"_La vie est brève:
Un peu d'espoir,
Un peu de rêve
Et puis--Bon soir_!"
MONTENAEKEN.
A great light shone in his eyes as he rose from the couch of wood upon
which his dead body, with feet turned towards Mecca, was to lie.
The light from the lamp of bronze and cut-glass shade of deepest orange
tint struck down upon him, throwing shadows from the snow-white turban
which outlined the fine face to beneath the eyes, and round about the
hawk-nose, and the mouth of which the gentleness was so belied by the
dominant jaw; it gave an ivory shade to the snow-white satin of his
raiment; it glistened on his only jewel, an amulet carved from an emerald
in the shape of a scarab, set in gold and hung from a fine gold chain
about his neck.
His beauty was of the East, but it was male; there was no trace of that
effeminacy which so jars upon the sensibilities of those who are bred in
colder climes and brought up on sterner lines than the luxurious dweller
of the East.
He stood listening to the far-distant sound, then threw out his arms.
"By the mercy of Allah, God of Gods, I am found worthy to serve thee, O
my beloved! Within the hour, yea! in but a little over the passing of
half one hour, before the shadow of my tent shall reach yon rope, I shall
have looked upon thee."
He knew!
His heart told him who was coming to him out of the night; his knowledge
of the desert enabled him, by the drumming sound of the hoofs upon the
sand--a sound which has not its semblance in the world--to know to a
second when the mare would stop before the tent.
It was not the Hour of Nazam, the Hour of Prayer before dawn, the dawn
which was to see his questions answered, but he turned and, pulling back
the velvet-soft leather curtain, entered the small room lighted by a
silver lamp hanging just above the crystal basin full to the brim with
water.
No! it was not the Hour of Nazam, but filled with the Oriental's
mysterious premonition of that which is to befall, he performed the
prescribed ablutions of the Hour of Prayer. Three times he washed his
nostrils, his mouth and hands and arms to the elbow; the right first, as
ordained, then the head and neck, and ears once and feet once.
He stood erect, with his hands above his head, for five full minutes,
whilst the drumming of the sands sounded nearer and nearer, then emptied
the water in a circle upon the desert sands, refilled the crystal basin
with water from a crystal pitcher and passed into the tent and out upon
the sands across which, and even as a speck upon the horizon, he saw the
mare Pi-Kay racing. And he threw his hands heavenwards with a great cry:
"Allah be praised! Oh, Allah, unto thee I give thanks!"--the prayer of
thanksgiving uttered by his own father so many years ago.
It was a sight to watch, that of the snow-white mare Pi-Kay stretched
out, flying like the wind, ridden by a slip of a girl with her gleaming
cloak streaming like a banner behind her; but the look upon the man's
face was still more wonderful to behold as he stood motionless, sharply
outlined against the orange light behind him.
The mare slackened not her pace one whit; like a thunderbolt she hurled
herself right up to where stood the master she loved with all her great
equine heart; then she stopped short, fine fore-legs spread wide; then
reared until it seemed she must fall backwards; then crashed down to rear
again, until the loved voice bade her stand.
With the strange frozen look in her eyes which gave them the appearance
of ice-bound lakes, and which had been there since she had crept from the
hotel, Damaris slipped from the saddle into the arms of Hugh Carden Ali,
and there she rested, trembling from head to foot with the stress of her
ride, whilst the white mare whinnied for some recognition from her
master. And he pulled her forelock from about her gentle eyes and pulled
her small ears, and stroked the arched neck; then with a sharp word
ordered her to her stables, and, turning to lead the girl into the tent
in which no foot but his had trod, gave no more thought to the mare
Pi-Kay.
She obeyed him, with mighty little zest, yet lingering not one moment,
even though her delicate nostrils showed wide their crimson depths, and
her satin flanks heaved like bellows through the speed in which she had
covered so many miles.
She moved away at a gentle trot, then stopped and looked back along her
satin flank towards the tent, in a vain hope of seeing her master just
once more; she did not turn completely round,--she obeyed where she
loved--she just looked back along her flank; then, doubtless recognising
her defeat, gave a little flick of her heels and trotted off again.
She was just midway between the tents and her stables when she stopped
dead, with ears pricked forward.
Save for the silvery mane and tail blown by the night-wind she might have
been a statue carved out of marble, so still was she.
Then she suddenly backed and reared a foot or two, then backed again;
wheeled; started towards the tents; stopped and wheeled again.
She trembled from head to foot, the beautiful terrified creature; great
eyes rolling, little feet sending the sand flying as she moved
continually on one spot.
There was nothing to see as she stood, looking east; the tents were
behind her, her stables in a straight line from them to the west; there
was absolutely no sound, none at all until she neighed.
She neighed until the desert rang with the sound, neighed until the
horses in the stables some miles away pulled at their halters and lashed
out on every side; then she reared and wheeled as she stood straight on
her slender hind-legs, then, crashing to the ground, with a convulsive
leap was off into the desert.
Neither did she return for many days; nor was she seen until that dawn
when her _sayis_ found her in front of the middle tent, snuffing at the
closed flap.
* * * * * *
But the flap was not closed this night, as Hugh Carden Ali sat on the
couch of wood and looked at the girl who sat beside him.
She stared down at her hands, which pleated and flattened and re-pleated
the satin of her skirt, and her face was as white as her neck and her
arms, which shone like lilies kissed by the sun, under the light of the
orange lamp.
He waited for her to speak, for it was not for him to guide or influence
her in any way by spoken word.
He led her to the wooden couch, which had perforce to serve as seat as
there was none other in the tent, and took her cloak, passing his hand
gently across the sable collar which encircled her throat; and he
glimpsed the hurt of her heart down in the depths of her eyes when she
looked up at him and put out her hand and stopped him when, murmuring
something about coffee, he turned to the entrance.
"I could not drink it, thank you," she whispered. "I--I want------" and
stopped and looked down and pleated the satin over her knee and flattened
it with her palm.
She was terrified at the desperate step she had taken--and well she might
be. She was strung to a great pitch of nervous excitement through the
exhilaration of her tearing ride; she was stubbornly determined to
prevent the finger of scorn from pointing in her direction; but she was
finding a subtle salve to the smart of the wound to her pride in the
romantic setting of the wonderful picture made by the man beside her.
In faith, I see no real excuse whatever in exoneration of her mad
impulse, unless it be in her education--or, rather, want of it--and in
the fact that she was younger than her years.
Educated in the hugger-mugger way in which are educated the girls who
will not have to use their knowledge to earn a livelihood; with, it must
be confessed, the great and rare--in these days--asset of perfect manners
and courtesy towards all mankind, yet had she never been taught the
rudiments of self-control and deliberation. She had a heart of gold,
truly, but she leapt to conclusions with closed eyes.
With her to think had always been to act. So that, having leapt far out
into a morass of incertitude, she sat perplexed, for 'tis no easy matter
to say, "Please will you marry me?" to a man, even if you know that he
worships the ground your shadow falls upon.
He sat silent, with his eyes upon her hands, waiting for Fate to point
out his path.
Little by little, bit by bit, her surroundings began to affect her. The
blood came slowly back to her cheeks so that they glowed like the wild
rose in the hedgerow; and her eyes began to lose that set stare which
hides the perturbed mind, and to soften behind the heavy fringe of
lashes, and her hands to cease their nervous plucking at her dress.
She lifted her eyes to the strangely-painted tent side, looked at the
silvery spear and tilted her head back until her throat gleamed like an
ivory pillar, to look up at the ceiling with the painted vultures--the
emblem of maternity.
The man looked up, then looked down upon this woman of his mother's race
whom he loved, and longed with all the intense passion of his father's
race that he might see his first-born upon her breast.
She was trying to find words, and they came to her when she clasped her
hands upon the jewelled brooch in the shape of the Hawk of Egypt.
She looked at him suddenly and a little shiver swept her at the strange
beauty of this silent man; and he as suddenly turned his hands palm
upwards in an uncontrollable gesture of Eastern prayer to Fate who had so
much to give him, or, perhaps, so little!
"You said you--you would help me if--I came to you--in trouble." She
tripped and stumbled over the words. "I have come to--to------"
"Ask my help."
The words were as cold as stones dropped in the beggar's hand, but
Damaris leant back quickly when she looked into the man's eyes and saw in
them the reflection of the fire she had kindled.
"What is the help you need of me? I know nothing of the ways of women,
but I do know that it has been the storm which has swept you from your
safe harbour out towards a shore upon which are piled the wrecks of many
souls."
She twisted the brooch between her fingers.
"My wedding gift," said Hugh Carden Ali softly, then watched the crimson
dye the white neck and surge across her face. "You come--to--_me_--for
help." He repeated the words slowly. "Then you, of course, are--are
free--ah!" He leant forward and caught her hands. "You have run
away--from what? No, do not speak, I can read your answer in your face.
You have been hurt." He lifted the little ringless left hand, then
pressed it against the other between his own, whilst a great light flamed
in his eyes. "You have come to me, and there is but one meaning for me
in that you have come to _me_. Is it------" His voice dropped to the
softest whisper as he crushed her hands down upon the wooden couch so
that she swayed towards him. "Is it that I may fasten my own wedding
gift into the bridal robe of the woman I love and will take to wife--_is_
it?"
Damaris bowed her head so that the curls danced and glistened in the
light, as the torrent of his words, in the Egyptian tongue, swept about
her like a flood.
"Hast thou come to me in love, thou dove from the nest? Nay, what
knowest thou of love? I ask it not of thee--yet--but the seed I shall
plant within thee shall grow in the passing of the days and the nights
and the months and the years, until it is as a grove of perfumed flowers
which shall change to golden fruit ready to the plucking of my hand."
He pressed her little hands back against her breast so that the light
fell full upon her face, and held her thus-wise, watching the colour rise
and fade.
"Allah!" he whispered. "Allah! God of all, what have I done to deserve
such signs of Thy great goodness? Wilt love me?" He laughed gently.
"Canst thou look into mine eyes and shake thy golden head which shall be
pillowed upon my heart--my wife--the mother of my children? Look at me!
Look at me! Ah! thine eyes, which were as the pools of Lebanon at night,
are as a sun-kissed sea of love. Thou know'st it not, but love is within
thee--for me, thy master."
And was there not truth in what he said? May there not have been love in
the heart of the girl?
Not, maybe, the love which stands sweet and sturdy like the stocky
hyacinth, to bloom afresh, no matter how often the flowers be struck, or
the leaves be bruised, from the humdrum bulb deep in the soil of quiet
content. But the God-given, iridescent love of youth for youth, with its
passion so swift, so sweet; a love like the rose-bud which hangs
half-closed over the door in the dawn; which is wide-flung to the sun at
noon; which scatters its petals at dusk.
The rose!
She has filled your days with the memory of her fragrance; her leaves
still scent the night from out the sealed crystal vase which is your
heart.
But, an' you would attain the priceless boon of peace, see to it that a
humdrum bulb be planted in the brown flower-pot which is your home.
And because of this God-given love of youth which was causing her heart
to thud and the blood to race through her veins, she did not withdraw her
hands when he held and kissed them and pressed his forehead upon them.
"Lotus-flower," he whispered so that she could scarcely hear. "Bud of
innocence! ivory tower of womanhood! temple of love! Beloved, beloved, I
am at thy feet." And he knelt and kissed the little feet in the heelless
little slippers; then, rising, took both her hands and led her to the
door; and his eyes were filled with a great sadness, in spite of the joy
which sang in his heart as he took her into the shelter of his arms.
"I love thee too well," he said, as he bent and kissed the riotous curls
so near his mouth. "Yea I love thee too well to snatch thee even as a
hungry dog snatches his food, though, verily, I be more near to starving
than any hungry dog. What dost thou know of love, of life, in the
strange countries of the East? For thy life will be a desert life, my
love, if once thou art my wife. Look up; look around thee." He pointed
to the stars, he pointed to the dim horizon of the desert over which at
that very moment was padding that hound Fate. "Wilt thou be content with
that, and with me and thy children? Wilt thou not yearn for the comforts
of thy heated rooms, the company of those who will point the finger of
scorn, maybe, at thee as they have pointed it at my mother?"
He spared her not one jot as he made plain to her what might be the
result of her marriage. She would not be marrying the pure-bred son of a
splendid race, as his mother had done; she would be the wife of a
half-caste, the mixed off-spring of two great races; her children would
be half-castes, outcast from their rightful heritage of the sons of the
East and the West. The women of her race would not own her, the women of
his father's race would not permit her children to play with theirs.
Wealth, palaces, camels, horses, jewels would be hers; a place for her
children in the seat of his fathers, or her fathers, _never_.
"I should be strong, I should be strong, for in my heart something tells
me that I am thinking of my happiness and not thine."
"Your mother," whispered Damaris, so softly that he had to bend, his head
lower still, so that when she moved, in the pain of his arms which
crushed her, her cheek brushed his. "_She_ is happy--everyone says so."
Happy! Yes, she was happy, his beloved, most honoured mother; at least
she had been, until there had come the question of her child's happiness,
her half-caste child!
Then he laughed, joyfully, stretched the girl's arms wide, then crushed
her hands above her heart.
"Of course! of course!" he cried. "They are at my House 'an Mahabbha,
the House of Love, even now, where they have met to see if they, the
dears, thy wise old godmother, my beautiful wise mother, can find an
answer to this very question."
They were not. Sick with suspense, they had landed on the far side of
the Nile, on their race with Time to the Gate of To-morrow.
"We will go to them to-morrow, thou and I. To the Gate of To-morrow,
thou with the mare Pi-Kay, I with the stallion Sooltan, who will
well-nigh kill thy mare, my woman, in jealousy. Yea!" He bent and
whispered in her ear so quietly, so coldly as to cause the girl to
tremble. "As I will kill anyone who looks at thee when thou art my wife."
Then he laughed like a boy as he swung her round and held her at
arm's-length by both hands. "We will start to-morrow to meet them, when
we will lay the question before them. And then--and then--why------?"
Damaris, with all the smart of the wound to her pride revived, had shaken
her head.
"I want you--I want you--to------"
Hugh Carden Ali understood by the grace of intuition.
"We will start for Khargegh to-morrow," he continued after a little
pause. "And at the same time--if it will please thee, with thy
consent--I will send my swiftest runner to Luxor, where he will despatch
by cable the news of--oh! my beloved!--of our engagement--Allah! what a
word to describe the opening of the gates of Paradise--to all the great
cities of my country and of thy country. Have I thy consent?"
Incapable of speech, Damaris nodded; having cast the die, she trembled
like a leaf; and at the sight of her, white, with big, frightened eyes
staring at him and teeth driven into her lip, he took her in his arms.
"Thou art mine, beloved, mine as thou hast been in all the past, as thou
wilt be in all the ages to come. All mine, thy heart, thy soul, thy
body. I ask to gather no pebble from the path nor flower from the tree;
I will have the jewelled necklace of thy beauty to hang above my heart,
and the grove of thy sweetness in which to take my rest. I love thee,
and for the agony of the hours passed in the ruined temples I will take
my reward. I love thee, love thee, love thee!"
She made no sound when he bent and kissed her hair, but in the glory of
the love which is that of youth, which is as a bud at dawn, the full
flower at noon and a few petals at dusk, and of which the fragrance stays
with you down all the ages, she raised her face so that he kissed her on
the mouth.
And he kissed her closed eyes and the pillar of her throat and the
whiteness of her shoulders, and her crimson mouth again and yet again, in
the wonder of this, his hour of life, granted him by Allah who is God;
and then raised his head and stared out across the desert.
From a great distance there came to him the drumming of a horse's hoofs
upon the sand.