The Sheik

Very soon after she had been brought to Ahmed Ben Hassan's camp she had

realised that Gaston's devotion to the Sheik had been extended to

herself, but since the night of the raid he had frankly worshipped her.

It was very airless even out-of-doors. She peered into the darkness,

but there was little light from the tiny crescent moon, and she could

see nothing. She moved a few steps forward from under the awning to

look up at the brilliant stars twinkling overhead. She had watched them

so often from Ahmed Ben Hassan's arms; they had become an integral part

of the passionate Oriental nights. He loved them, and when the mood was

on him, watched them untiringly, teaching her to recognise them, and

telling her countless Arab legends connected with them, sitting under

the awning far info the night, till gradually his voice faded away from

her ears, and long after she was asleep he would sit on motionless,

staring up into the heavens, smoking endless cigarettes. Would it be

given to her ever to watch them again sparkling against the

blue-blackness of the sky, with the curve of his arm round her and the

steady beat of his heart under her cheek? A stab of pain went: through

her. Would anything ever be the same again? Everything had changed

since the coming of Raoul de Saint Hubert. A weary sigh broke from her

lips.

"Madam is tired?" a respectful voice murmured at her ear.

Diana started. She had forgotten the valet. "It is so hot. The tent was

stifling," she said evasively.

Gaston's devotion was of a kind that sought practical demonstration.

"Madame veut du cafe?" he suggested tentatively. It was his

universal panacea, but at the moment it sounded almost grotesque.

Diana felt an hysterical desire to laugh which nearly turned into

tears, but she checked herself. "No, it is too late."

"In one little moment I will bring it," Gaston urged persuasively,

unwilling to give up his own gratification in serving her.

"No, Gaston. It makes me nervous," she said gently.

Gaston heaved quite a tragic sigh. His own nerves were steel and his

capacity for imbibing large quantities of black coffee at any hour of

the day or night unlimited.

"Une limonade?" he persisted hopefully.

She let him bring the cool drink more for his pleasure than for her

own. "Monseigneur is late," she said slowly, straining her eyes again

into the darkness.

"He will come," replied Gaston confidently. "Kopec is restless, he is

always so when Monseigneur is coming."