The Sheik

It was evening when Diana opened drowsy and heavy eyes, a bitter taste

in her mouth from the effects of the drug that Saint Hubert had given

her. Everything had been laid out in readiness for her waking with the

little touches that were characteristic of Zilah's handiwork, but the

Arab girl herself was not visible. The lamp was lighted, and Diana

turned her head languidly, still half confused, to look at the clock

beside her. The tiny chime sounded seven times, and with a rush of

recollection she leaped up. More than twelve hours since she had knelt

beside him after drinking the coffee that Raoul had given her. She

guessed what he had done and tried to be grateful, but the thought of

what might have happened during the twelve hours she had lain like a

log was horrible. She dressed with feverish haste and went into the

outer room. It was filled with Arabs, many of whom she did not

recognise, and she knew that they must belong to the reinforcements

that Ahmed Ben Hassan had sent for. Two, who seemed from their

appearance to be petty chiefs, were talking in low tones to Saint

Hubert, who looked worn and tired. The rest were grouped silently about

the divan, looking at the still-unconscious Sheik. The restlessness and

delirium of the morning had passed and been succeeded by a death-like

stupor. Nearest to him stood Yusef, his usual swaggering self-assurance

changed into an attitude of deepest dejection, and his eyes, that were

fixed on Ahmed Ben Hassan's face, were like those of a whipped dog.

Gradually the tent emptied until only Yusef was left, and at last,

reluctantly, he too went, stopping at the entrance to speak to Saint

Hubert, who had just taken leave of the two headmen.

The Vicomte came back, bringing a chair for Diana, and put her into it

with gentle masterfulness. "Sit down," he said almost gruffly. "You

look like a ghost."

She looked up at him reproachfully. "You drugged that coffee, Raoul. If

he had died to-day while I was asleep I don't think I could ever have

forgiven you."

"My dear child," he said gravely, "you don't know how near you were to

collapse. If I had not made you sleep I should have had three patients

on my hands instead of two."

"I am very ungrateful," she murmured, with a tremulous little smile.

Saint Hubert brought a chair for himself and dropped into it wearily.

He felt very tired, the strain of the past twenty-four hours had been

tremendous. He had a very real fear that was fast growing into a

conviction that his skill was going to prove unequal to save his

friend's life, and beside that anxiety and his physical fatigue he had

fought a bitter fight with himself all day, tearing out of his heart

the envy and jealousy that filled it, and locking away his love as a

secret treasure to be hidden for always. His devotion to Ahmed Ben

Hassan had survived the greatest test that could be imposed upon it,

and had emerged from the trial strengthened and refined, with every

trace of self obliterated. It had been the hardest struggle of his

life, but it was over now, and all the bitterness had passed, leaving

only a passionate desire for Diana's happiness that outweighed every

other thought. One spark of comfort remained. He would not be quite

useless. His help and sympathy would be necessary to her, and even for

that he was grateful.