Burning Sands

  CHAPTER XIX--THE SEEDS OF SORROW

  During the ensuing fortnight circumstances were not favourable to thedevelopment of their romance. Daniel was closely occupied with thesettling of certain political difficulties which had cropped up; andMuriel, on her part, found herself much occupied with the socialfunctions of the Residency which, in the month of January, are alwaysvery exacting.

  But if there were few opportunities for the tender intimacy of love,there was now the compensation of a very sweet understanding betweenthem. There was no need, so it seemed, for a formal betrothal: theengagement was mutually assumed, and, though no binding words had beenspoken, Lord Blair did not have to ask again what were their intentions.

  Muriel was, of course, a little disturbed at Daniel's refusal to allow adefinite announcement to be made, or even an irrevocable word to bespoken between them; but actually his attitude was quite understandable.He was keenly aware that his method of life was somewhat peculiar, andhe was modest enough to regard himself as a thoroughly undesirablehusband.

  Muriel had told him all about the Rupert Helsingham affair, and, withsome degree of correctness, he had attributed it to the enchantment ofthe Nile. He had realized, too, that in his own case his most intimatemoments with her had occurred under exceptionally romanticcircumstances; and though he was too deeply in love thus to explain awayher emotions, he could not blind himself to the possibility that theirorigin was less profound than their intensity suggested.

  He was determined not to bind her yet awhile; for, he argued to himself,if the miracle had happened, if really she had found in him her eternalpartner, time would prove the fact to them; but if she had been buildingher love on the deceptive foundations of romantic passion, nothing butultimate misery would come of the immediate exchange of mutual vows.

  Being a philosopher, he did not judge love's day by the tempest of itspassion: indeed, he mistrusted such storms as a frequent cause ofdisastrous miscalculation. But Muriel, being woman pure and simple--ifever there could be a woman of her upbringing either pure or simple--didnot analyse her feelings nor mistrust them. She knew only that Danielhung like a thunderstorm over the meadows of her heart, and she waitedin breathless, headaching silence for his lightnings and his torrents todescend upon her.

  There was one aspect of the matter, however, which troubled him. Muriel,he recognized, belonged to a section of English society which was verylax in its morals; and he knew quite well that, in the darkness of thedesert on the memorable night of their return from Sakkara, she had beenentirely carried away by her love. The fact did not disturb him initself, for he was a believer in instinct, and his judgment was notinfluenced by the conventions. If she really loved him, and if they hadmutually taken one another for a life-partnership, no marriage ceremonywould make the compact in his eyes more binding, and her desire at onceto identify her life irrevocably with that of the chosen one would becomprehended and condoned by him.

  But there was the fear at the back of his mind lest she had entered uponthe adventure lightly. He knew too much about the ways of Mayfair:perhaps, indeed, his abhorrence of all that that name stood for wasexaggerated. Her upbringing, therefore, caused him anxiety: not, be itunderstood, because of her possible willingness to break the traditionallaw, but because she might be willing to break it lightly. He hatedhimself for doubting her; but she was a child of Society, a daughter ofthe Old Harlot, and no member of her particular branch of that familywas above suspicion.

  One day, yearning for an hour alone with her, he asked her to come outto his camp on the following evening. She was to dine with the Bindanesat Mena House, and he suggested that he should call for her afterdinner, when the young moon would be low in the heavens, and that theyshould ride out to his tents and talk for a little while.

  Muriel fell in with the scheme readily enough; but there was somethingin her manner and in the expression of her face which indicated that shetook the step with deliberation, fully conscious of all that it mightinvolve. And, in actual fact, she did not care what happened. She onlywanted to belong to him, to feel that she was in his power and he inhers.

  But on the next morning she awoke with a bad cold in her head, and shewas obliged to take to her bed. One cannot be really romantic with one'snose running, and any of love's most wonderful situations may be ruinedby a sneeze.

  A few days later, when she was more or less recovered, Daniel told herhow disappointed he had been that the arrangement had fallen through.

  "I expect it was my guardian angel," she whispered, with a laugh. "I hadmade up my mind to come; and I suppose the angel read my thoughts, andsaid 'You'd better not,' and sprinkled a handful of germs over me."

  Daniel was startled. "Why, you don't think that I...?" He paused. Menare seldom so plain-spoken as women, and seldom face facts sodeliberately.

  On the following afternoon he was obliged to go to the railway stationto pay his farewell respects to a native dignitary on his departure forEngland upon a commercial mission; and, while walking back through theLevantine shopping quarter, he came upon Lizette who, as he nowrecollected, lived in this part of the city.

  He had not seen her since that night, three and a half months ago, whenhe had taken her out to supper at Berto's; and he was distressed toobserve the change that had taken place in her. She was looking thin andhaggard, and her eyes were like the melancholy eyes of a sick dog.

  She glanced at him as she approached and a quick smile of pleasure cameinto her face; but the etiquette which is always observed in the bestcircles on such occasions prevented her from showing recognition of aclient in a public place. (Money-lenders and dentists follow much thesame code.)

  Daniel, however, knew nothing about such rules of polite conduct. IfLizette were good enough to talk to in a restaurant she ought to be goodenough to salute in the street. He therefore pulled off his hat as shepassed, and, pausing, bid her good day.

  "I believe you've forgotten me," he declared.

  "Forgotten?--no!" she exclaimed. "I not ever forget that pig Barthamptonjete par terre."

  "I'm sorry that's what you remember me by," he answered, seriously.

  "I remember many things," she said. "But now you are so great, soimportant: one say you are like the Wazir of Egypt. I astonish me thatyou speak here in the street. Lizette belong to the night, and to theAmerican Bar."

  She spoke with bitterness, and Daniel was sorry for her. She looked ill;and the afternoon sun seemed to disintegrate the bloom of the powderupon her face.

  "You're not looking very well," he commented. "Is there anything thematter?"

  She shrugged her shoulders. "The matter is here," she answered, tappingher heart.

  "In love?" he asked.

  "No, not love," she replied, with sudden intensity. "Hate, hate!"

  He shook his head. "That's bad. Whom do you hate?"

  "Men," she said.

  There was tragedy in her face; and Daniel, in his simple wisdom, guessedthat what she needed was the friendship of a man who had no ulteriormotive. He looked along the street, and, seeing that there was a largeFrench cafe on the opposite side, asked her whether she would care to goin there and have coffee with him.

  _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY--BURNING SANDS_]

  She hesitated for a moment; but when he had explained that he had nomore than half an hour to spare, and that he could not employ the timebetter than by talking to her, she crossed the street with him andentered the cafe.

  "Now tell me what your trouble is," he said, when they were sippingtheir coffee at a table in the almost deserted saloon.

  "O, it is nothing," she replied. "I suppose I am ill. I have--how do yousay?--the 'ump, eh? If I had the courage I should suicide myself; butthe priest he tell me that the little devils in hell are men, and theangels in heaven are men: so you see I cannot escape from men."

  "Oh, men are not so bad," he told her. "You, of course, see them underrather startling circumstances; and, if I may say so, you can't alwaysjudge of what a man is by looking at a
subaltern in the Guards."

  She laughed. "But they tell me they are the elite of England."

  "Yes, poor lads," he answered; "but it's not their fault that they thinkso: it's due to other men being so bashful."

  Almost as he spoke a young officer walked past the cafe, under theawnings, with an expression on his face which suggested that he detecteda very unpleasant smell in the world. He glanced into the saloon, and,seeing Lizette, looked quickly in the other direction.

  "That is one of them," she said. "He come to me every Sunday afterChurch."

  Daniel turned his eyes to her, and there was pity and horror in them."Ah, my girl, no wonder you hate us," he declared. "If I were you, I'dtry not to speak to a man for, say, six months."

  "But how to live?" she asked. "I must get the money to live."

  She moved her head from side to side in despair; and Daniel, searchinghis brains for a solution of the problem, stared out into the sun-bathedstreet, his brows puckered, his fingers combing back his unruly hair.

  "Gee!" he muttered. "You're in a fix! Hav'n't you got any relations inMarseilles?"

  She nodded, but without animation. "There is my brotherGeorges-Antoine...."

  "Does he know how you earn your living?" he asked.

  "No," she replied. "He think I make the hat."

  "How much money have you saved?" he enquired.

  She shook her head. "None."

  "Well, look here," he said. "I'll pay your fare back to France, ifyou'll go."

  She stared at him incredulously. "Why you say that?" she asked.

  "Because I hate to see a girl like you behaving like a filthy beast," heanswered sternly. "Oh, why were you such a fool as to start this life?"

  "It begin," she sighed, "it begin so sweet. I was very young; and theman he love me so much. He was the real amant-passione--what you do notknow in England. He used to kiss me until my head went round and round;and I was like a mad one when he came into the room. Never in my lifeagain or before was I so drunken by a man...."

  Daniel watched her as she told the story of her youthful love, and hesaw her eyes grow drowsy and full of memories.

  "You must have been very happy," he said at length.

  "Yes, I was happy," she answered, "but I paid for the happiness withtears and weeping and bitterness."

  "Why?--did he desert you?"

  Her voice, which had grown so tender and so near to a whisper, becamelight and clear in tone once more. "No," she said, with an almostflippant gesture of the hand, "he died. He had the--how do you say?--thegall-stones."

  Daniel finished his coffee, pensively. The tale, and especially itsending, had a sound of stark and terrible truth about it.

  "Then what happened?" he asked.

  "Oh, then I was a good girl for half a year, perhaps; but presently whenanother man made the love to me, I say to myself: 'If once, then why nottwice?' He was a soldier, big, very strong like you." She looked at himclosely. "Yes, he were very like you; and I thought in my heart, 'I lovehim because he is so brave, and I am like a little bird in his hands.'"She laughed. "Oh, I knew he was a man a bonne fortunes. He had manygirls; but in love all women are like the Orientals, is it not?--and Iwas content to have my day, like the new one in the harim of theEgyptian pasha here...."

  Daniel suddenly clenched the fingers of his hand which rested upon thetable. Muriel's words came into his mind: "You can put me in your harimif you want to." They rang in his ears again, and his heart seemed tostand still in fear.

  The murmur of Lizette's voice continued, and he listened in terror nowas she told of her second love.

  "Then one night," she was saying, "we walked together on the road by thesea, the Chemin de la Corniche, you know; and the beautiful stars werein the sky, and there were little lights across the water on the islandsof Ratonneau and Pomegne. And I was so tired, and I sat down on therocks by the sea, and we were all alone...."

  Daniel stopped her with a sudden movement of his hand. "I know, I know,"he said. "Don't tell me!"

  "O, I soon forgot my love," she laughed, thinking that the intensitywith which he spoke denoted his concern for her sorrows. "A few months,a few weeks, perhaps, and it was finish. Then some one else, and someone else, and some one else...."

  He rose from the table, sick at heart. "I must be going," he said. "Ifyou will accept my offer, write to me at the Residency, and I'll sendyou the money for you to go to your brother."

  She looked at his troubled face with a question in her eyes. "I thinkyou not like me," she sighed. "I think you have the disgust."

  He shook his head. "No," he answered, "I think you were not muchdifferent from other women at first."

  "And afterwards?"

  "I suppose one's feelings soon get blunted," he replied; "and you hadneed of money."

  She assumed an expression, an attitude, not far removed from dignity."Thank you for being--how you say? _fair_ to me," she said.

  He paid his bill, and walked out of the cafe into the blaze of theafternoon sun; but between him and its brilliance the shadow of doubthad descended. "I am not the first of Muriel's lovers," he groaned inhis heart. "How do I know that I am the last?"

  He walked through the city, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, by reasonof the clamour in his mind; but as he came down to the river, he raisedhis eyes and stared out into the west, where the sun was descendingtowards the far-off hills of the wilderness.

  He stood stock still, and his lips moved. "Oh, peace of mind!" he waswhispering. "Will you never come down to me here in the valley? Must Igo up into the desert to find you once more?"