Slowly she lifted the weapon clear of the table with steady fingers and
brought her hand stealthily from behind her. She looked at it for a
moment dispassionately. She was not afraid. She was conscious only of
an overwhelming weariness, a longing for rest that should still the
gnawing pain in her breast and the throbbing in her head.... A flash
and it would be over, and all her sorrow would melt away.... But would
it? A doubting fear of the hereafter rushed over her. What if suffering
lived beyond the border-line? But the fear went as suddenly as it had
come, for with it came remembrance that in that shadowy world she would
find one who would understand--her own father, who had shot himself,
mad with heartbroken despair, when her mother died in giving her birth.
She lifted the revolver to her temple resolutely.
There had been no sound to betray what was passing behind him, but the
extra sense, the consciousness of imminent danger that was strong in
the desert-bred man, sprang into active force within the Sheik. He
turned like a flash and leaped across the space that separated them,
catching her hand as she pressed the trigger, and the bullet sped
harmlessly an inch above her head. With his face gone suddenly ghastly
he wrenched the weapon from her and flung it far into the night.
For a moment they stared into each other's eyes in silence, then, with
a moan, she slipped from his grasp and fell at his feet in an agony of
terrible weeping. With a low exclamation he stooped and swept her up
into his arms, holding her slender, shaking figure with tender
strength, pressing her head against him, his cheek on her red-gold
curls.
"My God! child, don't cry so. I can bear anything but that," he cried
brokenly.
But the terrible sobs went on, and fearfully he caught her closer,
straining her to him convulsively, raining kisses on her shining hair.
"Diane, Diane," he whispered imploringly, falling back into the
soft French that seemed so much more natural. "Mon amour, ma
bien-aimee. Ne pleures pas, je t'en prie. Je t'aime, je t'adore. Tu
resteras pres de moi, tout a moi."
She seemed only half-conscious, unable to check the emotion that,
unloosed, overwhelmed her. She lay inert against him, racked with the
long shuddering sobs that shook her. His firm mouth quivered as he
looked down at his work. Gathering her up to his heart he carried her
to the divan, and the weight of her soft slim body sent the blood
racing madly through his veins. He laid her down, and dropped on his
knees beside her, his arm wrapped round her, whispering words of
passionate love.