The Desert Healer

by E. M. Hull

“You want to go—back to him?” he said, slowly. And he was answered in the sharp cry that burst from her as she shuddered closer into his arms, clinging to him with all her feeble strength. With a soft little laugh of triumph he kissed her again and turned in the saddle to shout to Hosein who had finished his prayers and was waiting discreetly in the background with no sign of his inward astonishment visible in his imperturbable face. That the master he worshipped had been stricken with sudden madness was to him the only possible explanation for the departure from established principle, that in his years of service he had become thoroughly acquainted with. Shrewdly observant he had seen and wondered at the gradual change that had come over Carew since the night when he had amazed his retainers by bringing a woman to the camp from which women had always been religiously excluded. And now that same woman was lying across his saddle, a willing captive to the man who was bending over her with a face that was transfigured. That his master had no right to her, that she was the wife of the foreign Sidi who had made himself so notorious in Algiers, were matters of indifference to Hosein. It was no business of his. If his lord had at last found happiness—who was he to judge him! He had been mad with that same madness himself once—

As he ranged alongside leading the spare horse, Marny tried to raise herself.

“I’m rested now—let me ride,” she murmured. But Carew saw her face contract with the pain that movement caused her, and shook his head. “You are not fit to ride. Lie still and rest,” he said, decisively.

“But you can’t carry me all the way, I’m so heavy—” she objected, faintly.

“Heavy!” he laughed, “about as heavy as an extra carbine.”

And following his swift glance she noticed for the first time the leathern holster that projected beyond his knee. The sight of it reminded her of the hazardous life that would be hers and made her rebel against the weakness that seemed to make her so unfit a companion for him.

“Let me try,” she pleaded. But he shook his head again.

“Do as you’re told my dear,” he said, with a smile that softened the peremptoriness of his tone. “You’re worn out, and you are on the highroad to fever unless you take things easily. I can’t have you knocking up out in the desert. You’ll want all your strength where we’re going.”

Where were they going? She wondered without caring. She knew nothing of his plans. She was content to go where he took her, content to follow where he led. She had given her life into his keeping, she was satisfied to leave to him the ordering of that life. With a tired sigh she dropped her head on his breast, thankful for the support of the strong arm crooked about her, yielding to the strength that was so strangely gentle.

A drowsiness she did not attempt to combat stole over her as she lay with closed eyes listening to the murmur of the two men’s voices. They were speaking in Arabic which she did not understand, but it seemed to her that Carew was giving certain orders to which his servant responded with his usual brevity. Then there was silence and dreamily she became aware that Hosein had left them and that they were alone on the top of the sun warmed hill. Dead with sleep she felt Carew’s arm tighten round her, heard without fully comprehending his explanation that he had sent the Arab on to prepare the camp for their coming, and slept as his lips touched hers.