When a man, in the heyday of his manhood, voluntarily lives the life of
a monk or hermit, his friends suppose him to be either religious,
defective, or possessed of a secret mistress. Now, nobody supposed
Daniel Lane to be religious, for he seldom put his foot inside a church:
and people seem to be agreed that religion is, as it were, black kid
gloves, handed out with the hymnbooks and, like them, "not to be taken
away." Nor did anybody think him abnormal, for a figure more sane, more
healthy, or more robust in its unqualified manhood, could not easily be
conjured before the imagination.
Hence the rumour had arisen in Cairo that the daughters of the Bedouin
were not strangers to him; but actually, like most rumours, this was
entirely incorrect. He did, in very truth, live the life of a celibate
in his desert home; and if this manner of existence chanced to be in
accord with his ideas of bachelorhood, it was certainly in conformity
with the nature of his surroundings. Some men are not attracted by a
diet of onions, or by a skin-polish of castor oil.
When he had been commissioned by a well-known scientific institute to
make a thorough study of the manners, customs, and folk-lore of the
Bedouin tribes of the Egyptian desert, he had entered upon his task in
the manner of one dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge; and he found in
the life he was called upon to lead the opportunity for the practice of
those precepts of the philosophers which, in spite of his impulsive
nature, had ever appealed to him in principle during the course of his
wide reading.
Almost unwittingly he had cultivated the infinite joys of a mind free
from care, free from the desires of the flesh; and, with no apparent,
or, at any rate, no great effort, he had established in himself a
condition of undisturbed equanimity, by virtue of which he could smile
benevolently at the frantic efforts of his fellow men and women to make
life amusing. To him his existence in the desert was a continuous
pleasure, for the great secret of human life had been revealed to
him--that a mind at peace in itself is happiness.
But here in Cairo circumstances were different; and as he walked from
the Residency through the moonlit streets to the Orient Hotel his
thoughts were by no means tranquil. He did not feel any very noticeable
fatigue after his long ride; for a series of recent expeditions through
the desert had hardened him to such a point that the hundred and fifty
miles which he had covered in the last three days had in no way strained
his always astonishing physical resources. His senses were alert and
active, and, indeed, were near to a riotous invasion of the placid
palace of his mind, where his soul was wont to sit enthroned above the
clamour of his mighty body.
He took the road which led him past the Semiramis Hotel, and through its
brilliantly illuminated windows he could see the richly dressed throng
of visitors, and could hear the strains of the orchestra which was
playing selections from a popular musical comedy. He turned his head
away, and gazed across the Nile which lay on his other hand; but here
too the lights of the gay city glittered and were reflected in the
water, while from a dahabiyah moored against the opposite bank there
came the sound of tambourines and the rhythmic beating of the feet of
native dancers.
In the main streets of the city the light of the lamps seemed strangely
bright to his unaccustomed eyes; and the great square in front of the
Orient Hotel presented an animated scene. Crowds of people were here
streaming out of the Opera House, and carriages and automobiles were
moving in all directions. The trees of the Esbekieh gardens were
illuminated by the neighbouring arc lamps, and rich clusters of exotic
flowers hung down towards the dazzling globes. The cafes on the other
side of the square were crowded, and hundreds of small tables, standing
in the open, were occupied by the native and continental inhabitants of
the city. The murmur of many voices and the continuous rattle of dice
upon the marble table-tops could be heard above the many sounds of the
traffic; and somewhere a Neapolitan orchestra was playing a lilting
tune.
The terrace and facade of the hotel were illuminated by numerous rows of
small electric globes, and as Daniel ascended the steps to the
brilliantly lighted main entrance he was met by a throng of men and
women in evening dress pouring out on to the terrace. Evidently the
weekly ball was in progress, and the couples were emerging into the cool
night air to rest for a few brief moments from their exertions.
For some time he wandered about the hotel, furtively watching the
dancers; but in his rough clothes he did not feel quite at his ease, and
he was conscious that many pairs of eyes looked at him from time to time
with wonder, while those of the hall-porter and the waiters, so he
thought, expressed frank disapproval, if not disgust. He had no wish,
however, to retire to his room; for the music of the orchestra would
undoubtedly prevent sleep for yet some time to come. Moreover, he felt
excited and disturbed by the brilliant scenes around him; and the
seclusion of his desert home seemed very far away.
At length he found a seat upon a sofa at the end of a passage near the
American Bar, where, except during the intervals between the dances, he
was more or less alone; and here he settled himself down to enjoy the
cigar which he had pocketed at the Residency. He wanted to be quiet; his
mind was disturbed by his sudden incursion into the world, and he was
aware of a number of emotions which he had not experienced for many
months.
Suddenly the swinging doors of the Bar were burst open and a red-headed
young man, muffled in an overcoat, sprang through and darted down the
passage. He was clutching at a lady's gold bag; and for a moment Daniel
supposed him to be a thief. An instant later, however, he was followed
by a girl, wearing an evening cloak and a large black hat, who called
after him in broken English, telling him to behave himself. At this the
man paused, tossed the bag to her, and, with a wave of his hand,
disappeared round the corner.
The bag fell at Daniel's feet. He therefore stooped down, and, picking
it up, returned it to her.
"A silly boy--that one," she smiled. "He like always the rag."
"I nearly shot him for a thief," said Daniel, placing his hand
significantly upon his hip-pocket, where he still carried the revolver
which had accompanied him on his journey.
The girl fixed her large dark eyes upon him in amazement. "Mais non!"
she exclaimed. "He has the red hair: he like joking and running about."
She sat herself down beside him, and made a pretence to touch his
hip-pocket.
"Why you carry a pistol?" she asked.
Daniel looked at her with mild amusement. Her profession was evident,
but it did not shock him.
"Because I'm a wild man," he answered, with a smile.
"You not live in Cairo?" she queried.
"No fear!" he replied.
There was silence for some moments, while Daniel, smoking his cigar,
endeavoured to ignore her existence. Once or twice she looked
expectantly at him: it was evident that she could not quite classify
him. Then she rose to her feet, and, with a little friendly nod to him,
walked towards the swinging doors.
Daniel suddenly felt lonely, felt that he would like to have somebody to
talk to, felt that he could keep any situation within bounds, felt that
he did not much mind whether he could do so or not. He took the cigar
out of his mouth, forming an instant resolution: "Hi!" he called out.
She turned round. "Why you call me 'Hi'?" she asked. "I'm Lizette."
"I beg your pardon," he answered, gravely. "Will you have supper with
me, Lizette?"
"Have you got enough money?" she asked.
"Plenty," he laughed. "Shall we have supper here?"
She shook her head, "Oh, no," she replied frankly. "The Manager not like
me, because I'm not good girl. Everybody know Lizette--very bad, very
wicked girl. Everybody are shocked for Lizette."
"I'm not shocked," said Daniel. "I like your face. You look truthful."
He got up, and followed her into the bar, and, crossing it, made for the
street-entrance.
"You give me supper at Berto's?" she said, putting her hand lightly upon
his arm, and looking up at him, as they stood upon the pavement outside.
"Anywhere you like," he answered; and thus it came about that a few
minutes later he found himself seated before her at a small table in a
quiet restaurant. She was decidedly attractive. Her grey eyes were
tender and sympathetic; the expression of her mouth was kindly; and her
dark hair, which was drawn down over her ears, was soft and alluring.
She was wearing a low-necked black-velvet dress, and her slender throat
and shoulders by contrast seemed to be very white.
Her broken English, however, was her chiefest charm; and Daniel listened
with pleasure as she talked away, candidly answering his somewhat direct
questions in regard to her early life and adventures. She hailed
originally, she told him, from Marseilles; but when her widowed mother
had died she had found herself at the age of seventeen, alone and
penniless. She had got into bad company, and at length had been advised
by a well-meaning young British guardsman, on his way to Egypt, to ply
her trade in Cairo. Here she had become a great favourite with his
particular battalion, and in fact, was so monopolized by them that when
she was seen in the company of a civilian her action was said to be "by
kind permission of the Colonel and officers" of the regiment in
question.
"Good Lord, what a life!" said Daniel.
"But what else can a girl do," she asked, "after the little first
mistake, eh? I get plenty good food; I not work eight hours, ten hours,
every day to get thirty francs the week; I not live in the little top
one room and cry: no, I have the beautiful _appartements au premier
etage_, and I laugh always--plenty friends, plenty dresses, plenty sun."
At a table at the other side of the room, Daniel had noticed, while she
was talking, a heavy-jowled, red-faced young officer who was seated
alone, and whose sullen eyes appeared to be fixed upon him. The girl's
back was turned to this man; but presently she observed that her
companion was not paying attention to her remarks, and, wondering what
had attracted his attention, she looked behind her. Immediately she
uttered a little angry exclamation, and made an impatient shrug with her
shoulders.
"That is a beast," she said.
"He's drunk, I think," Daniel remarked. "Is he a friend of yours?"
She made a gesture of denial. "He hate me because I not let him come
home with me ever."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because he very cruel pig-man. He beat his dog. I see him beat his
dog."
They rose presently to leave the restaurant, and as they did so the
objectionable officer floundered unsteadily to his feet, and placed
himself across the doorway. As in the case of most men of gigantic
physical strength, Daniel's nature was gentle, and wanting in all
bellicose tendencies; and, moreover, he had already once that evening
used his muscles in a manner which did not conform to his principles. He
therefore made an attempt to take no notice of the obstruction; but
finding the way entirely barred, he was obliged to request the man to
stand aside. The officer, however, stood his ground stolidly.
Daniel raised his voice very slightly. "Will you kindly get out of the
way," he said.
For answer the man shot out his hand, and made an ineffectual grab at
the girl's arm. She darted aside, and by a quick manoeuvre slipped out
through the glass doorway, standing thereafter in the entrance passage,
watching the two men with an expression of anger in her alert eyes.
It was now Daniel's turn to bar the way, whereat his opponent thrust his
red face forward and uttered a string of oaths, his fists clenched.
"I don't stand any nonsense from a damned civilian," he roared. "Let me
pass, or I'll put my fist through your face."
Suddenly Daniel's self-control for the second time deserted him. He
blushed with shame for his countryman; he burnt with indignation at the
arrogance of this product of a militaristic age; he felt like an
exasperated schoolmaster dealing with a bully. With a quick movement he
gripped the man's raised arm, and seizing with his other hand the collar
of his tunic, shook him so that his head was bumped violently against
the wall behind him.
"I don't believe in violence," he said, shaking him till the teeth
rattled in his head, "or I'd really hurt you. I don't believe in it."
In his tremendous grip the wretched man was, in spite of his bulk, as
entirely powerless as the sentry at the Residency had been. His eyes
grew round and frightened: he had never before come up against strength
such as Daniel possessed.
"Let me go," he gasped.
"Shut your mouth, or you'll bite your tongue," said Daniel, a grim smile
upon his face, as he administered another shattering shake. Then with a
contemptuous movement he flung him backwards, so that he fell to the
floor at the feet of an amazed waiter who had hurried across the room.
Daniel turned upon his heel, and, taking the girl's arm, conducted her
out of the building. She appeared to be too enthralled by the
discomfiture of her enemy to utter a word.
An empty taxi-cab was passing, and this he hailed.
"Where d'you want to go to?" he asked.
She gave him her address. "You are coming home with me?" she asked.
"Please do." Her expression was eloquent.
"I'll drive you as far as your door," he replied.
"But...?" There was a question in her eyes.
He sat himself down beside her, and she put her arm in his, looking up
into his face with admiration.
"I never see a one so strong," she whispered, with a kind of awe. "I
think you very great man, very to be loved."
Daniel laughed ironically, "Oh, yes, of course you're filled with
admiration because you've seen me handle a poor drunken fellow-creature
roughly. My girl, that is not the thing for which you should admire a
man. I'm ashamed of myself."
"Ashamed?" she exclaimed, incredulously.
"Yes," he answered, shortly. "D'you think I'm proud that I can master
any man in a fair fight? What I want to be able to do is to master
_myself_!"
There was silence between them, but he was aware that she did not take
her eyes from him. At length he turned and looked at her and, seeing the
admiration in her face, laughed aloud.
"Why you laugh?" she asked.
"I'm laughing at you women," he answered. "How you love a little show of
muscle! Good God, we might be living in the year one!"
"I not understand," she said.
"No, I don't suppose you do," he answered. "But here we are: is this
where you live?"
They had stopped before some large buildings in the vicinity of the main
station. She nodded her head.
"Please don't go away," she said.
"No," he answered. "I've had enough of the world, the flesh, and the
devil for one day. I guess we'll meet again some time or other. Good
night, my girl; and thank you for your company."
She held her hand in his. "Thank you," she said, "for fighting that
pig-man, Barthampton."
"Barthampton? Lord Barthampton?" he repeated. "Was that the man?"
She nodded. "Why?" she asked, as he uttered a low whistle.
"Gee!" he laughed. "He's my own cousin."