ; it's got you guessing," Snitch broke in on the reflection. "Yes," she answered, setting down her cup, "I do know some one ... a gentleman by birth and education, a man who loves and admires beautiful things. I believe he would jump at the chance." Snitch looked delighted. "Then bring him along here. I don't mind what I pay so long as he's honest and will serve me well. Are you quite sure " He caught the troubled expression in her eyes. Her voice quivered with emotion when she spoke. 162 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "I could get him easily enough, but I think, be- fore you decide, I ought to tell you the sort of man he has been. I I would trust him with my life, but perhaps when you hear what I have to say you might not care to employ him." The millionaire regarded Saada curiously. Her face had become suffused with warm colour; her eyes had brightened, her whole manner was more animated. "I guess you're speaking about a brother o' yours who's gone wrong," Snitch, remarkably quick of perception, suggested. "Well, if that's so, I reck- on the fact o' your trusting him is good enough for me . . . and no man shall ever say T. J. S. re- fused to hold out a helping hand." Saada's lips set purposefully. "Not my brother, but my friend: one who has sunk to the lowest depths and is fighting splendidly to get up again." "By Caractacus, the very chap for me!" cried the little man, bringing down his clenched fist with a resounding smack into the palm of his hand. "Give me a fighter . . . any size, weight or colour . . . and I'm willing to put my money on him. There's only one point, though: would he under- stand those oojilapper things such as bronzes, stat- uary, and the like? I must have some one who knows." Saada nodded. "Of course. He has been in North Africa a good many years, though what he used to be or do I THE SACRED CIRCLE 163 can't say. He goes by the name of John Williams. I met him under very terrible circumstances. I was in danger, in the native quarter of Constan- tine ; he came to my aid at the risk of his life . . . and saved me. Since then, of course, I've taken a very great interest in him." "Bet your sweet life you have," agreed Snitch. "Can't do too much for a chap like that. But what's his trouble drink or women?" Saada's head moved sadly. "Worse than that. He used to drug himself into a state of coma some stuff which the lower-class natives use to induce pleasant dreams; I believe a kind of haschish. I found him in a terrible state hopeless, without friends. But" her voice sud- denly softening to a tone of abstraction "that meeting with me seemed to change him, to give him encouragement, and " "Gee ! but you're the type of woman to give any man hope. I'll lay a tenner to a square of oil cake he'd do anything for you." She smiled. "I believe he would. He promised to try. It was most difficult to know what to do. I felt like giving him money: he was so poor, with only the few wretched rags he stood up in. His home was a bare attic in an Arab house. He seldom ate any- thing, although he was so big, and he might have been such a fine strong man. I would have liked my fiance to help him . . . but he was too proud. He went away, and we never saw him again in 164 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS Tunis. But one evening, a few months ago, in the Square at Batna, I saw him . . . working as a cameleer." "Gad! but that's low down for a white man! Excuse me ... I forgot myself. You understand, don't you? I'm a bit rough at times . . . and it makes me wild to think of one o' my own country- men slaving for a native camel-owner." The brightness in her eyes was the measure of her faith. "He did not seem to mind so long as he was standing alone. I made inquiries. He is try- ing to give up the drug. He works sixteen, some- times eighteen hours a day for a mere pittance. But he is paying his simple way, and I understand he is very proud of that." "As well he might be. Good luck to him." Snitch rose and laid a strong hand on her shoulder. "And you say," moving to the side of the terrace and resting his elbows on the balustrading, "he's a gentleman?" "Absolutely. His people, I believe, belong to an old county family; he doesn't want them to know how low he has fallen." "So that's why he calls himself Williams?" "I suppose so. He has never spoken to any one except me about his earlier life." "And you know where to find him?" "Yes. I have his address." "Perhaps you'd write on my behalf?" She was silent a moment. THE SACRED CIRCLE 165 "I think I had better leave that to you. You may mention my name, if you like ... or when you leave here you might go and see him in Batna." "I'm not leaving here." The little man's manner was jocose. "I've found a comfy perch. This hotel is a topper . . . my ! but did you ever eat such a dinner as they gave us tonight? Besides, I can make El Bouira my headquarters, and if this fellow Williams pans out all right, he can operate from here. I wish you'd just write down h,is address." He passed over notebook and pencil. In the dazzling clearness, with a moon riding grandly above the tall eucalyptus trees, Saada wrote as easily as by day. Snitch followed the gliding mo- tion of the pencil. "My, but I like the idea, Miss Medene! A chap who can pick himself out of the mire and take the ring to receive ding-dong blows will be at the verti- cal when the count out comes. You've done me a turn tonight I'll never forget." "Oh, but ... I wanted to do something for him. He did so much for me. I do hope every- thing will turn out all right." "Trust me for that," he said, reaching for his panama. "I'll send a car down to Batna to bring Mr. Williams along. I guess you'll be going in now." "Thanks : the night is very warm. I shall wait until my fiance returns." 166 A DAUGHTER OP THE SANDS "Well, good-night." He put out his rough hand. "We'll meet again in the morning." He went off, whistling gaily, and as the big swing doors closed behind him, Saada felt strangely lonely. The night was very still: a handful of stars peeped out and cast a faint glow at the silver disc of the moon dropped behind the trees. In the spacious rooms, now almost deserted save for a few men grouped together playing cards, the lights still burned. But over all was the deep hush of the African night. The conversation had awakened half-slumbering memories of Williams. Deep down in her heart had lingered the hope that one day they should meet again. It would be good, she felt, to rejoice with him over the success of his splendid effort , . . to see his face glowing with hope instead of lined with despair. She looked at the watch on her wrist. It was very late past midnight. How the time had flown : more than three hours since Lance had left her! In the shadow of the slender-stemmed palms encircling the tiny ornamental lake the frogs began to croak, faintly at first but soon producing a babel of sound. Along the yellow streak of the road be- low the gardens little knots of Arabs passed, the hoods of their ~ber nouses drawn about their ears, their robes blown against their thin legs by gusts of wind driving up from the south. One played a flute as he walked ... a timorous wailing mel- ody full of haunting sadness. THE SACRED CIRCLE 167 The girl shivered, and drawing her cloak about her, moved down the steps and took the sanded path between the high walls of olive-green foliage. Against the darkness fireflies crossed and recrossed in lines of iridescent flame; the breeze was heavy with the perfume of flowers. Saada's mind was full of troublous disquiet. Lance had been long gone : the manner of his going was something unpleasantly new. A month ago he would scarcely have left her for an hour . . . but tonight he had gone off seemingly without regret. Each day, of late, had added its little quota of uneasiness. More than once the friends he had made had covertly shown their disapproval of his choice; tonight Featherstone's manner had been almost without restraint. What would happen later, when the irrevocable step had been taken, and she was his wife? She dared not trust herself to reflect. The clock in the vestibule chimed the half -hour; she turned her back on the gardens and slowly mounted the stairs. To her surprise a light burned brightly in her father's room . . . not the subdued light which usually marked his sleeping hours, but the brilliance of a reading lamp streaming from the partly open door. She knocked very quietly, and to her astonishment the sheikh himself raised the curtain. "Dearest, you should have been asleep hours ago," she remonstrated. "And you have been writing, too," glancing at the pen in his hand. "Do you know what the time is? Nearly one o'clock." 168 A DAUGHTER OP THE SANDS "I have been engaged on a matter of importance." He interposed his frail body between her and the writing- table, and she noticed that the fingers which swiftly gathered up the sheets and locked them in a drawer were trembling. "But come in and stay a little while before you go to bed. Child, you look tired and distressed." "No, father. I feel a little anxious about Lance, that is all. He went down to the town about nine o'clock with a number of friends. It is very late, and you know how unsafe some of the roads are at such an hour." The sheikh swung round, eyeing her sympatheti- cally. "I see ; you have not forgotten your own unpleas- ant experience. But believe me, there is no danger where a man is concerned. Lance is quite capable of looking after himself ... I am rather surprised he should have left you alone. Why did you not go with him?" "It is a man's club. He has gone to play bil- liards." His long fingers drummed on the glass-topped table. "I was thinking rather of the principle. It is not for me to interfere, but I do not approve of a woman so near to becoming a bride being left alone. These English are strange men ; have you noticed a cold- ness in their manner towards you?" Absolute frankness had always existed from childhood between Saada and her parent. She THE SACRED CIRCLE 169 answered without the slightest suggestion of bitter- ness, yet not without a touch of regret. "I am almost beginning to doubt the wisdom of my decision. I love Lance, father, very dearly indeed, but all along I have feared that being of different race, of different blood, he will suffer for marrying me." Sheikh Medene drew the folds of his loose silk robe about him and leaned back in the long chair, his fingers making an apex above his knees. "You have noticed the coldness and suspicion with which the rhoumis regard us?" he repeated. "One cannot help noticing it, father. In the streets, the public places, we are objects of silent contempt. For myself I care little: I think only of him." "You mean . . . when you are married there may be a drifting apart?" "I can't see anything else," she replied. "I wouldn't for worlds let him know I am hurt because his friend's invitation was deliberately framed to exclude me. I told him to go and enjoy himself. He does not think he left me with an aching heart." "And yet you love him, Saada?" There was a note of interrogation in the gentle voice. "You feel you can find happiness with him?" "While I was in England I owed to him all the happiness I ever knew. He stood between me and! the scorn of his own people. For that I admired him : in time my admiration changed to love . . . at least," her words coming in a breathless whisper, 170 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS "I suppose it is love when you agree to surrender yourself to a man." Medene ran his fingers thoughtfully through his thin grey beard. "I have always looked upon Railsford as a noble character, Saada. It struck me very much when I heard of your engagement, because the white man who binds himself to a woman of the East takes a great responsibility. I will not admit I have never admitted that the best of our people are in- ferior to the European; but I have lived long enough to understand the prejudice of the white for the coloured races. I had hoped, dear child," his voice becoming tender, "that Lance cared enough to put you before anything; instead, I fear he will allow blood prejudice to raise a barrier be- tween you." Saada turned a regretful, look on her father's troubled face. "That's just what I feel, dear. I had expected to be so happy. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for Lance. But I know if he ever feels ashamed of me I shall be miserable. In the European quarter, French, English, Maltese, and Sicilians step aside for me to pass . . . when we are together; but in their hearts they despise me. And those of our own race . . . oh, you know what it is, father! They look with scornful eyes and say with contempt, 'There goes one of our own blood who would defile both herself and us by marriage with a dog of an Infidel.' In England THE SACKED CIRCLE 171 these things bothered me in a vague indefinite sort of way; out here they are a living force. Tonight I sat alone in the garden. I asked my- self what to do for the best . . . whether to give Lance up or to go on in the hope of making him happy." "You believe, my dear one, he really cares for you?" "I do! I do!" clasping her small hands to- gether. "That is what hurts me so to think of giving him up after all he has done for me. No," with a hopeless littl'e quiver trembling her lips, "I must go on and trust that when we are mar- ried all will be well." Sheikh Medene rose, and moving towards her, rested the tips of his fingers lightly on her shoulder. "Believe me, all will go well, my beloved," he said. "For long I have fought a great battle in my heart, and my love for you, greater than love of myself, has won. Tonight I would reveal a lifelong secret to set the seal of happiness upon your future. By my confession I sweep all diffi- culties away. Saada, the truth no longer shall be hidden from thee: thou art no child of mine, but flesh and blood of an English father and an English mother." CHAPTER XII THE SECRET OF LONG-DEAD YEARS A SENSE of unreality seized upon Saada; everything was disproportionate; her father's voice a faint echo that seemed to come from a very long way off. The lights were fading to an all engulfing darkness ; the floor began to slip beneath her; she felt herself falling falling from a great height into the darkness of oblivion. The experience was transitory; when she had passed her hands across her eyes the room and the lights came back; she still sat in the same chair, and Sheikh Medene himself, no longer unreal and phantasmal, was bending over her, his lined face full of solicitude. "Dear, I should have prepared you," he said, tenderly caressing her dead cold hands. "The shock has been too great. And yet I cannot keep back the truth any longer. It is Allah's will that I lose you . . . forfeit for ever the love and respect you have always given me. Saada, beloved, no longer my child, but ruler of my happiness ... I bow myself in sorrow at your feet to crave for- giveness." "Dear, there is nothing to forgive!" she an- 172 SECRET OF LONG-DEAD YEARS 173 swered, clinging to him with her arms about his bowed shoulders. "I have always belonged to you, my father. This news cannot be true. There must be a mistake. I do not wish to be different. 1 want only to belong to you. Tell me," lifting her lips to his cheek, "why have you said this? To lift me up in the eyes of my lover; to make me happy? Indeed, I can never know happiness apart from you, my dear one. You have been both my father and my mother." "Yet indeed am I neither," he answered, avert- ing his gaze. "Behold in me merely Sheikh Ibra- him Ben Medene, lord of Sidi Ochfar, no more than friend to your father and mother, whose souls rest in Paradise. See," glancing at the clock on the writing-table, "the hour grows late, and already you have endured much suffering of mind and body. Sleep now, my little one, and in peace. At sunrise we will meet again here in this room and then the veil of mystery shall be lifted, and all beyond made plain." Saada shook her head. "I could not sleep, dear. I am too unsettled. You must tell me now. Tomorrow, perhaps who knows it may be too late." The aged Arab moved towards the table and gathered up the closely-written sheets. He spoke with his face turned to the wall. "At any hour now the will of Allah may be done. I feel the time of passing very near. My trem- bling feet are being drawn to the golden gates, be- 174 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS yond which stretches the Infinite in which I shall have my part. May the Great and Wise One who controls the destinies of weak and evil men give me courage to endure this my heart's affliction. With my eyes towards Mecca and with a sincere heart I offer this prayer to Allah who is God, the one God." He raised his hands to his forehead, touched each ear with his thumb, and keeping his palms out- ward, he said, "Allah is great !" After which, with his right hand resting on the left, "Holiness to thee, O Lord. Praise to Thee. Greatness is Thy Name." The thin, careworn body bent forward ; with his head lowered and his fingers touching his knees, he went on, "I extol the sanctity of Allah." Saada watched in awed silence the conclusion of the prayer. The old man touched the floor with his brow, and she heard the throbbing whisper, "I extol the greatness of the Lord, the Most High," and the last triumphant pronouncement as with the finger of his right hand raised, he cried, "I affirm by the grace within me, there is no God but one God, that Mahommet is his Prophet." The prayer finished, he turned and handed the girl the papers. "I have made my peace with the Most High. Now must I make my peace with thee, O daughter of goodness and great charity. Here is the confes- sion which shall stand for ever as a record between me and thy people." SECRET OF LONG-DEAD YEARS 175 Tremblingly Saada's grip closed upon the docu- ment. From weakness the old man was shaking, so she heaped a pile of cushions on the floor and made him sit down. He sat cross-legged at her feet, and with streaming eyes looked up into her face. "Wilt thou love me when thou knowest all?" he asked in a quavering whisper. Her soft fingers lovingly touched the lines of care on his forehead. "Always I shall love thee, my father. I will not read the words thou hast written. From thy lips the truth shall come. Neither barriers of race nor colour can ever divide us." The assurance calmed him. He clasped his hands in the loose folds of his robe and said in a more calm voice, "This is the story of Ibrahim Ben Medene, told with the lips of penitence to Marcella, child of Charles and Esther Denton, of Carrisfort, Eng- land. It was at the end of the great feast of Rah- madan five and twenty years ago that Allah, of his infinite wisdom, brought into my lonely life your father and your mother. Your father was a great scholar whose heart was given to the study of East- ern languages and traditions. He came to Tunis a poor gentleman, to seek my aid in translating the original of the Koran. For six years we worked together until his death. The work was not quite finished. I completed it, and sent it to England. Payment was never made. Your mother did not 176 A DAUGHTER OF THE SANDS know. She was without means : without a piastre in the world. So I made payment to her, letting her believe the money came from England. Six months after your father's death you were born ... in my house. For long your mother lay ill ... so ill that at length, on the advice of an Arab physician, I had you both taken to my palace across the desert in the region of El Sid. There it seemed as though she would recover . . . and for two years we lived there happily. Oh, hear me, child, and if it is in the goodness of your heart forgive. Ibrahim Medene, the lonely Arab sheikh, had learned to love the poor white lady."