Burning Sands

by Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

He had said to her: “The woman who loves me must give up much.” Was he suggesting, she wondered, that she should defy the conventions and fly with him into the desert? Perhaps he had no thought of marriage: he only wanted her to ride beside him over the limitless wilderness, and to sleep with him under the stars. His words might be interpreted as meaning that since one day they would grow tired of one another and he would leave her to fish for herself, she ought to consider carefully whether the adventure were worth while. But, no: that could hardly be his meaning, though his refraining from a definite proposal of marriage was suspicious.

Another matter greatly puzzled her. He did not seem to be jealous of her familiarity with other men; and though during the last few days she had rather enjoyed the novel experience of asking his permission, more or less, when she was going out on what she termed a “joy-ride,” she had observed that he assumed no authority over her. He appeared to be quite indifferent to her exits from, and interested only by her entries on to, the stage of life.

Daniel, as a matter of fact, was determined to eradicate all those fierce feelings of jealousy which shamefully he was aware she had aroused in him. The green-eyed monster was a prehistoric beast, unfitting the fair pastures of a philosopher’s mind; and he would have none of it. He believed passionately in freedom; and he was resolved to regard love not as a prison but as a sphere of unbounded liberty—for man and woman alike.

He was wroth with himself when he wished to break the heads of the young men who hovered around her. He had not believed himself capable of such disturbances; and his control was exerted to so much purpose that Muriel mistook it for indifference.

Fortunately he was usually back in the solitude of his camp by mid-afternoon, and he did not have to watch Muriel setting out for her almost nightly dinners, dances, or opera-parties; and when, next day, she used to relate her adventures, he would oblige himself to show amusement and interest, though only black unrest could have been found in his heart. He was impatient for the time when she should grow weary of her amusements, and thus show that her heart was full of sweeter interest, but he had no wish to force her to leave all, as it were, and come to him.

Muriel, on her part, was increasingly annoyed at his apparent indifference; and matters reached a crisis one afternoon at the end of the first week in January. An expedition to the ancient necropolis of Sakkâra had been arranged, the party consisting of Muriel, Daniel, Mr. and Mrs. Bindane, and John Dregge, one of the younger Secretaries at the Residency. The Tombs of Sakkâra stand at the edge of the desert, some ten miles south of Mena House; and the excursion was made on horseback, servants having been sent on ahead to prepare tea at the little rest-house in the necropolis.

During the outward journey Benifett Bindane rode close to Daniel, cross-questioning him in regard to the possibilities of agricultural development in the Oases. He had decided to make a journey at the end of February through the great chain of these oases; and Lord Blair, who, as has been said, was keenly interested in the project, had already begun to make arrangements for the expedition. Daniel was surprised to find that Mr. Bindane had fully grasped all the essentials of the scheme, and, in spite of his lethargic appearance, seemed to be making himself master of the facts.

The subject was very interesting to both men, and Kate Bindane, who rode with them, put in some shrewd observations; but meanwhile Lady Muriel was left to ride ahead with John Dregge, and their two horses could be seen moving close abreast, while Muriel’s laughter frequently floated back to them with the suggestion that she was enjoying herself thoroughly.

This, however, was not the fact. She did not like her companion, who was a very proper young man with a sallow face, side whiskers in the Byronic style, a button of a mouth, and small, watchful eyes.

She was growing decidedly cross—“turning nasty” as they say; and though she laughed loudly so that Daniel should hear, she made two or three remarks to Mr. Dregge which were neither kind nor clever. The three o’clock sun was extremely hot, the glare was intense, and her horse—a borrowed one—had an objectionable habit of ambling when she wished him to trot and of walking when she attempted to correct the amble.