“It grieveth me sorely to think that thou, the woman I adore, art the head of this fierce band of murderous marauders, and wilt lead them to commit merciless massacre and pillage, to — ”
“Ah, no!” she cried, raising both her hands as if to arrest my words. “Reproach me not, O Ce-cil! I cannot bear it from thee! Thinkest thou that were I not compelled, I would be the cause of this widespread death and desolation; thinkest thou that I would urge onward these wild hordes to deeds horrible and revolting? Thou believest I have a heart of stone, that I have no woman’s tenderness, that — that I, a woman of the Desert, am” — and, unable to complete her sentence, she burst into a passionate torrent of tears.
“No, Zoraida, I blame thee not,” I tenderly hastened to reassure her. “I know there are circumstances connected with thine hidden past of which I have no knowledge, therefore I love thee fondly, awaiting the time when thou art enabled to renounce thy people and become my wife.”
“What canst thou think of a woman such as I?” she sobbed bitterly. “Even to thee, so faithful as thou hast been, I am compelled to still preserve my secret, appearing in thine eyes as one to whom the clash of arms is sweeter than the music of the derbouka, and the wail of the vanquished the pleasantest sound upon mine ear!”
“But thy position is not of thine own choosing,” I said, quietly endeavouring to soothe her.
“No!” she cried wildly, starting up. “I hate it all! Though each raid enricheth me with gold and jewels of great price, yet there is a curse upon the treasure, obtained, as it is, by the relentless slaughter of the weak. Ah, Ce-cil! if thou couldst only know how acutely I suffer, how these jewels upon me glitter with the fire of deadly hatred as each one telleth its mute but horrible story, a story of rapine and murder for which I — the woman thou lovest, the woman who would willingly give her life for thee — am responsible! Is not my existence one of hollow shams, of feigned daring and wretched duplicity? I loathe myself; and were it not that I look forward to happiness with thee, I would — I would end it all with this!” and she drew from her breast a small keen dagger, with hilt encrusted with turquoises, that she always kept concealed there.
“Speak not of that,” I said firmly. “Place thy knife in its sheath. I love thee, Zoraida, I trust in thee, and none shall ever come between us.”
“Dost thou place thy faith in me implicitly, notwithstanding that I appear in thine eyes debased, and am unable to give thee explanation?” she asked, half credulously, through her blinding tears.
The jewels upon her flashed with a brilliancy that was dazzling, and the sweet odours of her apartment seemed intoxicating.
“I do,” I answered, fervently kissing her with a mad, fierce passion. “Indeed, had it not been for thine exertions, my bones would long ago have been stripped by the vultures.”
“Ah! my Amîn, thou too art performing for me a mission, the result of which will effect stranger things than thou hast ever dreamed,” she exclaimed earnestly; adding, “Our story-tellers relate wondrous things, but none have described such marvels as thou shalt behold. I told thee in Algiers that I was in peril of death, and that thou couldst avert the danger that threatened. These words I now repeat, and trust in thee to save me.”
“To save thee I will again face our enemies fearlessly, and strive to reach the imam who holdeth the Secret, even though I have been told that the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof hath been revealed unto me,” I said, entranced by her beauty, and smiling in an endeavour to chase away the gloomy shadow that seemed to have settled upon her.
“Yes,” she answered, slowly winding both arms about my neck, and looking up to me with big, tear-stained eyes. “The mark, to thee invisible, is upon thy brow, yet hath not that presage of evil already been fulfilled in thy failure to elucidate the Mystery of the Crescent? Is it not possible that henceforward good fortune and success may attend thine efforts?”
“Truly, O my beloved One of Wondrous Beauty!” I said, “thy words renew hope within me, and restore confidence. I will seek the imam of the Mesállaje, and at any risk learn the hidden wonders.”
In silence she gazed at me with a look of unutterable sadness. The pallor of her countenance enhanced her delicate beauty, and the trembling of her hands showed me how intensely agitated she had become. She loved me with all the fiery passion of her race, yet it seemed as though she kept from me, with tantalising persistency, just those facts I desired explained. She seemed half incredulous, too, that I should be prepared to make another strenuous effort to reach Mohammed ben Ishak merely upon the expression of her desire, for after a short silence, during which her peach-like cheek, fragrant with perfume, lay against mine, she suddenly exclaimed —
“Dost thou, O Ce-cil! believe me blindly, even though I admit to thee that I — I am unworthy thy generous love? To me, alas! debased and degraded as I am, the fruit of the great lote tree is forbidden, and the water of Salsabil may never cool my lips.” Then, sinking upon her knees before me, she suddenly burst again into tears, covering her face with her hands.
“Come,” I said, “let not thoughts of thy past cause thee unhappiness. There is danger; and we must arm ourselves, and both bear our burdens bravely.”
“Ah!” she cried in accents of poignant bitterness, “it is impossible that thou canst ever love me sufficiently to make me thy wife, even when thou, at last, knowest my story. See!” and, throwing out her arms wildly, she stretched forth her open palms towards me. “See! I am held to this horde of cut-throats by gyves invisible yet unbreakable! I kneel before thee, my Amîn! a despicable, vile-hearted woman, whose whole life hath been one of ignominy and deceit, whose very name is a by-word of reproach! Forsaken by Allah, defamed by man, I confess myself unworthy thy thoughts. I cannot — nay, I will not bring upon thee disgrace and shame, for my hands! — they are stained by heinous crimes!” she added hoarsely, bowing low and hiding her face.
Taking her by the wrist, I was about to assist her to rise, when she snatched away her arm as if she had been stung.
“No, no!” she cried in heart-thrilling tones. “Place not thine hand upon me! My touch polluteth thee! It will perhaps be best — best for both of us if we part to-night to never meet again!”
“Tell me,” I demanded quickly, “have not thy crimes been committed under compulsion?”
“Yes, they have! I swear — they — have!” she answered brokenly.
“And thou art the wife of Hadj Absalam?” I said fiercely, half convinced that I spoke the truth.
“Ah! no, no!” she protested, with feverish anxiety, raising her pale, haggard face imploringly to mine. “Judge me not too harshly,” she cried. “Though the awful stigma of sin lieth upon me, and my life is accursed, yet here at thy feet I tell thee I am neither wife nor slave. I have suffered no man to hold me in fond embrace, nor to kiss my lips, save thee. I take oath upon the Book of Everlasting Will.”
“Canst thou not tell me why thou, a pure and innocent woman, art here among these barbaric Sons of the Desert?” I asked, now convinced by her terrible earnestness that my suspicions were groundless.
“I am not innocent, I confess to thee. How can I be, when to my vile cunning is due that inhuman butchery which causeth the Ennitra to be held in terror throughout the Desert? Until