“_Sweet of tongue but of distant beneficence._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
“Zarah! It is—it is you! Then it _was_ you!”
Helen raised herself on her elbow and stared at the bewildering picture
which suddenly appeared in the doorway, blotting out the peace of the
coming dawn and the far-stretching desert.
Wrapped from head to foot in a great cloak of orange satin, the Arabian
stood outlined against the purple sky, with the Nubian behind her, whilst
Namlah, hidden behind her pots and pans in the recess, cursed beneath her
breath with all the Oriental’s volubility.
The terrified body-woman had lain flat on her face upon the steps until
certain that she had not been discovered, then, as the sky had lightened,
had crept like some gigantic spider up the steps and into the room where
the white girl lay. She had barely had the time to whisper a warning and
to run noiselessly across to the recess and hide herself when they heard
her mistress’s voice speaking softly to the Nubian as they, too, mounted
the steps.
Zarah did not hesitate. She determined upon a plan of action even as she
caught the unconquerable look in the girl’s bewildered face.
Here was no weakling to be bullied into submission, no poor spirit to be
tyrannized, no faltering feet to be whipped along a certain road; rather
was it a case for duplicity and cunning, with flowers and green boughs
to cover the dug pit into which, misled, betrayed, Helen Raynor would
ultimately fall.
With a little cry she ran across to the divan, flung herself on her
knees and seized Helen’s hand with a world of innocence and entreaty in
her strange eyes.
“Helen R-raynor-r!” She spoke the sweetest broken English in the world,
her r’s rolling like little drums. “Ze fr-r-ien’ of my youz! Can you
under-r-stan’? Can I beg for your-r for-r-give-e-ness for ze ter-r-ible
mistake?”
She gave Helen no time to grant it or not. She launched out on the most
plausible explanation of the disastrous battle that a crafty mind could
possibly have invented on the spur of the moment. “I could not hold my
men; I could not make zem hear-r or-r under-r-stan’ in ze noise of ze
fight zat we had not foun’ ze r-r-right enemy.” She flung her arms up
above her head, which she then proceeded to bow to the ground. “By ze
gr-r-ace of Allah”—she raised her face and right hand to the ceiling, a
veritable picture of piety—“zey did hear-r my or-r-der not to fir-r-e so
zat you, dear-r fr-rien’ of my happy schooldays, was not kill-ed. Ah!
Zose ozer bar-r-bar-rians zat kill-ed ze old Englishman wiz ze white
hair-r, zay were ze ones we——”
“My grandfather! But he was killed by a spear through the heart, a spear
thrown by one of your men. The others came up from behind!”
In spite of the reputation for lying and every kind of deception that the
Arabian had gained at school, Helen had almost allowed herself to believe
the plausible tale told in the guileless voice.
But, her suspicions aroused by the last barefaced untruth, she drew away
as far as the divan would allow from the supplicating figure with the
sorrow-laden eyes.
But as well try to catch an ostrich on the run as Zarah in a falsehood.
She rose to her feet, a superb figure of sorrowful indignation, and threw
out her hands as best she could for the cloak she had wrapped round
herself in an effort to hide the scantiness of her attire, then sat down
on the foot of the divan, facing her enemy.
“Helen R-ray-nor-r! You believe zat of my men, mine, over-r whom I
r-reign as queen? Ze bar-r-bar-rians sur-r-rounded us, zey thr-r-rew ze
spear-r fr-rom behind my men. Zen I give ze or-r-der to Al-Asad, who is
my bodyguar-r-d.” She pointed to the Nubian, who stood just outside the
door, watching the rocks in the hope of seeing Yussuf pass amongst them.
“I tell him to save _you_ from ze savage Bedouins.”
“But why me alone?” Helen drew the silken coverlet about her and got to
a sitting position on the edge of the divan, whilst Namlah watched the
battle of wills between the beautiful women from the recess, which was
just behind Zarah’s back.
Zarah leapt at the chance of firmly establishing her lie. “But zer-r-e
was no one else to save. Ze old one, your-r gr-ran’fazer-r, was dead.”
“No, no, no!” Helen sat forward in her intense excitement, her eyes
shining, her hands clenched. “There was another Englishman with us,
someone you know, Zarah. Think of it, someone you have met!”
“_Me!_ I have met! A fr-r-rien’ of yours and mine! I do not
under-r-stan’!”
Quickly, breathlessly, Helen reminded her of the day she had fallen from
her horse into Ralph Trenchard’s arms.
“You remember! Oh, you must remember! He told me all about you; said how
magnificently you rode. Oh, and when he heard about the mysterious woman
of the desert, he said he thought it might be you, because you had told
him that you came from somewhere about here and had asked him to pay your
father a visit. Didn’t you see him? Don’t you know where he is? And _are_
you the wonderful woman everyone talks about?”
Zarah clapped her hands in childlike enjoyment.
“I just r-remember-r him,” she cried gleefully, whilst longing to
choke the life out of the girl in front of her. “And he was wiz you?
Then wher-r-e is he? We sear-r-ched after-r-wards for our-r men upon
ze battlefield, but saw nozing of ze old man, nor-r his bones, nor-r
his clothes, and nozing of—of ze ozer. I mean zer was no tr-r-ace of
any ozer. I know!” She clapped her hands and laughed. “We saw marks
leading back to Hareek. He is escaped, taking wiz him ze body of your-r
gr-r-an’fazer-r, and is waiting for you, to know wher-r-e you ar-r-e, to
come and fetch you.”
“Perhaps! Perhaps you are right!” quietly replied Helen, her eyes fixed
on the clasped fingers, which showed white at the joints under the
pressure of the Arabian’s emotion. “Yes, perhaps you are right.” She
smiled gently and nodded her head, whilst she asked herself if Zarah’s
intense solicitude could possibly arise out of friendship for herself.
She decided that it did not when, on turning her head, she found the eyes
of the handsome native fixed upon her. She frowned and drew the silken
coverlet more closely about her in an instinctive desire to protect
herself from the feeling of uneasiness and evil which had suddenly fallen
upon her, and sighed with unconfessed relief when the sunrays tipped over
the edge of the mountains and shone through the open door. “Tell me,” she
said quickly, “why did you go out to fight those Bedouins? What harm had
they done that they should be shot down, speared, massacred by a force
far superior to their own? What right had you to take their lives?”
It is most injudicious to ask such pertinent questions in the uncivilized
places of the world, and it was well for Helen that she could not see the
rage in the other’s heart at her daring.
“_Aï-aï-aï!_”
The cry of the mourner rose to high heaven as Zarah smote her breast,
causing the doves and pheasants and other birds to rise in flocks, and
the women near the water’s edge to look up from the business of the hour.
“Behold!” lied she brazenly. “Even some moons ago zose bar-r-bar-r-ians
lay in wait for some of my people as zey r-ret-urned fr-r-om Hutah. Ze
men zey killed, ze women and ze little, little child-r-ren zey took away
wiz zem. Am I not ze mozer of my people? Could I r-refuse my men when zey
cr-ried to be r-revenged? Ah, fr-r-ien’ of my happy schooldays, ze ways
of ze deser-r-t a-r-r-e not ze ways of ze city. Let us not talk of zings
so sad. Listen! I have some idea. Do you r-r-emember how Miss Jane used
to scold when we said zat?”
She did not give Helen time to say if she did or did not remember, but
turned her head and said something in his own dialect to the Nubian. He
raised his hand and walked to the edge of the platform, as unwitting as
his mistress of Namlah the body-woman, who stood in the doorway of the
recess, gesticulating violently and shaking her head.
Helen looked at her quietly and then turned and looked out through the
doorway, wondering what Zarah could have said to awaken such perturbation
in Namlah’s heart.
“What is the great idea, Zarah?”
Zarah smiled bewitchingly, her teeth flashing, her eyes as soft as a
gazelle’s. “I will r-r-repeat ze invitation to ze Englishman—ah, I cannot
pr-r-o-nounce ze name—zrough you. You will wr-r-ite him a letter to ask
him to come to stay for ze little time and to take you back wiz him—yes?
You will write, will you not, my dear fr-r-ien’?”
Love, the master-key to all problems between woman and woman, unlocked
the door which hid the secret workings of Zarah’s mind from Helen. The
request explained Namlah’s agitation. Zarah had evidently told the Nubian
about the letter of invitation.
“How will you send the letter?”
It seemed a trusty messenger would deliver the letter at Hutah and would
wait to act as escort to the Englishman on the return journey through the
desert.
“But Ralph Trenchard may be ill, or he may not be able to come.” Helen
watched the other’s face intently as she spoke. “The messenger can
escort me to Hutah instead of taking the letter.”
“No woman is safe unar-r-med, and not even ar-r-med, alone in ze
deser-r-t wiz a man. Be r-reasonable, little English r-r-ose, and
wr-r-ite ze little letter.”
“_You_ could take me with an escort to Hutah, Zarah.”
Zarah humbly touched her forehead, and threw out her hands as she raged
inwardly at the other’s obstinacy.
“I am ze mozer of my people. Zey mour-r-n, zey weep in zeir-r sor-r-row.
I cannot leave zem even for a little, little while.”
“You liar!” said Helen to herself, thoroughly aware at last of the trap
which had been laid for the man she loved.
There was no sign whatever in the women’s faces of the strength of the
passions in their hearts.
Zarah smiled the gentle smile of propitiation as she played for the
fierce love which had possessed her for so long, repressing the hate and
jealousy which urged her to call the half-caste and bid him fling the
girl down to the rocks beneath.
In the depths of Helen’s eyes lay the confident smile and the look of
strength of those who can bear all, risk all, defy all, for love’s sake.
Fell a little pause as the sun ray crept along the floor, flooding the
room with light, making a golden halo round Helen’s head.
“You do as I ask?” The question fell so gently in the quiet place.
Helen leant forward and looked straight into her enemy’s eyes as she
answered slowly:
“_No! I will not write that letter!_”
Fell another silence, in which, whilst exercising the little control
she was capable of, Zarah traced the embroidery upon the pillow and
worked her cunning mind, and Helen sat still and silent, wondering what
the answer to her refusal would be. Love made her brave, love made her
ready for sacrifice, but she shivered involuntarily as she remembered the
tales she had heard of the Arabian’s cruelty, rage and treachery, both at
school and after.
Perfectly healthy in mind and body, she shuddered at the thought
of mental or physical pain for others, did everything in her power
to alleviate it, made every effort to avert it from them. She felt
intuitively that danger threatened the man she loved, and she longed to
ask the Arabian the meaning of her mocking smile as she lazily traced the
embroidery with a hennaed finger.
Zarah was trying to come to a decision.
She had methods which, though hardly civilized, were extremely
efficacious in bending the most obstreperous person to her way of
thinking; she had also a fair knowledge of the Briton’s stubbornness and
excessive altruism.
For some unknown reason Helen had suddenly become afraid for Ralph
Trenchard. Why? She did not love him, because she neither blushed nor
cast down her eyes when she mentioned his name, nor did she wear his
portrait, after the sickly manner of her race, about her person.
Zarah loved the Englishman with all the violent, uncontrolled passion of
her parentage, but her hatred for the calm English girl was almost as
deep and as violent as that love, and to it was added a seething desire
for revenge—revenge for her looks, her breeding, her gentle ways, but,
above all, for the intolerable _camaraderie_ which evidently existed
between her and the white man.
If only she had known any sign of love, then would the revenge have been
easy and subtle and of a surpassing cruelty, but her interest in the man
seemed to be that of a friend and no more.
In fact, she seemed only to be interested in her surroundings, in the
distant view of the red desert rolling in great billows as far as eye
could see, and the golden sunshine which filled the room with its light
and warmth. She watched Helen stretch slowly, shrug the over-warm
coverlet from her shoulders and pull the cushions into a more comfortable
position behind her shoulders; then, with the lightning quickness of
a hawk, she leant suddenly forward and wrenched at a locket which had
slipped from the silken garment Helen wore.
She sat quite still, staring at the portrait she held of the man she
loved, then she gave a little sigh of intense satisfaction and laughed
gently as she looked across at Helen, who stared in amazement and
stretched out her hand.
“What an extraordinary thing,” she said simply; “it must have got caught
and been hidden all the time in the coverlet. I thought I had lost it
that terrible night of fighting. Please give it me.”
Zarah twisted the broken chain round her finger and swung it to and fro.
She laughed like the girl she ought to have been and playfully shook her
head. She could afford to be charming and frank; in fact, to prepare the
first step upon the road of revenge she would have to pretend to tease
her old schoolmate, so as to allay her suspicions.
Yes! she could well afford to wait, for had she not the white man and
the white girl in her power? Would she not be able to draw him into her
net and put her in the dust at her feet through the little golden locket
which swung on her finger?
“I will keep it for a little while, Helen R-r-aynor-r, my dear-r
fr-r-ien’, jus’ for a souvenir of ze ol’ days. My dwelling is your-r-s.
I am sorry you will not be able to get away jus’ yet”—she laughed gently
so as to disguise the threat held in the words—“but I am ze mozer of
my people an’ cannot leave zem, an’ it is not safe for-r a young an’
beautiful woman to be in ze deser-r-t alone wiz an Ar-r-ab. You will
wait a little until I am fr-r-ee? You will bathe, you will join in ze
spor-r-ts an’ watch my happy people at zeir wor-r-k in zeir homes? I
have many books. You will also r-r-ide wiz me or wiz an escort in ze
deser-r-t. Yes?”
She laughed softly at the glint in Helen’s eyes, born of a suddenly
conceived plan of escape.
“Someone will show you, perhaps, ze way out an’ ze way in of my deser-r-t
home. Zat you cannot lear-r-n by your-r-self because it is sur-r-rounded
wiz ze quicksands, in which lie dead ze hundr-r-eds of men an’ beasts.”
“Ah! tell me again, tell me about the quicksands which have, of course,
kept the water hidden all this long time. Tell me all about it so that,
when I get back to Bagdad, I can write to the papers and prove to the
people, who laughed at Grandad, that his theory was correct.”
Helen spoke quickly, her fear momentarily allayed by the thought of
being able to vindicate her grandfather. Almost deceived by the other’s
friendliness into believing that she was solicitous for her welfare, she
smiled across at Zarah.
Fully determined that the white girl should remain a life-long prisoner,
either dead or alive, in the mountains, Zarah recounted the romantic
history of the strange place, whilst Al-Asad sat lost in dreams and
Namlah gently rubbed her foot, which had become afflicted with cramp
caused by her squatting position behind the pots and pans.
Zarah spoke well, her melodious, deep voice filling the room, the jewels
sparkling on her hands as she moved them in graceful, dramatic gesture.
She recounted humorous incident, and laughed; tragic, and drew her hand
across her dry eyes; she was hypocrisy incarnate as she revelled in the
cunningly thought-out revenge she had decided to take upon her prisoner.
“A wonder-r place, is it not, Helena? Unique in ze wor-r-ld. You do
wr-r-ong in not sending ze invitation to our-r fr-r-ien’. I would zank
him for-r saving me fr-r-om death in my schooldays. But if you will not,
you will not, and as you will not, zen must I give you a bodyguar-r-d to
keep you safe until I take you back to him?”
“I don’t want a bodyguard, Zarah. As long as I have your permission to
run about all over the place....”
“But zat is it, ze place is ver-r-y big an’ full of danger-r-ous places.”
Zarah had no intention of letting the girl make friends with any of
her people, and rose as she spoke and crossed to the door. “I will ask
Al-Asad to r-r-recommend someone to look after you, to chaper-r-ron you,
as you say.”
Al-Asad got to his feet when his mistress called him.
“I have them in my hand,” she said, so quietly that Namlah strained her
ears in vain. “We will descend and speak upon it, but I will not that she
makes friends amongst my people; find thou, therefore, someone to be ever
upon her heels.”
“Nay, woman, leave her free so that we find out the workings of her
mind through her actions and through the tongues of those with whom she
speaks. Warn her body-woman, even the ever-busy Namlah, that her life
depends upon the life of the white woman and——”
Helen, who had been watching the magnificent couple, wondered what the
sudden, heavy frown on Zarah’s face portended, and instinctively moved
back when she swept into the room.
“Where-r-re is your-r ser-r-vant?” she asked abruptly. “Why is she not
attending you? Wher-r-e does zis Namlah hide her-r-self, zat woman with a
face like a gr-r-avel path?”
Helen smiled up at the Arabian and drew her hand across her hair, pushing
it back as a sign to the pock-marked woman who stood, quaking with fear
and with hands clasped in the doorway of the recess, to hide herself.
“She went down just as you came up. I wonder you didn’t pass her on the
steps. I always like my linen washed at dawn, it smells so much the
sweeter. She will be up in quite a little while to get my early cup of
tea ready.”
Helen lied quietly, quickly, bravely, to save the little servant, and
sighed with relief when Zarah swept out on to the platform in great
wrath. “Namlah!” she called, the mountains echoing the sweetness of her
voice. “Namlah! Namlah! _ta al huna! ta al huna!_” and turned back into
the room when Namlah did not come.
“She hides somewhere, listening to our speech, the lynx-eyed, fox-eared
daughter of pigs,” she stormed in Arabic, taking a step towards the
recess. She was half-way across the room and Namlah half dead with
terror, when Helen gave a piercing cry.
The lion-cub, roaming about as was its wont at dawn, had heard its
mistress’s voice and, bounding up the steps, had hurled itself into the
room and on to Helen’s divan. After her one cry of fear, she lay quite
still, whilst the tawny beast, with lashing tail, sniffed at her neck,
then with a low growl flung itself off the divan and hurled itself at
Zarah’s feet.
“A strange place zis, Helena, wiz st-r-range customs an’ str-r-ange
pets,” said Zarah casually, holding out her hand at arm’s length, over
which the lion-cub jumped.
“But is that lion safe?”
“So far-r-r, yes! When it is not, zen we kill it; zose zat do not obey do
not live long her-r-e. I am sleepy. I will go down an’ you will dine wiz
me to-night—yes? Au revoir! Zink of all I say an’ be wise, zat woman can
wait.”
She walked slowly out of the room, taking no notice of Al-Asad.
He came to the doorway and looked in upon the beautiful white girl and
frowned as he turned away.
“‘The butcher is not startled by the multiplicity of sheep.’” He quoted
the proverb as he watched the woman who had no compassion for her
victims, the woman he loved, descending the steps, then followed her, her
willing slave, even to the bringing about of her heart’s desire.