The Sheik

It was one of his cigarettes that she was smoking. She had always been

powerfully affected by the influence of smell, which induced

recollection with her to an extraordinary degree, and now the uncommon

penetrating odour of the Arab's cigarettes brought back all that she

had been trying to put out of her mind. With a groan she flung it away

and buried her face in her arms. The past rose up, and rushed,

uncontrolled, through her brain. Incidents crowded into her

recollection, memories of headlong gallops across the desert riding

beside the man who, while she hated him, compelled her admiration,

memories of him schooling the horses that he loved, sitting them like a

centaur, memories of him amongst his men, memories more intimately

connected with herself, of his varying moods, his swift changes from

savage cruelty to amazing gentleness, from brutal intolerance to sudden

consideration. There had even been times when he had interested her

despite herself, and she had forgotten the relationship in which they

stood towards each other in listening to his deep, slow voice, till a

word or a gesture brought back the fact vividly. Memories of moments

when she had struggled against his caresses, and he had mocked her

helplessness with his great strength, when she had lain in his arms

panting and exhausted, cold with fear and shrinking from his fierce

kisses.

She had feared him as she had never believed it possible to

fear. His face rose before her clearly with all the expressions she had

learned to know and dread. She tried to banish it, striving with all

her might to put him from her mind, twisting this way and that,

writhing on the soft sand as she struggled with the obsession that held

her. She saw him all the time plainly, as though he were there before

her. Would he pursue her always, phantom-like? Would the recollection

of the handsome brown face haunt her for ever with its fierce eyes and

cruel mouth? She buried her head deeper in her arms, but the vision

persisted until with a scream she started up with heaving chest and

wild eyes, standing rigid, staring towards the south with a desperate

fixedness that made her eyeballs ache. The sense of his presence had

been terribly real. She dropped on to the ground again with an

hysterical laugh, and pushed the thick hair off her forehead wearily.

Silver Star laying his muzzle suddenly on her shoulder made her start

again violently with heavy, beating heart. A frightened look went

across her face. "I'm nervous," she muttered, looking round with a

little shiver. "I shall go mad if I stay here much longer." The little

oasis that she had hailed so joyfully had become utterly repugnant and

she was impatient to get away from it. She climbed eagerly into the

saddle, and, with the rapid motion, she regained her calm and her

spirits rose quickly.