A Son of the Sahara Part 66

The disconcerting noise grew speedily louder. On the whiteness of the lonely desert a dark patch appeared; a patch that rapidly became bigger and headed straight towards them.

It was one thing to attack a tired old horse and a half-stunned girl, but another to face a huge black stallion and the big man in the white burnoose who rode it.

The hyenas did not face the combination. With a weird howl of disappointment, they turned tail suddenly and scuttled away into the desert, leaving the old horse shivering with relief and pain and exhaustion.

The feeling of someone touching her made Pansy open her eyes. Into her hazy world her captor's face intruded. He was half-kneeling on the sand beside her, examining her limbs, feeling her heart, to see if she were injured in any way.

For a moment Pansy could not believe her eyes.

Then she put out a weak hand to push him away. But a push did not remove him. He was still there, in white cloak and hood; a desert chief who wanted to marry her. Big and solid he knelt beside her, a fact not to be escaped from. And his hand was on her bosom as if to steal the heart she would not give him.

Satisfied Pansy was not hurt in any way, the Sultan got to his feet, and turned towards the horse. It needed more attention than the girl.

He petted and patted the worn-out shivering animal, talking to it in a deep, caressing voice, as he bound up its gaping wounds with lengths torn from his own white garments.

Then he lifted the girl on his own horse, and, mounting himself, set out on a slow walk towards his city.

Pansy made a feeble struggle when she found herself in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, held in a tight, possessive grip.

"So, little flower, you would still try to escape from me," he said in a fierce, fond manner. "But I don't let love go so lightly."

He ignored her struggles as he talked to and encouraged the old horse that hobbled along by their side, with stiff, painful steps.

As the slow journey went on, Pansy fell asleep against the strength that held her.

The Sultan was quick to note this, and he smiled at the small tired face on his shoulder. He knew the nature of the girl he held. It would be impossible for her to go to sleep in any man's arms except those of the man she loved. She was very foolish to fight against him, but fight she would until he used his strength and ended the battle.

An uneven contest the last round would be, with no doubt as to who would be the victor.

CHAPTER x.x.x

On a wide ottoman in her room Pansy lay. The golden lamps were burning low, casting black shadows on the gilded walls of her cage. Through the open arches the moonlight streamed, pouring in from a misty, mystic world where trees sighed vaguely in a silvered air.

Early that morning the Sultan had brought Pansy back to the palace.

Since then she had seen nothing of him.

She brooded on her attempt to escape, which had only ended in her being more of a prisoner than ever. The guards about the entrance of her quarters had been doubled. The door leading into the harem was locked.

Alice had been removed, her place taken by an Arab woman who would not or could not understand a word Pansy said to her.

Sleepless she lay among the silken cushions, brooding on the life that had once been hers; a life so remote from her present one that it might never have been.

It was impossible to believe that far beyond this desert city there lay a place called London, where she had been free as air, where she could come and go as she pleased, where she had dined and danced and lunched and visited. A world of dreams, remote, unreal, lost to her for ever, where she had been Pansy Langham, feted and courted, with society at her feet. Now she was a sultan's slave, a chattel, her very life dependent on a barbaric ruler's whim.

On what punishment would be doled out to her for her attempt to get away, she next brooded. There had been such a set, determined expression on her captor's face when he brought her back to her prison.

The sound of someone coming towards her apartment broke in on her dreary reverie. It was close on midnight. She had never been disturbed at that hour before.

She looked up quickly.

The third door of her room was opening; one that had never opened before; a door the harem girls had told her led to the Sultan's private suite. And the Sultan, himself, was entering. The Sultan attired as she had never seen him before--in silk pyjamas.

Pansy started to her feet. She stood slight and white and silken-clad against the golden walls; her heart beating with a sickly force that almost choked her; her eyes wide with fear.

The end had come with a suddenness she was not prepared for.

He crossed to her side; tenderness and determination on his face; love and pa.s.sion in his eyes.

For a moment there was silence.

"So, Pansy," he said at length. "You've tried to solve the problem your way. Now I'm going to solve it mine. You've fought against love quite long enough, against yourself and against me. I'm going to end the fight between us. To-night, my little slave, you sleep within my arms and learn all that love means."

At his words a flood of crimson swept over her strained face. She had but a vague idea of what was before her, but instinct told her it was something she must fight against.

Her gaze went to the arches, as if in search of some way of escape there. There was none. Only the white stars looked in coldly, and night breathed on her, soft and sensuous.

He knew where her thoughts were, and he laughed softly.

"There's no escape this time, Pansy," he said.

The fear in her eyes deepened. Wildly she searched round in her head for a way of getting rid of him for the time being. And only one course presented itself.

"I ... I'll marry you," she stammered.

"We'll be married by all means, if you wish, as soon as I can find a man to do the job. But you've been just a little too long in making up your mind. My patience is worn out."

In her determination to live up to her own standards--standards that had no value in this desert city:--Pansy saw she had tried this half-tamed man too far.

He came closer, and held out his arms.

"Come, my little flower," he whispered pa.s.sionately.

Quickly she moved further away from the arms that would have held her.

"Won't you come willingly?" he asked, in soft, caressing tones. "Do you still refuse me the love I want, and which I know is mine?"

"I don't want you or your love," she cried wildly, frantic at the knowledge of her own helplessness.

He laughed with a touch of fierceness.

"What cruel words to throw at your lover! But since you won't come, my little slave, then--I must take you."

He would have taken her there and then, but with a swift movement she avoided him.

Then Pansy ran, as she had run from him once before, like a white wraith in the moonlight. But this time he followed.

There were no electric lights and ragtime band to run to now. Only a moonlit garden full of the scent of roses. There was no crowd of people to give her shelter, only the deep shadows of the cypresses.