Since the day when Victoria had called Stephen to her help, always she
had expected him. She had great faith, for, in her favourite way, she
had "made a picture of him," riding up and down among the dunes, with
the "knightly" look on his face which had first drawn her thoughts to
him. Always her pictures had materialized sooner or later, since she was
a little girl, and had first begun painting them with her mind, on a
golden background.
She spent hours on the roof, with Saidee or alone, looking out over the
desert, through the field-glasses which Maïeddine had sent to her. Very
often Saidee would remain below, for Victoria's prayers were not her
prayers, nor were Victoria's wishes her wishes. But invariably the older
woman would come up to the roof just before sunset, to feed the doves
that lived in the minaret.
At first Victoria had not known that her sister had any special reason
for liking to feed the doves, but she was an observant, though not a
sophisticated girl; and when she had lived with Saidee for a few days,
she saw birds of a different colour among the doves. It was to those
birds, she could not help noticing, that Saidee devoted herself. The
first that appeared, arrived suddenly, while Victoria looked in another
direction. But when the girl saw one alight, she guessed it had come
from a distance. It fluttered down heavily on the roof, as if tired, and
Saidee hid it from Victoria by spreading out her skirt as she scattered
its food.
Then it was easy to understand how Saidee and Captain Sabine had
managed to exchange letters; but she could not bear to let her sister
know by word or even look that she suspected the secret. If Saidee
wished to hide something from her she had a right to hide it. Only--it
was very sad.
For days neither of the sisters spoke of the pigeons, though they came
often, and the girl could not tell what plans might be in the making,
unknown to her. She feared that, if she had not come to Oued Tolga, by
this time Saidee would have gone away, or tried to go away, with Captain
Sabine; and though, since the night of her arrival, when Saidee had
opened her heart, they had been on terms of closest affection, there was
a dreadful doubt in Victoria's mind that the confidences were half
repented. But when the girl had been rather more than a week in the
Zaouïa, Saidee spoke out.
"I suppose you've guessed why I come up on the roof at sunset," she
said.
"Yes," Victoria answered.
"I thought so, by your face. Babe, if you'd accused me of anything, or
reproached me, I'd have brazened it out with you. But you've never said
a word, and your eyes--I don't know what they've been like, unless
violets after rain. They made me feel a beast--a thousand times worse
than I would if you'd put on an injured air. Last night I dreamed that
you died of grief, and I buried you under the sand. But I was sorry, and
tore all the sand away with my fingers till I found you again--and you
were alive after all. It seemed like an allegory. I'm going to dig you
up again, you little loving thing!"
"That means you'll give me back your confidence, doesn't it?" Victoria
asked, smiling in a way that would have bewitched a man who loved her.
"Yes; and something else. I'm going to tell you a thing you'll like to
hear. I've written to _him_ about you--our cypher's ready now--and said
that you'd had the most curious effect on me. I'd tried to resist you,
but I couldn't, not even to please him--or myself. I told him I'd
promised to wait for you to help me; and though I didn't see what you
could possibly do, still, your faith was contagious. I said that in
spite of myself I felt some vague stirrings of hope now and then. There!
does that please you?"
"Oh Saidee, I _am_ so happy!" cried the girl, flinging both arms round
her sister. "Then I did come at the right time, after all."
"The right time to keep me from happiness in this world, perhaps. That's
the way I feel about it sometimes. But I can't be sorry you're here,
Babe, as I was at first. You're too sweet--too like the child who used
to be my one comfort."
"I could almost die of happiness, when you say that!" Victoria answered,
with tears in her voice.
"What a baby you are! I'm sure you haven't much more than I have, to be
happy about. Cassim has promised Maïeddine that you shall marry him,
whether you say 'yes' or 'no'. And it's horrible when an Arab girl won't
consent to marry the man to whom her people have promised her. I know
what they do. She----"
"Don't tell me about it. I'd hate to hear!" Victoria broke in, and
covered her ears with her hands. So Saidee said no more. But in black
hours of the night, when the girl could not sleep, dreadful imaginings
crept into her mind, and it was almost more than she could do to chase
them away by making her "good pictures." "I won't be afraid--I won't, I
won't!" she would repeat to herself. "I've called him, and my thoughts
are stronger than the carrier pigeons. They fly faster and farther. They
travel like the light, so they must have got to him long ago; and he
_said_ he'd come, no matter when or where. By this time he is on the
way."
So she looked for Stephen, searching the desert; and at last, one
afternoon long before sunset, she saw a man riding toward the Zaouïa
from the direction of the city, far away. She could not see his face,
but he seemed to be tall and slim; and his clothes were European.
"Thank God!" she said to herself. For she did not doubt that it was
Stephen Knight.
Soon she would call Saidee; but she must have a little time to herself,
for silent rejoicing, before she tried to explain. There was no great
hurry. He was far off, still.
She kept her eyes to Maïeddine's glasses, and felt it a strange thing
that they should have come to her from him. It was almost as if he gave
her to Stephen, against his will. She was so happy that she seemed to
hear the world singing. "I knew--I knew, through it all!" she told
herself, with a sob of joy in her throat. "It had to come right." And
she thought that she could hear a voice saying: "It is love that has
brought him. He loves you, as much as you love him."
To her mind, especially in this mood, it was not extraordinary that each
should love the other after so short an acquaintance. She was even ready
to believe of herself that, unconsciously, she had fallen in love with
Stephen the first time she met him on the Channel boat. He had
interested her. She had remembered his face, and had been sorry to think
that she would never see it again. On the ship, going out from
Marseilles, she had been so glad when he came on deck that her heart had
begun to beat quickly. She had scolded herself at the time, for being
silly, and school-girlishly romantic; but now she realized that her soul
had known its mate. It could scarcely be real love, she fancied, that
was not born in the first moment, when spirit spoke to spirit. And her
love could not have drawn a man hundreds of miles across the desert, if
it had not met and clasped hands with his love for her.
"Oh, how happy I am!" she thought. "And the glory of it is, that it's
_not_ strange--only wonderful. The most wonderful thing that ever
happened or could happen."
Then she remembered the sand-divining, and how M'Barka had said that
"her wish was far from her, but that Allah would send a strong man,
young and dark, of another country than her own; a man whose brain, and
heart, and arm would be at her service, and in whom she might trust."
Victoria recalled these words, and did not try to bring back to her mind
what remained of the prophecy.
Almost, she had been foolish enough to be superstitious, and afraid of
Maïeddine's influence upon her life, since that night; and of course she
had known that it was of Maïeddine M'Barka had thought, whether she
sincerely believed in her own predictions or no. Now, it pleased
Victoria to feel that, not only had she been foolish, but stupid. She
might have been happy in her childish superstition, instead of unhappy,
because the description of the man applied to Stephen as well as to
Maïeddine.
For the moment, she did not ask herself how Stephen Knight was going to
take her and Saidee away from Maïeddine and Cassim, for she was so sure
he had not come across miles of desert in vain, that she took the rest
for granted in her first joy. She was certain that Saidee's troubles and
hers were over, and that by and by, like the prince and princess in the
fairy stories, she and Stephen would be married and "live happily ever
after." In these magic moments of rapture, while his face and figure
grew more clear to her eyes, it seemed to the girl that love and
happiness were one, and that all obstacles had fallen down in the path
of her lover, like the walls of Jericho that crumbled at the blast of
the trumpet.
When she had looked through the glass until she could distinctly see
Stephen, and an Arab who rode at a short distance behind him, she called
her sister.
Saidee came up to the roof, almost at once, for there was a thrill of
excitement in Victoria's voice that roused her curiosity.
She thought of Captain Sabine, and wondered if he were riding toward the
Zaouïa. He had come, before his first encounter with her, to pay his
respects to the marabout. That was long ago now, yet there might be a
reason, connected with her, for a second visit. But the moment she saw
Victoria's face, even before she took the glasses the girl held out, she
guessed that, though there was news, it was not of Captain Sabine.
"You might have been to heaven and back since I saw you; you're so
radiant!" she said.
"I have been to heaven. But I haven't come back. I'm there now,"
Victoria answered. "Look--and tell me what you see."
Saidee put the glasses to her eyes. "I see a man in European clothes,"
she said. "I can see that he's young. I should think he's a gentleman,
and good looking----"
"Oh, he is!" broke in Victoria, childishly.
"Do you know him?"
"I've been praying and longing for him to find me, and save us. He's an
Englishman. His name is Stephen Knight. He promised to come if I called,
and I have. Oh, _how_ I've called, day and night, night and day!"
"You never told me."
"I waited. Somehow I--couldn't speak of him, even to you."
"I've told _you_ everything."
"But I had nothing to tell, really--nothing I could have put into words.
And you might only have laughed if I'd said 'There's a man I know in
Algiers who hasn't any idea where I am, but I think he'll come here, and
take us both away.'"
"Are you engaged to each other?" Saidee asked, curiously, even
enviously.
"Oh no! But--but----"
"But what? Do you mean you will be--if you ever get away from this
place?"
"I hope so," the girl answered bravely, with a deep blush. "He has never
asked me. We haven't known each other long--a very little while, only
since the night I left London for Paris. Yet he's the first man I ever
cared about, and I think of him all the time. Perhaps he thinks of me
in the same way."
"Of course he must, Babe, if he's really come to search for you," Saidee
said, looking at her young sister affectionately.
"Thank you a hundred times for saying that, dearest! I do _hope_ so!"
Victoria exclaimed, hugging the elder woman impulsively, as she used
when she was a little child.
But Saidee's joy, caught from her sister's, died down suddenly, like a
flame quenched with salt. "What good will it do you--or us--that he is
coming?" she asked bitterly. "He can ask for the marabout, and perhaps
see him. Any traveller can do that. But he will be no nearer to us, than
if we were dead and in our graves. Does Maïeddine know about him?"
"They saw each other on the ship, coming to Algiers--and again just as
we landed."
"But has Maïeddine any idea that you care about each other?"
"I had to tell him one day in the desert (the day Si Maïeddine said he
loved me, and I promised to consent if _you_ put my hand in his)
that--that there was a man I loved. But I didn't say who. Perhaps he
suspects, though I don't see why he should. I might have meant some one
in America."
"You may be pretty sure he suspects. People of the old, old races, like
the Arabs, have the most wonderful intuitions. They seem to _know_
things without being told. I suppose they've kept nearer nature than
more civilized peoples."
"If he does suspect, I can't help it."
"No. Only it's still more sure that your Englishman won't be able to do
us any good. Not that he could, anyhow."
"But Si Maïeddine's been very ill since he came back, M'Barka says. Mr.
Knight will ask for the marabout."
"Maïeddine will hear of him. Not five Europeans in five years come to
Oued Tolga. If only Maïeddine hadn't got back! This man may have been
following him, from Algiers. It looks like it, as Maïeddine arrived
only yesterday. Now, here's this Englishman! Could he have found out in
any way, that you were acquainted with Maïeddine?"
"I don't know, but he might have guessed," said Victoria. "I wonder----"
"What? Have you thought of something?"
"It's just an idea. You know, I told you that on the journey, when Si
Maïeddine was being very kind to me--before I knew he cared--I made him
a present of the African brooch you gave me in Paris. I hated to take so
many favours of him, and give nothing in return; so I thought, as I was
on my way to you and would soon see you, I might part with that brooch,
which he admired. If Si Maïeddine wore it in Algiers, and Mr. Knight
saw----"
"Would he be likely to recognize it, do you think?"
"He noticed it on the boat, and I told him you gave it to me."
"If he would come all the way from Algiers on the strength of a brooch
which might have been yours, and you _might_ have given to Maïeddine,
then he's a man who knows what he wants, and deserves to get it," Saidee
said. "If he _could_ help us! I should feel rewarded for telling Honoré
I wouldn't go with him; because some day I may be free, and then perhaps
I shall be glad I waited----"
"You will be glad. Whatever happens, you'll be glad," Victoria insisted.
"Maybe. But now--what are we to do? We can see him, and you can
recognize him with the field-glass, but unless he has a glass too, he
can't see who you are--he can't see at all, because by the time he rides
near enough, the ground dips down so that even our heads will be hidden
from him by the wall round the roof. And he'll be hidden from us, too.
If he asks for you, he'll be answered only by stares of surprise. Cassim
will pretend not to know what he's talking about. And presently he'll
have to go away without finding out anything."
"He'll come back," said Victoria, firmly. But her eyes were not as
bright with the certainty of happiness as they had been.
"What if he does? Or it may be that he'll try to come back, and an
accident will happen to him. I hate to frighten you. But Arabs are
jealous--and Maïeddine's a true Arab. He looks upon you almost as his
wife now. In a week or two you will be, unless----"
"Yes. Unless--_unless_!" echoed Victoria. "Don't lose hope, Saidee, for
I shan't. Let's think of something to do. He's near enough now, maybe,
to notice if we wave our handkerchiefs."
"Many women on roofs in Africa wave to men who will never see their
faces. He won't know who waves."
"He will _feel_. Besides, he's searching for me. At this very minute,
perhaps, he's thinking of the golden silence I talked about, and looking
up to the white roofs."
Instantly they began to wave their handkerchiefs of embroidered silk,
such as Arab ladies use. But there came no answering signal. Evidently,
if the rider were looking at a white roof, he had chosen one which was
not theirs. And soon he would be descending the slope of the Zaouïa
hill. After that they would lose sight of each other, more and more
surely, the closer he came to the gates.
"If only you had something to throw him!" Saidee sighed. "What a pity
you gave the brooch to Maïeddine. He might have recognized that."
"It isn't a pity if he traced me by it," said Victoria. "But wait. I'll
think of something."
"He's riding down the dip. In a minute it will be too late," Saidee
warned her.
The girl lifted over her head the long string of amber beads she had
bought in the curiosity shop of Jeanne Soubise. Wrapping it in her
handkerchief, she began to tie the silken ends together.
Stephen was so close to the Zaouïa now that they could no longer see
him.
"Throw--throw! He'll be at the gates."
Victoria threw the small but heavy parcel over the wall which hid the
dwellers on the roof.
Where it fell, they could not see, and no sound came up from the
sand-dune far below. Some beggar or servant of the Zaouïa might have
found and snatched the packet, for all that they could tell.
For a time which seemed long, they waited, hoping that something would
happen. They did not speak at all. Each heard her own heart beating, and
imagined that she could hear the heart of the other.
At last there were steps on the stairs which led from Saidee's rooms to
the roof. Noura came up. "O twin stars, forgive me for darkening the
brightness of thy sky," she said, "but I have here a letter, given to me
to put into the hands of Lella Saïda."
She held out a folded bit of paper, that had no envelope.
Saidee, pale and large-eyed, took it in silence. She read, and then
handed the paper to Victoria.
A few lines were scrawled on it in English, in a very foreign
handwriting. The language, known to none in this house except the
marabout, Maïeddine, Saidee and Victoria, was as safe as a cypher,
therefore no envelope had been needed.
"Descend into thy garden immediately, and bring with thee thy sister,"
the letter said. And it was signed "Thy husband, Mohammed."
"What can it mean?" asked Victoria, giving back the paper to Saidee.
"I don't know. But we shall soon see--for we must obey. If we didn't go
down of our own accord, we'd soon be forced to go."
"Perhaps Cassim will let me talk to Mr. Knight," said the girl.
"He is more likely to throw you to his lion, in the court," Saidee
answered, with a laugh.
They went down into the garden, and remained there alone. Nothing
happened except that, after a while, they heard a noise of pounding. It
seemed to come from above, in Saidee's rooms.
Listening intently, her eyes flashed, and a bright colour rushed to her
cheeks.
"Now I know why we were told to come into the garden!" she exclaimed,
her voice quivering with anger. "They're nailing up the door of my room
that leads to the roof!"
"Saidee!" To Victoria the thing seemed too monstrous to believe.
"Cassim threatened to do it once before--a long time ago--but he didn't.
Now he has. That's his answer to your Mr. Knight."
"Perhaps you're wrong. How could any one have got into your rooms
without our seeing them pass through the garden?"
"I've always thought there was a sliding door at the back of one of my
wall cupboards. There generally is one leading into the harem rooms in
old houses like this. Thank goodness I've hidden my diaries in a new
place lately!"
"Let's go up and make sure," whispered Victoria.
Still the pounding went on.
"They'll have locked us out."
"We can try."
Victoria went ahead, running quickly up the steep, narrow flight of
steps that led to the upper rooms which she and Saidee shared. Saidee
had been right. The door of the outer room was locked. Standing at the
top of the stairs, the pounding sounded much louder than before.
Saidee laughed faintly and bitterly.
"They're determined to make a good job of it," she said.