The Sheik

The sense of fear was growing on her. She scorned and derided it. She

tried to convince herself it did not exist, but it did exist, torturing

her with its strangeness and with the thoughts that it engendered. She

had anticipated nothing like this. She had never thought of a

contingency that would end so, that would induce a situation before

which her courage was shuddering into pieces with the horror that was

opening up before her--a thing that had always seemed a remote

impossibility that could never touch her, from even the knowledge of

which her life with Aubrey had almost shielded her, but which now

loomed near her, forcing its reality upon her till she trembled and

great drops of moisture gathered on her forehead.

The Arab moved her position once, roughly, but she was glad of the

change for it freed her head from the stifling folds of his robes. He

did not speak again--only once when the chestnut shied violently he

muttered something under his breath. But her satisfaction was

short-lived. A few minutes afterwards his arm tightened round her once

more and he twined a fold of his long cloak round her head, blinding

her. And then she understood. The galloping horse was pulled in with

almost the same suddenness that had amazed her when she had first seen

the Arabs. She felt him draw her close into his arms and slip down on

to the ground; there were voices around her--confused, unintelligible;

then they died away as she felt him carry her a few paces. He set her

down and unwound the covering from her face. The light that shone

around her seemed by contrast dazzling with the darkness that had gone

before.

Confused, she clasped her hands over her eyes for a moment and

then looked up slowly. She was in a big, lofty tent, brightly lit by

two hanging lamps. But she took no heed of her surroundings; her eyes

were fixed on the man who had brought her there. He had flung aside the

heavy cloak that enveloped him from head to foot and was standing

before her, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in white flowing robes,

a waistcloth embroidered in black and silver wound several times about

him, and from the top of which showed a revolver that was thrust into

the folds.

Diana's eyes passed over him slowly till they rested on his brown,

clean-shaven face, surmounted by crisp, close-cut brown hair. It was

the handsomest and cruellest face that she had ever seen. Her gaze was

drawn instinctively to his. He was looking at her with fierce burning

eyes that swept her until she felt that the boyish clothes that covered

her slender limbs were stripped from her, leaving the beautiful white

body bare under his passionate stare.