"I am going to ride," said Diana, turning away. "It is rather late, but
there is just time. Will you come?"
It was a temptation and he hesitated, gathering together the
instruments he had been using, but prudence prevailed.
"I should like to, but I ought to keep an eye on Selim," he said
quietly, snatching at the plausible excuse that offered. He found her
later before the big tent as she was ready to start, and waited while
she mounted.
"If I am late don't wait for me. Tell Henri to give you your lunch,"
she called out between The Dancer's idiotic prancings.
He watched her ride away, with Gaston a few paces behind and followed
by the escort of six men that the Sheik had lately insisted upon. The
continual presence of these six men riding at her heels irked her
considerably. The wild, free gallops that she had loved became quite
different with the thought of the armed guard behind her. They seemed
to hamper her and put a period to her enjoyment. The loneliness of her
rides had been to her half their charm; she had grown accustomed to and
oblivious of Gaston, but she was acutely conscious of the six pairs of
eyes watching her every movement. She did not see the necessity for
them. She had never been aware of anything any time when she was riding
that seemed to justify the Sheik's order. The oasis was not on a
caravan route, and if she ever saw Arabs at any distance from the camp
they always proved to be Ahmed Ben Hassan's own men. She had thought of
remonstrating with him, but her courage had failed her. His mood, since
the coming of Saint Hubert, had been of the coldest--almost repellant.
The weeks of happiness that had gone before had developed the intimacy
between them almost into a feeling of camaraderie. He had been more
humane, more Western, more considerate than he had ever been, and the
fear that she had of him had lain quiescent. She could have asked him
then. But since the morning of Raoul's arrival, when the unexpected
fervour of his embrace had given new birth to the hope that had almost
died within her, he had changed completely into a cold reserve that
chilled her. His caresses had been careless and infrequent, and his
indifference so great that she had wondered miserably if the flame of
his passion for her was burning out and if this was the end. And yet
throughout his indifference she had been conscious, like Saint Hubert,
of the surveillance of constant jealous eyes that watched them both
with a fierce scrutiny that was felt rather than actually seen. But the
spark of hope that the knowledge of this jealousy still fanned was not
great enough to overcome the barrier that his new mood had raised
between them. She dared ask no favour of him now. Her heart tightened
at the thought of his indifference. It hurt so. This morning he had
left her without a word when he had gone out into the early dawn, and
she was hungry for the kisses he withheld. She was used to his taciturn
fits, but her starved heart ached perpetually for tangible recognition.