“Sweet of tongue but of distant beneficence.”—Arabic Proverb.
“Zarah! It is—it is you! Then it was you!”
Helen raised herself on her elbow and stared at the bewildering picture which suddenly appeared in the doorway, blotting out the peace of the coming dawn and the far-stretching desert.
Wrapped from head to foot in a great cloak of orange satin, the Arabian stood outlined against the purple sky, with the Nubian behind her, whilst Namlah, hidden behind her pots and pans in the recess, cursed beneath her breath with all the Oriental’s volubility.
The terrified body-woman had lain flat on her face upon the steps until certain that she had not been discovered, then, as the sky had lightened, had crept like some gigantic spider up the steps and into the room where the white girl lay. She had barely had the time to whisper a warning and to run noiselessly across to the recess and hide herself when they heard her mistress’s voice speaking softly to the Nubian as they, too, mounted the steps.
Zarah did not hesitate. She determined upon a plan of action even as she caught the unconquerable look in the girl’s bewildered face.
Here was no weakling to be bullied into submission, no poor spirit to be tyrannized, no faltering feet to be whipped along a certain road; rather was it a case for duplicity and cunning, with flowers and green boughs to cover the dug pit into which, misled, betrayed, Helen Raynor would ultimately fall.
With a little cry she ran across to the divan, flung herself[128] on her knees and seized Helen’s hand with a world of innocence and entreaty in her strange eyes.
“Helen R-raynor-r!” She spoke the sweetest broken English in the world, her r’s rolling like little drums. “Ze fr-r-ien’ of my youz! Can you under-r-stan’? Can I beg for your-r for-r-give-e-ness for ze ter-r-ible mistake?”
She gave Helen no time to grant it or not. She launched out on the most plausible explanation of the disastrous battle that a crafty mind could possibly have invented on the spur of the moment. “I could not hold my men; I could not make zem hear-r or-r under-r-stan’ in ze noise of ze fight zat we had not foun’ ze r-r-right enemy.” She flung her arms up above her head, which she then proceeded to bow to the ground. “By ze gr-r-ace of Allah”—she raised her face and right hand to the ceiling, a veritable picture of piety—“zey did hear-r my or-r-der not to fir-r-e so zat you, dear-r fr-rien’ of my happy schooldays, was not kill-ed. Ah! Zose ozer bar-r-bar-rians zat kill-ed ze old Englishman wiz ze white hair-r, zay were ze ones we——”
“My grandfather! But he was killed by a spear through the heart, a spear thrown by one of your men. The others came up from behind!”
In spite of the reputation for lying and every kind of deception that the Arabian had gained at school, Helen had almost allowed herself to believe the plausible tale told in the guileless voice.
But, her suspicions aroused by the last barefaced untruth, she drew away as far as the divan would allow from the supplicating figure with the sorrow-laden eyes.
But as well try to catch an ostrich on the run as Zarah in a falsehood.
She rose to her feet, a superb figure of sorrowful indignation, and threw out her hands as best she could for the cloak she had wrapped round herself in an effort to hide the scantiness of her attire, then sat down on the foot of the divan, facing her enemy.
[129]
“Helen R-ray-nor-r! You believe zat of my men, mine, over-r whom I r-reign as queen? Ze bar-r-bar-rians sur-r-rounded us, zey thr-r-rew ze spear-r fr-rom behind my men. Zen I give ze or-r-der to Al-Asad, who is my bodyguar-r-d.” She pointed to the Nubian, who stood just outside the door, watching the rocks in the hope of seeing Yussuf pass amongst them. “I tell him to save you from ze savage Bedouins.”
“But why me alone?” Helen drew the silken coverlet about her and got to a sitting position on the edge of the divan, whilst Namlah watched the battle of wills between the beautiful women from the recess, which was just behind Zarah’s back.
Zarah leapt at the chance of firmly establishing her lie. “But zer-r-e was no one else to save. Ze old one, your-r gr-ran’fazer-r, was dead.”
“No, no, no!” Helen sat forward in her intense excitement, her eyes shining, her hands clenched. “There was another Englishman with us, someone you know, Zarah. Think of it, someone you have met!”
“Me! I have met! A fr-r-rien’ of yours and mine! I do not under-r-stan’!”
Quickly, breathlessly, Helen reminded her of the day she had fallen from her horse into Ralph Trenchard’s arms.
“You remember! Oh, you must remember! He told me all about you; said how magnificently you rode. Oh, and when he heard about the mysterious woman of the desert, he said he thought it might be you, because you had told him that you came from somewhere about here and had asked him to pay your father a visit. Didn’t you see him? Don’t you know where he is? And are you the wonderful woman everyone talks about?”
Zarah clapped her hands in childlike enjoyment.
“I just r-remember-r him,” she cried gleefully, whilst longing to choke the life out of the girl in front of her. “And he was wiz you? Then wher-r-e is he? We[130] sear-r-ched after-r-wards for our-r men upon ze battlefield, but saw nozing of ze old man, nor-r his bones, nor-r his clothes, and nozing of—of ze ozer. I mean zer was no tr-r-ace of any ozer. I know!” She clapped her hands and laughed. “We saw marks leading back to Hareek. He is escaped, taking wiz him ze body of your-r gr-r-an’fazer-r, and is waiting for you, to know wher-r-e you ar-r-e, to come and fetch you.”
“Perhaps! Perhaps you are right!” quietly replied Helen, her eyes fixed on the clasped fingers, which showed white at the joints under the pressure of the Arabian’s emotion. “Yes, perhaps you are right.” She smiled gently and nodded her head, whilst she asked herself if Zarah’s intense solicitude could possibly arise out of friendship for herself. She decided that it did not when, on turning her head, she found the eyes of the handsome native fixed upon her. She frowned and drew the silken coverlet more closely about her in an instinctive desire to protect herself from the feeling of uneasiness and evil which had suddenly fallen upon her, and sighed with unconfessed relief when the sunrays tipped over the edge of the mountains and shone through the open door. “Tell me,” she said quickly, “why did you go out to fight those Bedouins? What harm had they done that they should be shot down, speared, massacred by a force far superior to their own? What right had you to take their lives?”
It is most injudicious to ask such pertinent questions in the uncivilized places of the world, and it was well for Helen that she could not see the rage in the other’s heart at her daring.
“A?-a?-a?!”
The cry of the mourner rose to high heaven as Zarah smote her breast, causing the doves and pheasants and other birds to rise in flocks, and the women near the water’s edge to look up from the business of the hour.
“Behold!” lied she brazenly. “Even some moons ago[131] zose bar-r-bar-r-ians lay in wait for some of my people as zey r-ret-urned fr-r-om Hutah. Ze men zey killed, ze women and ze little, little child-r-ren zey took away wiz zem. Am I not ze mozer of my people? Could I r-refuse my men when zey cr-ried to be r-revenged? Ah, fr-r-ien’ of my happy schooldays, ze ways of ze deser-r-t a-r-r-e not ze ways of ze city. Let us not talk of zings so sad. Listen! I have some idea. Do you r-r-emember how Miss Jane used to scold when we said zat?”
She did not give Helen time to say if she did or did not remember, but turned her head and said something in his own dialect to the Nubian. He raised his hand and walked to the edge of the platform, as unwitting as his mistress of Namlah the body-woman, who stood in the doorway of the recess, gesticulating violently and shaking her head.
Helen looked at her quietly and then turned and looked out through the doorway, wondering what Zarah could have said to awaken such perturbation in Namlah’s heart.
“What is the great idea, Zarah?”
Zarah smiled bewitchingly, her teeth flashing, her eyes as soft as a gazelle’s. “I will r-r-repeat ze invitation to ze Englishman—ah, I cannot pr-r-o-nounce ze name—zrough you. You will wr-r-ite him a letter to ask him to come to stay for ze little time and to take you back wiz him—yes? You will write, will you not, my dear fr-r-ien’?”
Love, the master-key to all problems between woman and woman, unlocked the door which hid the secret workings of Zarah’s mind from Helen. The request explained Namlah’s agitation. Zarah had evidently told the Nubian about the letter of invitation.
“How will you send the letter?”
It seemed a trusty messenger would deliver the letter at Hutah and would wait to act as escort to the Englishman on the return journey through the desert.
“But Ralph Trenchard may be ill, or he may not be able to come.” Helen watched the other’s face intently[132] as she spoke. “The messenger can escort me to Hutah instead of taking the letter.”
“No woman is safe unar-r-med, and not even ar-r-med, alone in ze deser-r-t wiz a man. Be r-reasonable, little English r-r-ose, and wr-r-ite ze little letter.”
“You could take me with an escort to Hutah, Zarah.”
Zarah humbly touched her forehead, and threw out her hands as she raged inwardly at the other’s obstinacy.
“I am ze mozer of my people. Zey mour-r-n, zey weep in zeir-r sor-r-row. I cannot leave zem even for a little, little while.”
“You liar!” said Helen to herself, thoroughly aware at last of the trap which had been laid for the man she loved.
There was no sign whatever in the women’s faces of the strength of the passions in their hearts.
Zarah smiled the gentle smile of propitiation as she played for the fierce love which had possessed her for so long, repressing the hate and jealousy which urged her to call the half-cas............