The Sheik

She set her teeth and, crossing the room, slipped noiselessly between

the curtains. Then she shrank back suddenly with her hands over her

mouth. He was leaning forward on the divan, his elbows on his knees,

his face hidden in his hands. And it was as a stranger that he had come

back to her, divested of the flowing robes that had seemed essentially

a part of him; an unfamiliar figure in silk shirt, riding breeches and

high brown boots, still dust-covered from the long ride. A thin tweed

coat lay in a heap on the carpet--he must have flung it off after

Gaston went, for the valet, with his innate tidiness, would never have

left it lying on the floor.

She looked at him hungrily, her eyes ranging slowly over the long

length of him and lingering on his bent head. The light from the

hanging lamp shone on his thick brown hair burnishing it like bronze.

She was shaking with a sudden new shyness, but love gave her courage

and she went to him, her bare feet noiseless on the rugs.

"Ahmed!" she whispered.

He lifted his head slowly and looked at her, and the sight of his face

sent her on to her knees beside him, her hands clutching the breast of

his soft shirt.

"Ahmed! What is it?... You are hurt--your wound----?" she cried, her

voice sharp with anxiety.

He caught her groping hands, and rising, pulled her gently to her feet,

his fingers clenched round hers, looking down at her strangely. Then he

turned from her without a word, and wrenching open the flap of the

tent, flung it back and stood in the open doorway staring out into the

right. He looked oddly slender and tall silhouetted against the

darkness. A gleam of perplexity crept into her frightened eyes, and one

hand went up to her throat.

"What is it?" she whispered again breathlessly.

"It is that we start for Oran to-morrow," he replied. His voice sounded

dull and curiously unlike, and with a little start Diana realised that

he was speaking in English. Her eyes closed and she swayed dizzily.

"You are sending me away?" she gasped slowly.

There was a pause before he answered.

"Yes."

The curt monosyllable lashed her like a whip. She reeled under it,

panting and wild-eyed. "Why?"

He did not answer and the colour flamed suddenly into her face. She

went closer to him, her breast heaving, trying to speak, but her throat

was parched and her lips shaking so that no words would come.