The Sheik

He smiled down at her suddenly. "Bon Dieu! Do you know how

beautiful you are?" he murmured. But the sound of his voice seemed to

break a spell that had kept her dumb. She struggled again to free

herself.

"Let me go!" she cried piteously, and it was her complete immunity from

him that she prayed for, but he chose wilfully to misunderstand her.

The passion faded from his eyes, giving place to a gleam of mockery.

"There is plenty of time. Gaston is the most discreet servant. We shall

hear him when he comes," he said with a low laugh.

But she persisted with the courage of desperation. "When will you let

me go?"

With an exclamation of impatience he put her from him roughly, and

going to the divan flung himself down on the cushions, lit another

cigarette and picked up a magazine that was lying on an inlaid stool

beside him.

She bit her lips to keep back the hysterical sobs that rose in her

throat, nerving herself with clenched hands, and followed him. "You

must tell me. I must know. When will you let me go?"

He turned a page with deliberation, and flicked the ash from his

cigarette before looking up. A heavy scowl gathered on his face, and

his eyes swept her from head to foot with a slow scrutiny that made her

shrink. "When I am tired of you," he said coldly.

She shuddered violently and turned away with a little moan, stumbling

blindly towards the inner room, but as she reached the curtains his

voice arrested her. He had thrown aside the magazine and was lying back

on the divan, his long limbs stretched out indolently, his hands

clasped behind his head.

"You make a very charming boy," he said lightly, with a faint smile,

"but it was not a boy that I saw in Biskra. You understand?"

Beyond the curtains she stood a moment, shaking all over, her face

hidden in her hands, able to relax a little the hold she was keeping on

herself. Yes! She understood, plainly enough. The understanding had

already been forced upon her. It was an order from one who was prepared

to compel his commands, to make herself more attractive with all that

it implied in the eyes of the man who held her in his power and who

looked at her as no other man had ever dared to look, with appraising

criticism that made her acutely conscious of her sex, that made her

feel like a slave exposed for sale in a public market.