She rose to her feet. She was afraid of breaking down, of giving way to
the fear and anxiety that racked her. She turned instinctively to the
help and sympathy that offered and went to Saint Hubert, joining him
under the awning. Usually at night the vicinity of the Sheik's tent was
avoided by the tribesmen, even the sentry on guard was posted at some
little distance. Kopec curled up outside the doorway kept ample watch.
But to-night the open space was swarming with men, some squatting on
the ground in circles, others clustered together in earnest
conversation, and far off through the palm trees she caught an
occasional glimpse of mounted men. Yusef and the headmen acting under
him were taking no risks, there was to be no chance of a surprise
attack.
"You must be very tired, Raoul," she said, slipping her hand through
his arm, for her need was almost as much for physical as mental
support. The frank touch of her hand sent a quiver through him, but he
suppressed it, and laid his own hand over her cold fingers.
"I must not think of that yet. Later on, perhaps, I can rest a little.
Henri can watch; he is almost as good a doctor as I am, the
incomparable Henri! Ahmed and I have always quarrelled over the
respective merits of our servants."
He felt her hand tighten on his arm at the mention of the Sheik's name
and heard the smothered sigh that she choked back. They stood in
silence for a while watching the shifting groups of tribesmen. A little
knot of low-voiced men near them opened up, and one of their number
came to Saint Hubert with an inquiry.
"The men are restless." Raoul said when the Arab had gone back to his
fellows with all the consolation the Vicomte could give him. "Their
devotion is very strong. Ahmed is a god to them. Their anxiety takes
them in a variety of ways. Yusef, who has been occupied with his duties
most of the day, has turned to religion for the first time in his life,
he has gone to say his prayers with the pious Abdul, as he thinks that
Allah is more likely to listen if his petitions go heavenward in
company with the holy man's."
Diana's thoughts strayed back to the story that Saint Hubert had told
her. "Does Lord Glencaryll know that you see Ahmed?" she asked.
"Oh yes. He and my father became great friends. He often stays with us
in Paris. We are a link between him and Ahmed. He is always hungry for
any news of him, and still clings to the hope that one day he will
relent. He has never made any further effort to open up relations with
him because he knows it would be useless. If there is to be any
rapprochement between them it must come from Ahmed. They have
almost met accidentally once or twice, and Glencaryll has once seen
him. It was at the opera. He was staying in Paris for some months and
had a box. I had gone across from our own box on the other side of the
house to speak to him. There were several people with him. I was
standing beside him, talking. Ahmed had just come into our box opposite
and was standing right in the front looking over the theatre. Something
had annoyed him and he was scowling. The likeness was unmistakable.
Glencaryll gave a kind of groan and staggered back against me. 'Good
God! Who is that?' he said, and I don't think he knew he was speaking
out loud.