The Sheik

The French servant, coming from behind the tent, stopped to

speak to the man as he picked himself up and made a grab at the horse's

head, and then turned to Diana with his pleasant smile.

"He is rightly named Shaitan, Madame, for he is assuredly possessed of

a devil," he said, indicating the chestnut, who, at that moment, with a

violent plunge, broke away from the men who were holding him and headed

for the edge of the oasis with the Arabs streaming after him. "The

mounted men will catch him," he added with a little laugh, in response

to Diana's exclamation.

"Is he amusing himself, or is it really vice?" she asked.

"Pure vice, Madame. He has killed three men."

Diana looked at him incredulously, for his tone was casual and his

manner did not indicate any undue feeling.

"He ought to be shot," she said indignantly.

The man shrugged. "Monseigneur is fond of him," he said quietly.

And so because Monseigneur was fond of him the vicious animal was

surrounded with every care that his master's pleasure might not be

interfered with. Evidently the lives of his wretched people were of

less value to him than that of a favourite horse. It sounded compatible

with the mercilessness she had herself experienced. What she would not

have believed yesterday to-day seemed terribly credible. The courage

that the relief of his absence brought back was sinking fast, as fast

as the red ball glowing in the heavens was sinking down towards the

horizon. She turned from her own fearful thoughts to look at some more

horses that were being led away to the lines on the other side of the

camp.

"The horses are magnificent, but they are bigger than any Arabs I have

seen before."

"They are a special breed, Madame," replied the Frenchman. "The tribe

has been famous for them for generations. Monseigneur's horses are

known through all the Barbary States, and as far as France," he added,

with a little accent of pride creeping into his voice.

Diana looked at him speculatively. There was an inflection in his voice

each time he mentioned his master that indicated a devotion that she

was unable to accredit to the brute for whose treatment she was still

suffering. But her thoughts were broken into abruptly.

"There is Monseigneur," said the servant suddenly. He spoke as if she,

too, must be glad of his coming. Did the valet imagine for one moment

that she was here of her own free will? Or was it all a part of the

hypocrisy in which she seemed to be enveloped? She flashed one glance

at the horseman riding through the belt of trees that fringed the oasis

and an icy perspiration chilled her from head to foot. She shrank back

under the awning and into the coolness of the tent, raging against the

mastering fear that she could not overcome. But just inside the open

doorway she stood firm; even her fear could make her go no further. She

would meet him here, not cowering into the inner room like a trembling

creature skulking in the furthest corner of its cage. That much pride

at least was left.