A deep sigh escaped the boy and he pressed his lips on the strong brown hands clasped on his.
“So it is written—yet if thou die, I die,” he exclaimed passionately.
With wonderful gentleness Carew disengaged himself.
“Time to think of that when I die,” he said lightly. “Meanwhile I live—and the French lord’s dinner grows cold while I chatter with a dreamer of dreams,” he added, turning away to the dressing table.
He changed quickly, and flinging a black cloak over his evening clothes paused irresolutely with his hand over a revolver that lay on the table. He was not in the habit of carrying firearms in the town of Algiers but tonight there seemed justification for so doing. He might have doubts as to the truth of the warnings he had received but he would be a fool to utterly ignore them.
Slipping the weapon into his hip pocket he left the room with a cheery word to Saba, who was sitting mournfully amidst the discarded clothing that littered the floor, and went out to his waiting carriage.
And as the spirited black horses drew him swiftly through the night his thoughts were busy with the pathetic little figure left disconsolate in the dressing room. If anything happened to him what would be the fate of the blind boy whose whole life was bound up in his? It was a problem that had often troubled him. He had made full provision for his protege’s future and Hosein, while he lived, would serve him faithfully. But Saba in his blindness and with his highly-strung mystical temperament needed more than bodily comfort and faithful service. He needed what apparently only Carew could give him. Without Carew he would pine and droop like a delicate plant torn from the parent root from which it draws its strength. For Saba’s sake, then it behooved him to take precautions he would otherwise have neglected.
The town was quieter than it had been earlier in the evening and Carew’s coachman, who was a noted whip, took full advantage of the empty streets, driving with customary Arab recklessness but handling the excited horses magnificently until, with a fine flourish, he drew them foam-flecked to a standstill before the Palace.
The Governor, as Carew hoped, had taken him at his word. Dinner was in full swing when he entered with apologies for his lateness and slipped into the place reserved for him.
It was, in compliment to his known peculiarity, a strictly bachelor entertainment, enlivened by the presence of Patrice Lemaire and another equally light-hearted attache.