The Sheik

She rose to her feet. She was afraid of breaking down, of giving way to

the fear and anxiety that racked her. She turned instinctively to the

help and sympathy that offered and went to Saint Hubert, joining him

under the awning. Usually at night the vicinity of the Sheik's tent was

avoided by the tribesmen, even the sentry on guard was posted at some

little distance. Kopec curled up outside the doorway kept ample watch.

But to-night the open space was swarming with men, some squatting on

the ground in circles, others clustered together in earnest

conversation, and far off through the palm trees she caught an

occasional glimpse of mounted men. Yusef and the headmen acting under

him were taking no risks, there was to be no chance of a surprise

attack.

"You must be very tired, Raoul," she said, slipping her hand through

his arm, for her need was almost as much for physical as mental

support. The frank touch of her hand sent a quiver through him, but he

suppressed it, and laid his own hand over her cold fingers.

"I must not think of that yet. Later on, perhaps, I can rest a little.

Henri can watch; he is almost as good a doctor as I am, the

incomparable Henri! Ahmed and I have always quarrelled over the

respective merits of our servants."

He felt her hand tighten on his arm at the mention of the Sheik's name

and heard the smothered sigh that she choked back. They stood in

silence for a while watching the shifting groups of tribesmen. A little

knot of low-voiced men near them opened up, and one of their number

came to Saint Hubert with an inquiry.

"The men are restless." Raoul said when the Arab had gone back to his

fellows with all the consolation the Vicomte could give him. "Their

devotion is very strong. Ahmed is a god to them. Their anxiety takes

them in a variety of ways. Yusef, who has been occupied with his duties

most of the day, has turned to religion for the first time in his life,

he has gone to say his prayers with the pious Abdul, as he thinks that

Allah is more likely to listen if his petitions go heavenward in

company with the holy man's."

Diana's thoughts strayed back to the story that Saint Hubert had told

her. "Does Lord Glencaryll know that you see Ahmed?" she asked.

"Oh yes. He and my father became great friends. He often stays with us

in Paris. We are a link between him and Ahmed. He is always hungry for

any news of him, and still clings to the hope that one day he will

relent. He has never made any further effort to open up relations with

him because he knows it would be useless. If there is to be any

rapprochement between them it must come from Ahmed. They have

almost met accidentally once or twice, and Glencaryll has once seen

him. It was at the opera. He was staying in Paris for some months and

had a box. I had gone across from our own box on the other side of the

house to speak to him. There were several people with him. I was

standing beside him, talking. Ahmed had just come into our box opposite

and was standing right in the front looking over the theatre. Something

had annoyed him and he was scowling. The likeness was unmistakable.

Glencaryll gave a kind of groan and staggered back against me. 'Good

God! Who is that?' he said, and I don't think he knew he was speaking

out loud.