"I see you don't know. The secret's been kept from you, somehow, by his
friend who brought you here. You'll tell me how you came; but first I'll
answer your question. The Cassim ben Halim you knew, has been dead for
eight years."
"They told me so in Algiers. But--do you mean--have you married again?"
"I said the Cassim ben Halim you knew, is dead. The Cassim _I_ knew, and
know now, is alive--and one of the most important men in Africa, though
we live like this, buried among the desert dunes, out of the world--or
what you'd think the world."
"My world is where you are," Victoria said.
"Dear little Babe! Mine is a terrible world. You must get out of it as
soon as you can, or you'll never get out at all."
"Never till I take you with me."
"Don't say that! I must send you away. I _must_--no matter how hard it
may be to part from you," Saidee insisted. "You don't know what you're
talking about. How should you? I suppose you must have heard
_something_. You must anyhow suspect there's a secret?"
"Yes, Si Maïeddine told me that. He said, when I talked of my sister,
and how I was trying to find her, that he'd once known Cassim. I had to
agree not to ask questions,--and he would never say for certain whether
Cassim was dead or not, but he promised sacredly to bring me to the
place where my sister lived. His cousin Lella M'Barka Bent Djellab was
with us,--very ill and suffering, but brave. We started from Algiers,
and he made a mystery even of the way we came, though I found out the
names of some places we passed, like El Aghouat and Ghardaia----"
Saidee's eyes widened with a sudden flash. "What, you came here by El
Aghouat and Ghardaia?"
"Yes. Isn't that the best way?"
"The best, if the longest is the best. I don't know much about North
Africa geographically. They've taken care I shouldn't know! But I--I've
lately found out from--a person who's made the journey, that one can get
here from Algiers in a week or eight days. Seventeen hours by train to
Biskra: Biskra to Touggourt two long days in a diligence, or carriage
with plenty of horses; Touggourt to Oued Tolga on camel or horse, or
mule, in three or four days going up and down among the great dunes. You
must have been weeks travelling."
"We have. I----"
"How very queer! What could Si Maïeddine's reason have been? Rich Arabs
love going by train whenever they can. Men who come from far off to see
the marabout always do as much of the journey as possible by rail. I
hear things about all important pilgrims. Then why did Si Maïeddine
bring you by El Aghouat and Ghardaia--especially when his cousin's an
invalid? It couldn't have been just because he didn't want you to be
seen, because, as you're dressed like an Arab girl no one could guess he
was travelling with a European."
"His father lives near El Aghouat," Victoria reminded her sister. And
Maïeddine had used this fact as one excuse, when he admitted that they
might have taken a shorter road. But in her heart the girl had guessed
why the longest way had been chosen. She did not wish to hide from
Saidee things which concerned herself, yet Maïeddine's love was his
secret, not hers, therefore she had not meant to tell of it, and she was
angry with herself for blushing. She blushed more and more deeply, and
Saidee understood.
"I see! He's in love with you. That's why he brought you here. How
_clever_ of him! How like an Arab!"
For a moment Saidee was silent, thinking intently. It could not be
possible, Victoria told herself, that the idea pleased her sister. Yet
for an instant the white face lighted up, as if Saidee were relieved of
heavy anxiety.
She drew Victoria closer, with an arm round her waist. "Tell me about
it," she said. "How you met him, and everything."
The girl knew she would have to tell, since her sister had guessed, but
there were many other things which it seemed more important to say and
hear first. She longed to hear all, all about Saidee's existence, ever
since the letters had stopped; why they had stopped; and whether the
reason had anything to do with the mystery about Cassim. Saidee seemed
willing to wait, apparently, for details of Victoria's life, since she
wanted to begin with the time only a few weeks ago, when Maïeddine had
come into it. But the girl would not believe that this meant
indifference. They must begin somewhere. Why should not Saidee be
curious to hear the end part first, and go back gradually? Saidee's
silence had been a torturing mystery for years, whereas about her, her
simple past, there was no mystery to clear up.
"Yes," she agreed. "But you promised to tell me about yourself
and--and----"
"I know. Oh, you shall hear the whole story. It will seem like a romance
to you, I suppose, because you haven't had to live it, day by day, year
by year. It's sordid reality to me--oh, _how_ sordid!--most of it. But
this about Maïeddine changes everything. I must hear what's
happened--quickly--because I shall have to make a plan. It's very
important--dreadfully important. I'll explain, when you've told me more.
But there's time to order something for you to eat and drink, first, if
you're tired and hungry. You must be both, poor child--poor, pretty
child! You _are_ pretty--lovely. No wonder Maïeddine--but what will you
have. Which among our horrid Eastern foods do you hate least?"
"I don't hate any of them. But don't make me eat or drink now, please,
dearest. I couldn't. By and by. We rested and lunched this side of the
city. I don't feel as if I should ever be hungry again. I'm so----"
Victoria stopped. She could not say: "I am so happy," though she ought
to have been able to say that. What was she, then, if not happy? "I'm so
excited," she finished.
Saidee stroked the girl's hand, softly. On hers she wore no ring, not
even a wedding ring, though Cassim had put one on her finger, European
fashion, when she was a bride. Victoria remembered it very well, among
the other rings he had given during the short engagement. Now all were
gone. But on the third finger of the left hand was the unmistakable mark
a ring leaves if worn for many years. The thought passed through
Victoria's mind that it could not be long since Saidee had ceased to
wear her wedding ring.
"I don't want to be cruel, or frighten you, my poor Babe," she said,
"but--you've walked into a trap in coming here, and I've got to try and
save you. Thank heaven my husband's away, but we've no time to lose.
Tell me quickly about Maïeddine. I've heard a good deal of him, from
Cassim, in old days; but tell me all that concerns him and you. Don't
skip anything, or I can't judge."
Saidee's manner was feverishly emphatic, but she did not look at
Victoria. She watched her own hand moving back and forth, restlessly,
from the girl's finger-tips, up the slender, bare wrist, and down again.
Victoria told how she had seen Maïeddine on the boat, coming to Algiers;
how he had appeared later at the hotel, and offered to help her,
hinting, rather than saying, that he had been a friend of Cassim's, and
knew where to find Cassim's wife. Then she went on to the story of the
journey through the desert, praising Maïeddine, and hesitating only when
she came to the evening of his confession and threat. But Saidee
questioned her, and she answered.
"It came out all right, you see," she finished at last. "I knew it must,
even in those few minutes when I couldn't help feeling a little afraid,
because I seemed to be in his power. But of course I wasn't really.
God's power was over his, and he felt it. Things always _do_ come out
right, if you just _know_ they will."
Saidee shivered a little, though her hand on Victoria's was hot. "I wish
I could think like that," she half whispered. "If I could, I----"
"What, dearest?"
"I should be brave, that's all. I've lost my spirit--lost faith, too--as
I've lost everything else. I used to be quite a good sort of girl; but
what can you expect after ten years shut up in a Mussulman harem? It's
something in my favour that they never succeeded in 'converting' me, as
they almost always do with a European woman when they've shut her
up--just by tiring her out. But they only made me sullen and stupid. I
don't believe in anything now. You talk about 'God's power.' He's never
helped me. I should think 'things came right' more because Maïeddine
felt you couldn't get away from him, then and later, and because he
didn't want to offend the marabout, than because God troubled to
interfere. Besides, things _haven't_ come right. If it weren't for
Maïeddine, I might smuggle you away somehow, before the marabout
arrives. But now, Maïeddine will be watching us like a lynx--or like an
Arab. It's the same thing where women are concerned."
"Why should the marabout care what I do?" asked Victoria. "He's nothing
to us, is he?--except that I suppose Cassim must have some high position
in his Zaouïa."
"A high position! I forgot, you couldn't know--since Maïeddine hid
everything from you. An Arab man never trusts a woman to keep a secret,
no matter how much in love he may be. He was evidently afraid you'd tell
some one the great secret on the way. But now you're here, he won't care
what you find out, because he knows perfectly well that you can never
get away."
Victoria started, and turned fully round to stare at her sister with
wide, bright eyes. "I can and I will get away!" she exclaimed. "With
you. Never without you, of course. That's why I came, as I said. To take
you away if you are unhappy. Not all the marabouts in Islam can keep
you, dearest, because they have no right over you--and this is the
twentieth century, not hundreds of years ago, in the dark ages."
"Hundreds of years in the future, it will still be the dark ages in
Islam. And this marabout thinks he _has_ a right over me."
"But if you know he hasn't?"
"I'm beginning to know it--beginning to feel it, anyhow. To feel that
legally and morally I'm free. But law and morals can't break down
walls."
"I believe they can. And if Cassim----"
"My poor child, when Cassim ben Halim died--at a very convenient time
for himself--Sidi El Hadj Mohammed ben Abd-el-Kadr appeared to claim
this maraboutship, left vacant by the third marabout in the line, an
old, old man whose death happened a few weeks before Cassim's. This
present marabout was his next of kin--or so everybody believes. And
that's the way saintships pass on in Islam, just as titles and estates
do in other countries. Now do you begin to understand the mystery?"
"Not quite. I----"
"You heard in Algiers that Cassim had died in Constantinople?"
"Yes. The Governor himself said so."
"The Governor believes so. Every one believes--except a wretched
hump-backed idiot in Morocco, who sold his inheritance to save himself
trouble, because he didn't want to leave his home, or bother to be a
marabout. Perhaps he's dead by this time, in one way or another. I
shouldn't be surprised. If he is, Maïeddine and Maïeddine's father, and
a few other powerful friends of Cassim's, are the only ones left who
know the truth, even a part of it. And the great Sidi El Hadj Mohammed
himself."
"Oh, Saidee--Cassim is the marabout!"
"Sh! Now you know the secret that's kept me a prisoner in his house
long, long after he'd tired of me, and would have got rid of me if he'd
dared--and if he hadn't been afraid in his cruel, jealous way, that I
might find a little happiness in my own country. And worse still, it's
the secret that will keep you a prisoner, too, unless you make up your
mind to do the one thing which can possibly help you."
"What thing?" Victoria could not believe that the answer which darted
into her mind was the one Saidee really meant to give.
Saidee's lips opened, but with the girl's eyes gazing straight into
hers, it was harder to speak than she had thought. Out of them looked a
highly sensitive yet brave spirit, so true, so loving and loyal, that
disloyalty to it was a crime--even though another love demanded it.
"I--I hate to tell you," she stammered. "Only, what can I do? If
Maïeddine hadn't loved you--but if he hadn't, you wouldn't be here. And
being here, we--we must just face the facts. The man who calls himself
my husband--I can't think of him as being that any more--is like a king
in this country. He has even more power than most kings have nowadays.
He'll give you to Maïeddine when he comes home, if Maïeddine asks him,
as of course he will. Maïeddine wouldn't have given you up, there in the
desert, if he hadn't been sure he could bribe the marabout to do exactly
what he wanted."
"But why can't I bribe him?" Victoria persisted, hopefully. "If he's
truly tired of you, my money----"
"He'd laugh at you for offering it, and say you might keep it for a
_dot_. He's too rich to be tempted with money, unless it was far more
than you or I have ever seen. From his oasis alone he has an income of
thousands and thousands of dollars; and presents--large ones and small
ones--come to him from all over North Africa--from France, even. All the
Faithful in the desert, for hundreds of miles around, give him their
first and best dates of the year, their first-born camels, their first
foals, and lambs, and mules, in return for his blessing on their palms
and flocks. He has wonderful rugs, and gold plate, and jewels, more than
he knows what to do with, though he's very charitable. He's obliged to
be, to keep up his reputation and the reputation of the Zaouïa.
Everything depends on that--all his ambitions, which he thinks I hardly
know. But I do know. And that's why I know that Maïeddine will be able
to bribe him. Not with money: with something Cassim wants and values far
more than money. You wouldn't understand what I mean unless I explained
a good many things, and it's hardly the time for explaining more now.
You must just take what I say for granted, until I can tell you
everything by and by. But there are enormous interests mixed up with the
marabout's ambitions--things which concern all Africa. Is it likely
he'll let you and me go free to tell secrets that would ruin him and his
hopes for ever?"
"We wouldn't tell."
"Didn't I say that an Arab never trusts a woman? He'd kill us sooner
than let us go. And you've learned nothing about Arab men if you think
Maïeddine will give you up and see you walk out of his life after all
the trouble he's taken to get you tangled up in it. That's why we've got
to look facts in the face. You meant to help me, dear, but you can't.
You can only make me miserable, because you've spoiled your happiness
for my sake. Poor little Babe, you've wandered far, far out of the zone
of happiness, and you can never get back. All you can do is to make the
best of a bad bargain."
"I asked you to explain that, but you haven't yet."
"You must--promise Maïeddine what he asks, before Cassim comes back from
South Oran."
This was the thing Victoria had feared, but could not believe Saidee
would propose. She shrank a little, and Saidee saw it. "Don't
misunderstand," the elder woman pleaded in the soft voice which
pronounced English almost like a foreign language. "I tell you, we can't
choose what we _want_ to do, you and I. If you wait for Cassim to be
here, it will come to the same thing, but it will be fifty times worse,
because then you'll have the humiliation of being forced to do what you
might seem to do now of your own free will."
"I can't be forced to marry Maïeddine. Nothing could make me do it. He
knows that already, unless----"
"Unless what? Why do you look horrified?"
"There's one thing I forgot to tell you about our talk in the desert. I
promised him I would say 'yes' in case something happened--something I
thought then couldn't happen."
"But you find now it could?"
"Oh, no--no, I don't believe it could."
"You'd better tell me what it is."
"That you--I said, I would promise to marry him if _you wished_ it. He
asked me to promise that, and I did, at once."
A slow colour crept over Saidee's face, up to her forehead. "You trusted
me," she murmured.
"And I do now--with all my heart. Only you've lived here, out of the
world, alone and sad for so long, that you're afraid of things I'm not
afraid of."
"I'm afraid because I know what cause there is for fear. But you're
right. My life has made me a coward. I can't help it."
"Yes, you can--I've come to help you help it."
"How little you understand! They'll use you against me, me against you.
If you knew I were being tortured, and you could save me by marrying
Maïeddine, what would you do?"
Victoria's hand trembled in her sister's, which closed on it nervously.
"I would marry him that very minute, of course. But such things don't
happen."
"They do. That's exactly what will happen, unless you tell Maïeddine
you've made up your mind to say 'yes'. You can explain that it's by my
advice. He'll understand. But he'll respect you, and won't be furious at
your resistance, and want to revenge himself on you in future, as he
will if you wait to be forced into consenting."
Victoria sprang up and walked away, covering her face with her hands.
Her sister watched her as if fascinated, and felt sick as she saw how
the girl shuddered. It was like watching a trapped bird bleeding to
death. But she too was in the trap, she reminded herself. Really, there
was no way out, except through Maïeddine. She said this over and over in
her mind. There was no other way out. It was not that she was cruel or
selfish. She was thinking of her sister's good. There was no doubt of
that, she told herself: no doubt whatever.