The Sheik

The same feeling of unreality that she had experienced once before the

first day in the Sheik's camp came over her. The intense stillness--for

the Arabs had ceased shouting--the hot, dry sand with the shimmering

heat haze rising like mist from its whispering surface, the cloudless

deep blue sky overhead, the band of menacing horsemen circling nearer

and nearer, the dead Dancer, with Gaston's horse standing quietly

beside his prostrate companion, and lastly, the man beside her, brave

and devoted to the end, all seemed fantastic and unreal. She viewed it

dispassionately, as if she were a spectator rather than a participant

in the scene. But for a moment only, then the reality of the situation

came clearly to her again. Any minute might mean death for one or other

or both of them, and with an instinctive movement she pressed closer to

Gaston. They were both silent, there seemed nothing to say. The valet's

left hand clenched over hers at the involuntary appeal for

companionship that she made, and she felt it contract as a bullet

gashed his forehead, blinding him for a moment with the blood that

dripped into his eyes. He let go her hand to brush his arm across his

face, and as he did so the Arabs with suddenly renewed shouting bore

down upon them.

Gaston turned sharply and Diana read his purpose in the horror in his

eyes. She held up her head with a little nod and the same brave smile

on her white lips. "Please," she whispered, "quickly!" A spasm crossed

his face, "Turn your head," he muttered desperately. "I cannot do it if

you----"

There was a rattle of shots, and with a gasp he crumpled up against

her. For a moment it was pandemonium. Standing over Gaston's body she

fired her last shot and flung the empty revolver in the face of a man

who sprang forward to seize her. She turned with a desperate hope of

reaching Gaston's horse, but she was hemmed in, and for a second she

stood at bay, hands clenched and teeth set, braving the wild faces that

surrounded her, and were closing in upon her, with flashing defiant

eyes. Then she was conscious of a crashing blow on her head, the ground

heaved up under her feet, everything went black before her eyes, and

without a sound she fell senseless.

Late in the afternoon Saint Hubert was still writing in the big tent.

Henri had deciphered the notes that had baffled his master in the

morning, and the Vicomte had taken advantage of the solitude to do some

long-neglected work. He had forgotten the time, forgotten to be

surprised at Diana's continued absence, immersed in the interesting

subject he was dealing with, and not realising the significance of her

delayed return. Ahmed had spoken of the proximity of his hereditary

enemy, but Saint Hubert had not grasped how near the robber Sheik had

ventured.