A Son of the Sahara Part 54

Her gaze went to Le Breton.

"A great, big, fine man, awful good-looking."

Alice's description of the Sultan Casim Ammeh came back to her. Words that fitted her host exactly.

As she looked at him, from the paddock came the stamp of a horse's hoof.

She was here. Her favourite horse was here. Raoul Le Breton was here.

All of them in this desert city hundreds of miles from civilisation.

Such a combination could not be unless----

"If I were a king in Babylon and you were a Christian slave. Or to get down to more modern times. If I were a barbaric Sultan somewhere in Africa and you a girl I'd fancied and caught and carried off..."

His own words came echoing through her head; condemning words.

Then she recollected with what unpleasant emphasis he had said "au revoir," on parting with her that night on her yacht.

All at once Pansy's miracle exploded.

She wondered how she could have been such a fool as not to have guessed sooner.

This was the Sultan Casim Ammeh! This man standing before her!

He caught her gaze and smiled; it seemed to the girl, mockingly.

"Well, Heart's Ease, are you feeling better?" he asked. "After this you'll agree with me that 'The Light of the Harem' act is the most suitable life for you just at present."

It seemed to Pansy that he was gibing her.--At her trust, her belief, her incredulous folly.

What a blind fool she had been! It was all as plain as daylight now.

Raoul Le Breton was the Sultan Casim Ammeh. It was her father's enemy she had confessed to loving; had wept in front of, clung to, trusted, displaying a weakness that had fallen to no man's lot, save her father's.

At the thought Pansy's soul writhed within her.

How could she have been such a fool! How he must have laughed at her!

Raoul Le Breton had condemned her to the unspeakable ordeal of the slave market in order to torture her father.

He had done it! Raoul Le Breton! The man she loved.

Pansy did not love him now. She hated him.

For a moment she was too stunned by her discovery to say or do anything.

Then she said in a voice that wild anger stifled somewhat:

"So _you_ are the Sultan Casim Ammeh."

As Pansy spoke she got to her feet, her eyes blazing.

There was no mistaking what was on her face. She had guessed the truth.

On realising this, he made no attempt at further deception.

"_I_ am the Sultan Casim Ammeh," he said, smiling. "And, my little slave, _you_ are my most cherished possession. More to me than my kingdom."

His cool confession staggered her.

As he stood there, unabashed and unrepentant, she looked round quickly, in search of something to strike him with. For the knowledge of his deceit and duplicity had made her beside herself with rage.

Since there was no weapon at hand, she set off rapidly across the lawn, heedless of where she went, her only desire to get away from him.

She had not gone very far, however, before he was at her side.

"Where are you going, Pansy?" he asked with a masterful air.

That he should dare to follow her; dare to call her by her name enraged her beyond all bounds. And his words added to her fury. They made her realise there was nowhere she could go to escape him.

Like a whirlwind she turned upon him.

"I wish ... I wish I could kill you," she gasped.

There was a tennis racket lying at her feet. As if to carry out this design, she stooped and picked it up; her only desire now to send it crashing into the mocking, masterful face.

But he guessed her intention. In a moment he had grasped the racket and wrested it away.

"No, Pansy," he said. "No one has ever struck me, and you're not going to. For I don't quite know what the consequences might be."

There was a brief, tense silence.

As he looked at the girl, it seemed that Fate had decided the next move for him.

"We may as well come to an understanding," he went on. "I hate your father, but I love you. And you've got to have me, whether you like it or not. I'd prefer to marry you in your English way. But if you won't consent to that, then--I shall take you, in mine. The choice is with you."

There was only one part of his ultimatum that Pansy thoroughly grasped.

And there seemed no limit to his audacity.

"I'd rather die than marry you," she flamed. "For I hate you. Do you hear? I hate you more than anything on this earth."

He heard right enough, and his face blanched at her words.

Then, before he had recovered from this blow, Pansy struck him across the mouth, with all her strength, bringing blood to the lips that dared to talk of love to _her_.

CHAPTER XIX