The Sheik

She looked back into the room with a shudder as

her eyes travelled over the luxurious appointments and different

objects that had become so curiously familiar in the last two months.

The unexpected equipments and the man's own baffling personality would

remain in her recollection always as an enigma that she would never be

able to solve. So much had been so inexplicable in himself and in his

mode of life. She drew a long breath and went out hastily into the

sunshine.

The horses were waiting, and Gaston was standing ready to hold her

stirrup. She fondled the beautiful grey horse's soft nose and patted

his satiny neck with a hand that trembled a little. She loved the horse

and to-day he should be the means of saving her. He responded to her

caresses, gentling her with slobbering mouth and whinnying softly. With

one last look at the big double tent and the rest of the camp behind it

she mounted and rode away without another backward glance. She had to

exercise a rigid control over herself. She longed to put Silver Star

into a hand gallop at once and shake off Gaston, but she was still too

near the camp. She must be patient and put a certain number of miles

between herself and the possibility of pursuit before she attempted

anything. Too early an endeavour would only bring the whole horde in

wild chase at her heels. The thought of the promise she had given to

the man from whom she was flying came back to her. She had promised

obedience, but she had not promised that she would not try to escape,

and, if she had, no promise wrung from her by fear was valid in her

opinion.

She rode steadily forward at a slow, swinging canter, instinctively

saving her horse, plan after plan passing through her brain to be

rejected as impracticable. Silver Star fretted continually at the

moderate pace, tossing his head and catching at his bit. She took no

heed of the time beyond the fact that it was passing quickly, and that

if anything was to be done it must be done as soon as possible. But

Gaston, riding a few paces behind her, was very much alive to the hour

and had looked several times at his watch. He ranged alongside of her

now with a murmured apology. "Pardon, Madame. It grows late," and

submitted his wrist watch for her inspection.

Diana glanced mechanically at her own wrist and then remembered that

she had broken her watch the day before. She pulled up, and tilting her

helmet back mopped her hot forehead, and, as she did so, a sharp breeze

sprang up, the curious wind that comes and goes so rapidly in the

desert. An idea flashed into her mind. It was a poor chance, but it

might succeed. She shot a glance at Gaston. He was looking in the

opposite direction, and, raising her hand, she fluttered her

handkerchief a moment in the breeze and then let it go. The wind

carried it some distance away. She gave a little cry and caught at the

bridle of the valet's horse.