She looked at him strangely.
“Your men—” she repeated dully. And pulling herself erect she turned abruptly and walked unsteadily to the edge of the steep descent. Through the intervening trees she could see them clustered at the foot of the hill. His men—the lucky ones who were fortunate enough to share his life! A feeling of bitter envy came to her and she watched them through a mist of tears. Picked men, men chosen for their loyalty and endurance. Fierce sons of the desert these—differing altogether, even to her unpractised eyes, from the Arabs she had seen lounging about Algiers—and mounted on magnificent horses which they sat superbly. A fit escort for the man who would lead them. What did this unusual following portend? In Algiers, for she had seen him many more times than he knew, he always rode alone. Was this the end at last, the time she had looked forward to with dread—the time when he would ride out of her life forever? Her lips quivered. Never to see him again, never to hear the beloved voice whose low, soft intonations would ring in her ears while life lasted, never to know again the restfulness and strength his presence brought her! How could she bear it, oh, dear God, how could she bear the desolation and misery that would be hers! Her trembling hands crept upward to her breast, clenching convulsively over the heart that was aching and throbbing with a pain that was intolerable. She must know, though knowledge meant the agony of death.
Shuddering she turned and went slowly back to him. A cigarette between his lips, he was leaning against the tree where she had leant, his face an impassive mask that baffled her. Was the fleeting glimpse of a totally different expression she had seemed to see in his eyes a few minutes ago only the effect of her own overstrained imagination? Was she such a fool that she could have thought for one moment of wild sweet happiness, that her love and longing could have begotten his love? His indifference seemed complete—the parting was nothing to him. How could it be otherwise—it was only she who cared, only she whose heart was breaking, only she who would be left comfortless and alone.
The restraint she imposed on herself made her voice cold and hard as she uttered the question she nerved herself to ask.
“You are going away?”
“Yes.”
Despite herself she winced at the brief syllable of assent that was voiced in a tone as cold and as hard as her own.
“Back to the desert?”
“Yes.”
“For good?”