from a place of honour, dignity, and opportunity, to the very gutters of life; my renunciation of ambition, reward and success--weighed with me not at all, and were but as dust in the balance. . . .
I can but hope that, coolly and without bias, I answered the question as to whether the interests of France, the lives of thousands of men, the loss of incalculable treasure should, or should not, out-weigh the interests of two foreign women.
Should thousands of French soldiers suffer wounds and death--or should these two girls enter the hareems of Arab Sheikhs? . . .
Should I fulfil the trust reposed in me or betray it?
"I want tools that will not turn in my hand. . . . Tools on which I can absolutely rely," my uncle--my General, the representative of my Country--had said to me; and I had willingly offered myself as a tool that would not turn in his hand . . . that would not fail him. . . .
And if "it is expedient that one man shall die for the people," was it not expedient that two foreign women should be sacrificed to prevent a war, to save an Empire? . . . Two lives instead of two thousand, twenty thousand, two hundred thousand. . . .
If, as my uncle said, there would always be danger in Morocco to the French African Empire, and if, whenever that danger arose, this great Tribal Confederation became a source of even greater danger . . . ?
"And for what was I here? For what had I been fashioned and made, taught and trained, hammered on the hard anvil of experience? . . . Why was I in my Service--but to do the very thing that it now lay to my hand to do?"
As an honest and honourable man, I must put the orders of my General, the honour and tradition of my Service, and, above all, the welfare of my Country, before everything--and everybody.
Logic showed me the truth--and, suddenly, I stopped in my stride, turned and shook my fist in the Emir's very face and shouted: "Damn your black face and blacker soul, you filthy hound! Get out of my tent before I throw you out, you bestial swine! . . . WHITE WOMEN! You black dogs and sons of dogs . . . !" and, shaking with rage, I pointed to the doorway of my tent.
* * *
They rose and went--and, with them, went all my hopes of success. What had I done? What had I done? . . . But Mary--sweet, lovely, brave, fascinating Mary . . . and that black-bearded dog!
Let France sink beneath the sea first. . . .
But what had I done? . . . What had I done? . . . What is 'Right' and what is 'Wrong'? What voice had I obeyed?
Anyhow, I was unfit, utterly unfit, for my great Service--and I would break my sword and burn my uniform, go back to my uncle, confess what I had done and enlist in the Foreign Legion. . . .
Oh, splendid de Lannec! . . . He was right, of course. . . .
But this was ruin and the end of Henri de Beaujolais.
Then a voice through the felt wall that cut off my part of the tent from the anderun said,
"Your language certainly sounded bad, Major! I am glad I don't understand Arabic!"
I was not very sure that I was glad she did not.
And as little as she understood Arabic did I understand whether I had done right or wrong.
But one thing I understood. I was a Failure. . . . I had failed my General, my Service, and my Country--but yet I somehow felt I had not failed my higher Self. . . .
§ 3
It was the next morning that Miss Vanbrugh greeted me with the words:
"Major, you haven't congratulated me yet. I had an honest-to-God offer of marriage from a leading citizen of this burg yesterday. . . . I'm blushing still. . . . Inwardly. . . ."
I was horrified. . . . What next?
"From whom?" I asked.
"The Sheikh el Habibka el Wazir."
"Good God!" I groaned. "Miss Vanbrugh, we shall have to walk very very delicately. . . ."
"So'll the Sheikh-lad," observed Mary grimly.
"But how did he make the proposal?" I inquired, knowing that no one in the place could translate and interpret except myself.
"By signs and wonders," answered the girl. "Some wonders! He certainly made himself clear . . . !"
"Was he? . . . Did he? . . ." I stammered, hardly knowing how to ask if the ruffian had seized her in his hot, amorous embrace and made fierce love to her. . . . My blood boiled, though my heart sank, and I knew that depth of trembling apprehension that is the true Fear--the fear for another whom we--whom we--esteem.
"Now don't you go prying heavy-hoofed into a young thing's first love affair, Major--because I shan't stand for it," replied Miss Vanbrugh.
"Had you your pistol with you?" I asked.
"I had, Major," was the reply. "I don't get caught that way twice."
And I reflected that if the Sheikh el Habibka el Wazir was still alive, he had not been violent.
* * *
That day I was not allowed to ride out for exercise, and a big Soudanese sentry was posted closer to my tent-door.
Hitherto I had felt myself under strict surveillance now I was under actual arrest.
The girls were invited, or ordered, to go riding as usual, and my frame of mind can be imagined.
Nothing could save them. . . . Nothing could now bring about the success of my mission--unless it were the fierce greed of these Arabs for gold. . . . I was a wretchedly impotent puppet in their hands. . . .
Now that I had mortally insulted and antagonized these fierce despots, what could I do to protect the woman . . . the women . . . whom I had brought here, and whose sole hope and trust was in me? . . .
I realized that a mighty change had been slowly taking place in my mind, and that it had been completed in the moment that the Emir had offered to sell me the treaty for the bodies of these girls. . . . I knew now that--instead of the fate of Mary Vanbrugh being an extra anxiety at the back of a mind filled with care concerning the treaty--the fate of the treaty was an extra anxiety at the back of a mind filled with care concerning the fate of Mary Vanbrugh!
Why should this be?
I had begun by disliking her. . . . At times I had hated her . . . and certainly there were times when she appeared to loathe me utterly. . . . Why should life, success, duty, France herself, all weigh as nothing in the balance against her safety? . . .
De Lannec? Fool, trifler, infirm of purpose, devoid of sense of proportion, broken reed and betrayer of his Service and his Motherland--or unselfish hero and gallant gentleman?
* * *
And what mattered the answer to that question,
