The Sheik

She must take off the boyish clothes that somehow seemed to lend her

courage and substitute, to gratify the whim of the savage in the next

room, the womanly dress that revealed more intimately the slender lines

of her figure and intensified the uncommon beauty of her face.

She went to the dressing table with lagging feet and stared resentfully

at the white face and haggard eyes that looked back at her from the

mirror. It was like the face of a stranger. Aubrey's words came back to

her with an irony that was horrible. To-night she did not dress to

please herself. Her face was set, her eyes almost black with rage, but

behind the rage there was lurking apprehension. She started at every

sound that came from the adjoining room. Her fingers, wet with

perspiration, seemed almost unable to fulfil their task. She hated him,

she hated herself, she hated her beauty that had brought this horror

upon her.

She would have rebelled if she had dared, but instinctively

she hurried--fear had already driven her so far. But when she was ready

she did not move from the table beside which she stood. Fear had forced

her to haste, but her still struggling pride would not permit her to

obey her fear any further. She raised her eyes to the glass again,

glowering angrily at the pale reflection, and the old obstinacy mingled

with the new pain that filled them. Must she endure his mocking glance

with chalk-like cheeks and eyes like a beaten hound? Had she not even

courage enough left to hide the fear that filled her with

self-contempt? The wave of anger that went through her rushed the

colour into her face and she leaned nearer the glass with a little

murmur of satisfaction that stopped abruptly as her fingers gripped the

edge of the table, and she continued staring into the mirror not at her

own face, but at the white robes that appeared behind her head,

blotting out the limited view she had had of the room.

The Sheik was standing behind her. He had come with the peculiar

noiseless tread that she had noticed before. He swung her round to look

at her and she writhed under his eyes of admiration, straining from him

as far as his grip allowed. Holding her with one hand he took her chin

in the other and tilted her face up to his with a little smile. "Don't

look so frightened. I don't want anything more deadly than some soap

and water. Surely even an Arab may be allowed to wash his hands?"