to the darker races who have come in contact with it?"
The two stroked their beards, and eyed me long and thoughtfully. I assured the Emir that it would be in his power to pick and choose. Isolated as his people were, there need be no "contact." All France wanted was his friendship.
Provided he were loyal and kept the terms of the treaty exactly, he could use the subsidy as he pleased, and could discriminate between the curses and the real blessings of western civilization.
Surely he could see to it that only good ensued? Nothing was farther from the thoughts of the French Government than interference--much less conquest, or even "peaceful penetration." All we asked was that the Confederation which he ruled should be a source of strength and not of weakness to us--that the Great Oasis should be an outpost of France in the hands of the Emir el Hamel el Kebir. . . . And I hinted at his own danger from others who would not come to him thus, with offers of gold and protection, but with armies. . . .
"We will talk of these matters again," said the Emir at length. "Khallas! It is finished. . . ."
That evening, a riding-party was arranged, and, mounted on beautiful horses, the Sheikh el Habibka and Miss Vanbrugh rode together; the Emir, on a white camel, rode with Maudie--who, very wisely, would not get on a horse; and I rode with a party of fine courteous Arabs who were minor sheikhs, officers of the soldiery, councillors, friends and hangers-on of the Emir and the Vizier.
We rode through the oasis out into the desert.
I did not enjoy my ride, for, before very long, I lost sight of the two girls, and could only hope for the best while fearing the worst. . . . Women are so attracted by externals and so easily deceived by a courteous and gallant manner.
One comfort was that neither girl could speak a word of Arabic, so there was nothing to fear from plausible tongues.
Any love-making would have to be done in dumb-show, and I was beginning to feel that there was no likelihood of force majeure--both men giving me the impression of innate gentlemanliness and decency.
Still--Arabs are Arabs and this was the Sahara--and, as I noted that the Emir returned with Miss Vanbrugh and the Vizier with Maud, I wanted nothing so much as to get safely away with my women-folk and a signed treaty of alliance.
* * *
But this was just what I could not do.
Time after time, I sought audience with the Emir, only to find that he was engaged or sleeping or busy or absent from the Oasis.
Time after time, when his guest at meat, riding, or faddhling with him on the rug-strewn carpet before the pavilions, I tried to get him to discuss the object of my visit--but in vain.
Always it was, "We will talk of it to-morrow, Inshallah."
His eternal "Bokra! Bokra!" was as bad as the mañana of the Spaniards. And "to-morrow" never came. . . .
The return of Marbruk ben Hassan and his camel-squadron brought me news that depressed me to the depths and darkened my life for days. I was given understanding of the expression "a broken heart." . . .
Evidently my heroes had fought to their last cartridge and had then been overwhelmed. Beneath a great cairn of stones, Marbruk and his men had buried the tortured, defiled, mangled remains of Dufour, Achmet and Djikki.
It was plain to me that Suleiman had deserted, for the parts of only three corpses were found, and the track of a single camel fleeing south-eastward from the spot.
That he had not fought to the last, and then escaped or been captured alive by the Touareg, was shown by the fact that, where he had lain, there were but few empty cartridge-cases, compared with the number lying where my men had died; and by the fact of the track of the fleeing camel.
I retired to my tent, saying I wished to see no one for a day, and that I wanted no food.
It was a black and dreadful day for me, the man for whom those humble heroes had fought and died; and, for hours, I was hard put to it to contain myself.
I did see some one however--for Miss Vanbrugh entered silently, dressed my rapidly healing wound, and then stroked my hair and brow and cheek so kindly, so gently, and with such deep understanding sympathy that I broke down.
I could almost have taken her in my arms, but that I would not trade on my misery and her sympathy--and without a word spoken between us she went back to the anderun . . . the blessed, beautiful, glorious woman.
Did she understand at last? . . . Duty. . . . My duty to my General, my Service, and my Country.
* * *
That evening she was visited by the future Sheikh of the tribe that had first accepted the Emir, a charming and delightful little boy, dressed exactly like a grown man.
With him came his sister, a most lovely girl, the Sitt Leila Nakhla.
Her, the two girls found haughty, distant, disapproving, and I gathered that the visit was not a success--apart from the question of the language difficulty.
Bedouin women do not go veiled in their own villages and camps, and I saw this Arab "princess" at a feast given by her guardian, the white-bearded, delightful old gentleman, Sidi Dawad Fetata.
It was soon very clear to me that the Sitt Leila Nakhla worshipped the Emir; that the grandson of old Sidi Dawad Fetata worshipped the Sitt Leila Nakhla; and that the latter detested our Maudie, from whose face the Emir's eye roved but seldom.
The little London sparrow was the hated rival of a princess, for the hand of a powerful ruler! Oh, Songs of Araby and Tales of fair Kashmir! What a world it is!
But what troubled me more than hate was love--the love that I could see dawning in the eyes of the Sheikh el Habibka as he sat beside Miss Vanbrugh and plied her with tit-bits from the bowls.
I watched him like a lynx, and he me. How he hated me! . . .
Time after time I saw him open his lips to speak, sigh heavily, and say nothing. But if he said nothing he did a good deal--including frequent repetitions of the Roumi "shake-hands" custom, which he misinterpreted as a hold-hands habit.
He had learnt the words, and would say, "Shakand, Mees," from time to time, in what he thought was English.
And Mary? She was infinitely amused. Amused beyond all cause that I could see; and I was really angry when she glanced from me to the Sheikh el Habibka--he holding her hand warmly clasped in both of his--and quietly hummed, in a conversational sort of voice:
"Said the Bul-bul, 'Young man, is your life then so dull That you're anxious to end your career? For Infidel, know--that you've trod on the toe Of Abdul, the Bul-bul Emir!' The Bul-bul then drew out his trusty chibouque, And shouting out 'Allah Akbar!' Being also intent on slaughter, he went For Ivan Petruski Skivah!" . . .
This interested the Sitt Leila Nakhla not at all. She watched Maudie, while young Yussuf Latif Fetata watched Leila. To me this girl was most charming, but became a little troublesome in her demands that I should translate every remark that Maudie made. I believe the Sitt's position in the Tribe was unique,
