The Golden Silence Part 48

When she had looked through the gla.s.s until she could distinctly see Stephen, and an Arab who rode at a short distance behind him, she called her sister.

Saidee came up to the roof, almost at once, for there was a thrill of excitement in Victoria's voice that roused her curiosity.

She thought of Captain Sabine, and wondered if he were riding toward the Zaoua. He had come, before his first encounter with her, to pay his respects to the marabout. That was long ago now, yet there might be a reason, connected with her, for a second visit. But the moment she saw Victoria's face, even before she took the gla.s.ses the girl held out, she guessed that, though there was news, it was not of Captain Sabine.

"You might have been to heaven and back since I saw you; you're so radiant!" she said.

"I have been to heaven. But I haven't come back. I'm there now,"

Victoria answered. "Look--and tell me what you see."

Saidee put the gla.s.ses to her eyes. "I see a man in European clothes,"

she said. "I can see that he's young. I should think he's a gentleman, and good looking----"

"Oh, he is!" broke in Victoria, childishly.

"Do you know him?"

"I've been praying and longing for him to find me, and save us. He's an Englishman. His name is Stephen Knight. He promised to come if I called, and I have. Oh, _how_ I've called, day and night, night and day!"

"You never told me."

"I waited. Somehow I--couldn't speak of him, even to you."

"I've told _you_ everything."

"But I had nothing to tell, really--nothing I could have put into words.

And you might only have laughed if I'd said 'There's a man I know in Algiers who hasn't any idea where I am, but I think he'll come here, and take us both away.'"

"Are you engaged to each other?" Saidee asked, curiously, even enviously.

"Oh no! But--but----"

"But what? Do you mean you will be--if you ever get away from this place?"

"I hope so," the girl answered bravely, with a deep blush. "He has never asked me. We haven't known each other long--a very little while, only since the night I left London for Paris. Yet he's the first man I ever cared about, and I think of him all the time. Perhaps he thinks of me in the same way."

"Of course he must, Babe, if he's really come to search for you," Saidee said, looking at her young sister affectionately.

"Thank you a hundred times for saying that, dearest! I do _hope_ so!"

Victoria exclaimed, hugging the elder woman impulsively, as she used when she was a little child.

But Saidee's joy, caught from her sister's, died down suddenly, like a flame quenched with salt. "What good will it do you--or us--that he is coming?" she asked bitterly. "He can ask for the marabout, and perhaps see him. Any traveller can do that. But he will be no nearer to us, than if we were dead and in our graves. Does Maeddine know about him?"

"They saw each other on the ship, coming to Algiers--and again just as we landed."

"But has Maeddine any idea that you care about each other?"

"I had to tell him one day in the desert (the day Si Maeddine said he loved me, and I promised to consent if _you_ put my hand in his) that--that there was a man I loved. But I didn't say who. Perhaps he suspects, though I don't see why he should. I might have meant some one in America."

"You may be pretty sure he suspects. People of the old, old races, like the Arabs, have the most wonderful intuitions. They seem to _know_ things without being told. I suppose they've kept nearer nature than more civilized peoples."

"If he does suspect, I can't help it."

"No. Only it's still more sure that your Englishman won't be able to do us any good. Not that he could, anyhow."

"But Si Maeddine's been very ill since he came back, M'Barka says. Mr.

Knight will ask for the marabout."

"Maeddine will hear of him. Not five Europeans in five years come to Oued Tolga. If only Maeddine hadn't got back! This man may have been following him, from Algiers. It looks like it, as Maeddine arrived only yesterday. Now, here's this Englishman! Could he have found out in any way, that you were acquainted with Maeddine?"

"I don't know, but he might have guessed," said Victoria. "I wonder----"

"What? Have you thought of something?"

"It's just an idea. You know, I told you that on the journey, when Si Maeddine was being very kind to me--before I knew he cared--I made him a present of the African brooch you gave me in Paris. I hated to take so many favours of him, and give nothing in return; so I thought, as I was on my way to you and would soon see you, I might part with that brooch, which he admired. If Si Maeddine wore it in Algiers, and Mr. Knight saw----"

"Would he be likely to recognize it, do you think?"

"He noticed it on the boat, and I told him you gave it to me."

"If he would come all the way from Algiers on the strength of a brooch which might have been yours, and you _might_ have given to Maeddine, then he's a man who knows what he wants, and deserves to get it," Saidee said. "If he _could_ help us! I should feel rewarded for telling Honore I wouldn't go with him; because some day I may be free, and then perhaps I shall be glad I waited----"

"You will be glad. Whatever happens, you'll be glad," Victoria insisted.

"Maybe. But now--what are we to do? We can see him, and you can recognize him with the field-gla.s.s, but unless he has a gla.s.s too, he can't see who you are--he can't see at all, because by the time he rides near enough, the ground dips down so that even our heads will be hidden from him by the wall round the roof. And he'll be hidden from us, too.

If he asks for you, he'll be answered only by stares of surprise. Ca.s.sim will pretend not to know what he's talking about. And presently he'll have to go away without finding out anything."

"He'll come back," said Victoria, firmly. But her eyes were not as bright with the certainty of happiness as they had been.

"What if he does? Or it may be that he'll try to come back, and an accident will happen to him. I hate to frighten you. But Arabs are jealous--and Maeddine's a true Arab. He looks upon you almost as his wife now. In a week or two you will be, unless----"

"Yes. Unless--_unless_!" echoed Victoria. "Don't lose hope, Saidee, for I shan't. Let's think of something to do. He's near enough now, maybe, to notice if we wave our handkerchiefs."

"Many women on roofs in Africa wave to men who will never see their faces. He won't know who waves."

"He will _feel_. Besides, he's searching for me. At this very minute, perhaps, he's thinking of the golden silence I talked about, and looking up to the white roofs."

Instantly they began to wave their handkerchiefs of embroidered silk, such as Arab ladies use. But there came no answering signal. Evidently, if the rider were looking at a white roof, he had chosen one which was not theirs. And soon he would be descending the slope of the Zaoua hill. After that they would lose sight of each other, more and more surely, the closer he came to the gates.

"If only you had something to throw him!" Saidee sighed. "What a pity you gave the brooch to Maeddine. He might have recognized that."

"It isn't a pity if he traced me by it," said Victoria. "But wait. I'll think of something."

"He's riding down the dip. In a minute it will be too late," Saidee warned her.

The girl lifted over her head the long string of amber beads she had bought in the curiosity shop of Jeanne Soubise. Wrapping it in her handkerchief, she began to tie the silken ends together.

Stephen was so close to the Zaoua now that they could no longer see him.