The curious trust she had shown earlier was manifested again for she obeyed him without protest, her rigid limbs relaxing against the soft cushions. But the colour in her cheeks deepened as she glanced wonderingly about the room and then at her own disordered appearance.
“I’ve never fainted before in my life,” she murmured, “I’m sorry to have been so stupid—to have given so much trouble.” Then, all at once, her lips quivered and with a sharp, dry sob she flung her arm across her face. But the natural outburst of womanly weeping that Carew expected did not follow, only, watching her, he saw from time to time spasms of terrible shuddering shake her from head to foot.
The coffee that Hosein brought a few minutes later steadied her, and when Carew turned to her again after giving his servant further orders she staggered unsteadily to her feet with a half shy, half nervous glance about the tent.
“You have been very kind—I don’t know how to thank you,” she said hurriedly, “but I can’t trespass on your hospitality any longer. I—my husband—oh, I must get back—if—if you could lend me a horse—” But even as she spoke she swayed giddily and caught at the divan for support. Carew looked at her narrowly. “When did you eat last?” he asked abruptly, ignoring her request. Her eyes closed wearily. “I don’t know,” she faltered, “this morning, I think. A cup of coffee—before I left home. Oh, it seems ten years ago!” she burst out shuddering.
It was a simple explanation of her exhaustion that had already occurred to him, and for which he had provided. Want of food, combined with reaction following a nerve-racking experience—small wonder she had collapsed, he reflected.
“Algiers is thirty miles away,” he explained gravely, “you are not fit to ride now. You must eat, and rest for a few hours before you attempt to return.”
But she shook her head vehemently. “I couldn’t eat,” she panted, a desperate urgency in her voice, “I couldn’t rest, I mustn’t rest. I’ve got to get back home. Oh, you don’t understand—but I must get back to Algiers.” She was shaking with nervousness but Carew felt instinctively that it was not of him she was afraid. And consequently who or what inspired her fear was no business of his, though as he watched her restlessly twisting the golden circlet that gleamed so incongruously on her slim, boyish hand he made a shrewd guess at the cause of her agitation. But that was her affair. He was concerned only with the need of the moment.
“Be reasonable, Madame,” he said sharply, “I do not keep you to amuse myself, but because you are not in a fit state at the moment to ride thirty miles. Eat what my servant is bringing, rest for a couple of hours, and then I will take you back to Algiers. If your—your friends are anxious about you they must be anxious for a few hours longer.”
He spoke almost brutally and though she flinched from his tone she seemed to realise the necessity of submitting to his decision. But her distress was still obvious and he could see that she was fighting hard to maintain the restraint she imposed upon herself. And grudgingly he conceded admiration he was loath to accord. Usually courage of any kind appealed to him, but, morbidly prejudiced, he was irritated now by the unexpected moral courage she displayed. He did not want to admit it, did not want to be forced to admire where he preferred to condemn, and he turned away with a sudden rush of unreasonable anger. The entrance of Hosein with the food he had ordered put a period to an awkward silence. And when the man withdrew, Carew followed him out under the awning leaving the girl alone, for it seemed to him that his presence must be as distasteful to her as her own was to him. He detained the Arab for a few moments to explain his further requirements, and then subsided into the deck chair with a stifled yawn. Like Suliman, he had already put in a hard day’s work and there were still thirty miles to ride before sunrise. But he was used to turning night into day and inured to fatigue, and it was mental rather than physical weariness that made him relax in his chair with a heavy sigh. In spite of his efforts to control his thoughts, his mind was in a ferment, and brain and body alike were in a state of nervous tension that sapped his strength and left him at the mercy of an overwhelming tide of long forgotten emotions. The strain of the meeting with Micky Meredith had weakened him for the further developments of the evening. He could still feel the soft weight of the girl’s limp body in his arms, he brushed his hand across his face as though the thick strand of hair was again smothering him with its soft fragrance. Angry with himself, angry with her, he tried to forget her—and found himself suddenly wondering who she was. Good Lord, as if it mattered! Cursing under his breath he pitched his cigarette away and went back into the tent.
The girl met his glance with a shy smile. “I was hungry, after all,” she said, pointing to the empty tray, “and I’m so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open.”