It was close upon sundown when Michael and Millicent got back to the
camp. Abdul had come a little way to meet them. To an observant eye,
the calm of his Eastern countenance showed some anxiety. Millicent did
not see it. Michael was riding on ahead when Abdul met him. Abdul
turned his mule and rode by his master's side.
"You have something to tell me, Abdul?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, I have something to tell you."
They increased the space between themselves and the camels which were
following them in Indian file. Abdul spoke in Arabic, as he always did
to his master. When he had confided his secret to Michael he lapsed
into silence. The Effendi looked very grave. The news was far from
pleasant.
"You need not tell Madam," Michael said. "Not until you are quite
sure, Abdul. It will only alarm her."
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, I gave it to your ears alone."
"How is he?" Michael referred to the saint.
"His temperature has fallen--head no longer aches. That is always the
case."
"You have done all that is necessary?"
"All I could do, Effendi. Madam has good medicines, praise be to
Allah! We can be hopeful."
They rode on to the camp in silence. Michael's thoughts were busy.
What would Millicent say? Would she be afraid? The idea was not
pleasant.
When they had dismounted Michael went at once to see the saint and
Millicent hurried off to her tent to change her dusty garments for
daintier ones. She was still penitent and half-ashamed. Who knows but
that Michael's efforts to help her were already beginning to bear
fruit? If thoughts can purify, Millicent's heart should have been as
fair as a white lotus flower whose roots are in the mud. Michael's
thoughts had baptized it.
When she had tidied up and was beautifully fresh in her snow-white
muslin frock, she went outside and waited for the dinner-gong to sound.
Even that item of civilization had not been forgotten--it is true it
was only a drum, an earthen _darabukkeh_, but it filled its purpose
well. Its dull thud, thud, had scarcely ceased vibrating the air when
Michael appeared. As he came towards her, Millicent went to meet him.
He had not yet changed his day clothes.
"Don't come near me!" he called out. "Not any further."
"Why not?" Millicent said. "What's the matter? Are you stricken with
the plague?" She spoke laughingly.
Michael stopped within a few feet of her. "Perhaps I am stricken with
the smallpox," he said. "The saint has got it--it may be of a very
malignant order. We don't know."
Every vestige of colour left Millicent's face. She felt sick. "And
you have been to him? You touched him!"
"Of course. I wished to judge for myself. There is no doubt about it."
"M-i-c-h-a-e-l!" The word was a long-drawn-out expression of horror.
A wave of inexpressible terror and disgust overwhelmed Millicent; she
could scarcely speak or move. "You knew, and yet you went to him. How
could you, oh, how could you?"
He scarcely heard her. "These natives who have never been vaccinated
take it very badly. Smallpox is a scourge with all Africans, from the
north to the south."
Millicent's mind was now working furiously. She did not wish to let
Michael see how terrified she was, or how angry.
"Go and change," she said. "Go at once. Get Abdul to disinfect you--I
brought any amount of stuffs."
"Oh, I'm all right--I'm not afraid. I was with him for a long time
last night. If I'm going to take it, the mischief's done."
Millicent's quick mind travelled. Michael had been with this sick
saint the night before. He, Michael, might be a carrier of the
disease, even if he were immune from it himself. And she had been fool
enough to throw herself into his arms! Oh, what a fool! She might
even now be incubating the horrible, loathsome disease. She was
soul-sick. Her fear and rage were inseparable. But she must, of
course, make a good show.
"Never mind, Mike, about last night. Probably the disease was not at
such an infectious stage as it is now--you may not have contracted it.
Take what precautions you can--go quickly and disinfect yourself. Are
you really sure it's smallpox?" She said the last words with a
shudder. "Ugh! it's horrible!"
"Yes," Michael said. "The spots have appeared on his wrists and at the
back of his neck. Abdul knows the beastly disease only too well--the
vomiting and the headaches and the fall in the temperature. It appears
that he told Abdul that he had been very, very sick for some days
before we met him. But malaria might have accounted for the
sickness--and the headaches. No one could have diagnosed it until the
spots appeared. Abdul's not to blame."
"What are you going to do?" Millicent said. "Stick to him? I suppose
you will!" she shivered.
"I will isolate his tent. I can't go on and leave him here, if you
mean that."
"Oh, you're crazy! Think of Margaret, if you won't think of yourself!"
"She wouldn't have me do it."
"Leave one or two of the men behind with him. It's absurd, running
such a risk. He will probably die, in any case."
"When I needed his help I meant to stick to him. When he now needs
mine, am I to desert him? You said my goodness was not disinterested.
It was not, but I can't stoop to that."
"If these Moslems really think he's a saint, they'll nurse him
faithfully. I'll pay them what they ask--anything."
"Money isn't everything, Millicent--surely you know that?"
"It can do a great deal. If you hadn't met him, he'd have died."
"But I have met him. Doesn't that show that I am entrusted with his
welfare?"
"A chance meeting."
"That absurd word! By chance you mean such a big thing that your mind
can't imagine it! You choose to call a link in the Divine Chain
chance! the Chance which gives life, the Master of that which is
ordained, you mean!"
"You can't nurse him, you can't do anything more for him than see that
he has all that he wants. 'The faithful' will carry out your
instructions. Do be practical, reasonable."
"It's no use, Millicent, I can't leave him. I won't." Michael
shivered. "It's chilly. Let's go and eat our dinner."
"You must change first--I insist. It's only right to others."
"Then don't wait for me."
"Oh yes, I will. Only be quick." Millicent knew that she was too sick
with fear to eat and enjoy the excellent dinner which had been prepared
for them. As she waited for Michael, she cursed her own folly, her own
abominable bad luck. If Michael was a carrier, she had no chance,
unless she was one of those rare people who are immune from the
disease. She did not think she was, because when she was last
vaccinated, when she was fifteen, she had been very, very ill and sick.
She felt physically tired, for her brain was quick. It was imagining
horrible things. She was visualizing her own beauty spoilt, her fair
skin deeply pitted with pock-marks, her colour all gone. The disease
would take the glitter from her hair, the glow from her personality.
She knew the result of smallpox. She saw herself, a little,
washed-out, yellow-skinned woman, with weak eyes and drab-coloured hair.
Oh, why had she ever called Michael's attention to the saint? If he
had not gone to his rescue, he would have died where he fell, bathed in
the blood-red light of the afterglow. Why had Michael been such a fool
as to touch him and nurse him? Had she not warned him that the fanatic
was filthy and probably infectious? And, to make matters still worse,
to leave no room for chance, she had of her own will flung herself into
Michael's arms! Her determination to subject his will to hers, to
triumph over Margaret, had brought her to this! Michael was further
from her than ever. She had disgusted him; his only thought for her
now was his desire to make her as religious as himself. She had to
admit her defeat.
And this was how it had ended! Michael, the mystic, the quixotic
idiot, had taken into his camp a creature sick with smallpox, and she,
Millicent, had probably contracted it by her act of rashness! The
desert seemed scarcely large enough to hold her anger. It stifled and
exhausted her.
During dinner very little was spoken between the two, for Millicent was
devastated by her own terrors and Michael was making plans for the sick
man's isolation. His tent must remain where it was, while Michael's
own, and all the servants', except those inhabited by the men who
wished to nurse the saint, must be moved to a safe distance.
Millicent's going was driven from his mind.
Millicent was thankful that Michael did not notice how little she ate
at dinner. The servant did; nothing passes a native's eye. He knew
the woman's terror.
Soon after their coffee was served they separated, Millicent going to
her own tent and Michael to consult with Abdul. When Millicent reached
her tent and had managed to compose her mind, she sent for Hassan.
Half an hour later he left her. He had much to do. The _Sitt's_
orders were comprehensive.
* * * * * *
Michael went early to bed. He was very tired. At about two o'clock in
the morning he stirred in his sleep. Was he hearing the distant sound
of camels roaring, or was he dreaming? He was too lazy to find out.
If there were jackals prowling about, the night-guards would see to
them. Undoubtedly something had disturbed him, for as a rule he slept
without moving the long night through.
Conscious of feeling deliciously sleepy and totally indifferent to
anything but his own comfort, he soon fell asleep again. In his dreams
he heard again the liquid sound of bells--mule bells and camel
bells--growing fainter and fainter as the animals travelled into the
distance.
* * * * * *
In the morning, when he awoke, it was with a new lightness of spirit
and refreshed vitality. A sense of freedom exalted him, a subconscious
freedom, which had been absent for some days. The glory of the desert
called to him. He felt spiritually and physically vitalized.
Even the recollection of the nature of the saint's illness did not damp
his spirits. He would recover with careful nursing, and when he was
better they would go on their way rejoicing. The Promised Land seemed
nearer.
It was scarcely time for his early cup of tea, yet he saw Abdul
bringing it. Perhaps the joy of life had waked him, too, perhaps he
also was eager to get up and greet the morn. What a wonderful morning
it was! All pure, cool, clear sunlight. Michael's heart, a throbbing
organ of praise, sent forth a paean to the pagan skies.
"Is the Effendi awake? May his servant enter?"
"Yes, Abdul, come in."
Abdul entered with the noiseless movements of his race. As he stood by
his master's bed, Michael saw that the unemotional native was
attempting to hide his anger. Something had greatly upset him.
"What is it, Abdul? Has anyone been unkind to the saint?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, it is not that." Abdul spoke lengthily and in the
correct Arabic fashion. He must not approach the subject too quickly.
"Tell me," Michael said. "What troubles you, Abdul?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, the honourable _Sitt_ has left you. She has
gone--there is no trace of her camp."
"What?" Michael jumped out of bed. "The _Sitt_ has gone? No sign of
her camp?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, that is so. Your servant offers his apologies for
bringing you bad news."
To Abdul's eternal amazement, Michael burst into a roar of laughter,
hearty, unsuppressed enjoyment of a good joke.
"Gone?" he repeated. "The _Sitt_ has gone, made a moonlight flitting?
The little devil!"
Abdul's mystification was so complete that he could only salaam.
"The little coward!" Michael said. "The miserable little coward!"
He spoke so rapidly, and in English, that Abdul could not fully
understand. Indeed, he was totally at a loss to comprehend anything of
the situation. It baffled him. His master actually seemed pleased and
highly amused at the cowardly conduct of his mistress!
"When did the _Sitt_ leave the camp, Abdul?"
"At about two o'clock this morning, Effendi. She has taken everything
with her," he threw up his hands. "Her medicines, her delicate food,
everything we need for the saint."
"Curse her!" Michael said. "What a dirty trick!"
"The _Sitt_ was very much afraid, Effendi."
"Well, perhaps that was quite natural, Abdul. But to take everything
away! What shall we do without her tins of milk, her medicine-chest?"
"_Insha Allah_, we will save the 'favoured of God,' Effendi. There in
the Bedouin camp they will give us milk--they have goats."
"How is he this morning?"
"The Answerer of Prayer has heard the cry of His children. He has
again bestowed upon us His everlasting mercy, His compassion is
infinite."
"The saint is better?"
"The malady is running its course. _Insha Allah_, it will do so
without any complications. The pox now appears on his back and body.
The condition of the saint's general health is not such as to cause any
undue anxiety to the Effendi."
"Is he conscious?"
"His thoughts are in heaven, but his mind is clearer, praise be to
Allah."
"And the _Sitt_?" Michael said. "How did she get away?"
"She gave minute instructions to Hassan early in the evening." Abdul
salaamed. "_Aiwah_, honourable Effendi, you will be relieved of a
double anxiety--the _Sitt_ was greatly afraid."
"Yes, Abdul, I'm thankful, very thankful." Michael stretched out his
arms and breathed a deep breath of freedom. Thank God she had gone,
gone of her own free will! This, then, was the meaning of his sense of
liberation. The white tent was there no longer. It had vanished.
Then he remembered having stirred in his sleep. The bells he had heard
were the bells on the animals which were carrying the frightened
Millicent. Her _hijrah_ had not been achieved without affecting his
subconscious mind.
Meanwhile, Abdul was studying his master's mind. He was reading his
thoughts as one reads a story from the illustrations of a book. He saw
relief and freedom--and, above all, thankfulness. His master's
besetting sin was his dislike of scenes, his hypersensitiveness in the
matter of causing pain to others, the desire to surround himself with
happiness.
"_Gehenna_ to the harlot!" he said to himself. "_Insha Allah_, she
will regret last night's work, even though it may benefit the Effendi!"
"You will be lonely, Effendi," he said. "But without the honourable
_Sitt_ your work will progress. Women are a hindrance to men's minds,
an anxiety."
"I am well pleased, Abdul. We were not lonely before Madam came."
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, there was the prospect of the meeting with the
honourable _Sitt_. Now there is desolation."
"I did not seek the meeting, Abdul. All is well."
"_Insha Allah_, things will progress more favourably."
Abdul left his master. He had learned all that he wanted to know. The
Effendi did not love the harlot. He knew now that the woman had
followed Michael, and that she had got wind of the hidden treasure.
When he was alone, he gazed at the shrunken encampment. The white tent
was there no longer; the place was rid of the woman and her luxuries.
Had she decamped with two ends in view--to get away from the infected
spot and to anticipate the Effendi in his search?
"_Gehenna!_" he said again. "I did not tell the honourable Effendi
that the linen sheets in which the saint slept last night belonged to
the _Sitt_--that they are packed with her clothes which she will wear
again! She has made her own bed--let her sleep in it. Hassan will see
to that."
The distance of the flat desert had obliterated Millicent's cavalcade.
Was it journeying towards civilization, hurrying from the plague-spot
in the desert, or was it going to the hills behind Akhnaton's city?
When Michael had hurried to the saint the night before and had shown
himself totally fearless and unmindful of his own welfare, the saint
had implored him to leave him. He knew the danger and the awfulness of
smallpox; he knew the risk the Englishman was running.
When Michael made him understand that he had no intention of leaving
him, that he was going to wait for him until he was better, the sick
man was overwhelmed with gratitude. He told Michael that he would show
him, if Allah permitted, the place in the hills where the hidden
treasure lay. But in case it should please the Giver of Death to allow
His servant to look upon the beauty of His face (which was the sick
man's way of saying in case he should die), he would beg of the Effendi
to listen to what he had to tell him.
"While my memory is clear, while the All-Merciful permits me to speak
to the Effendi, I will instruct him, the treasure shall be his."
Had the saint's instructions been passed on to Millicent's ears? Were
her fast-moving camels bearing her to the crocks of fine gold and the
wealth of jewels which the hermit of el-Azhar had visualized?
The fate of every man hangs round his neck. If Allah had willed it?