The Desert Healer

by E. M. Hull

Hour after hour he lay motionless on the soft warm sand, too passion swept to sleep, till at last the raging fever that consumed him abated, and he knew that, for the time being, his victory over himself was complete.

But there was no peace in his mind. There was another decision that had to be made before the stars faded and the sun rose on a new day—a decision he knew in his heart was already determined. By acceding to the frenzied appeal of the woman he loved, in his endeavour to save her from further suffering, he had done a thing unpardonable. That did not trouble him. He did not regret it, he would never regret it. Her happiness was the only thing that weighed with him. Last night her need, and only her need, had been his sole consideration. Mad with fear she had implored him to take her from Algiers and, trembling for her reason, he had consented. But tonight his thoughts were centered on the husband from whom he had taken her. He would never give her up—but he would steal no man’s wife in secret. He was going back to Algiers—going back to face the man he had wronged. And what would be the outcome of that interview? No matter what Geradine had done—she was his wife. No matter what she had suffered at his hands—he was her husband. No extenuating circumstances could gloss over the hard indisputable fact or lessen his own culpableness.

What would Geradine do?

Carew rose deliberately to his feet with a harsh mirthless laugh. He knew what he would do himself if the position were reversed, what he would unhesitatingly have done twelve years ago if the opportunity had been given him. And if Geradine shot him like a dog, as he deserved to be shot, what would become of the girl who trusted to him? To stay—and forfeit his own self-respect. To go—knowing that he might never return. Heavens above, what a choice! But there was no other way thinkable. His mind was fixed, and the rest lay with Geradine. Would the cur who had stooped to strike a woman fight to regain possession of her, fight to avenge his honour? If he only would—by God, if he only would! The breath hissed through Carew’s set teeth and his strong hands clenched in fierce anticipation as his mind leaped forward to the coming meeting. The primitive man in him was uppermost as he thought with curious pleasure of Geradine’s huge proportions and powerful limbs. There was not much to choose between them. True he had thrashed him last night, but the man had been drunk. Heaven send that he was sober this time!

With a strange smile he swung on his heel and strode back to the sleeping camp.

But as he neared the tent his swift pace lessened and his sombre eyes were dull with pain as he passed under the lance-propped awning into the empty living room. How could he leave her to wait alone until he came again—or did not come! What would be the effect of those long-drawn hours of suspense on the nervous brain that was already dangerously overstrained and excited? His stern lips quivered as he parted the curtains and felt his way to the long low couch that was only dimly visible.

His tentative whisper was answered by a stifled sob, and out of the darkness two soft bare arms came tremblingly to close about his neck and drew his head down to the pillow that was wet with her tears. That she had wept bitterly was evident, and shaken by the distress his resolution almost failed. But he crushed the momentary weakness that came over him. “My dear, my dear,” he murmured, huskily, “have I made you weep so soon? Have I failed you tonight of all nights when you needed me most? Did you think I didn’t care—that I didn’t want you! Do you think it was easy for me to go from the heaven of your arms to a hell of loneliness under those cursed stars? God knows it was hard—as hard as it is for me to say what I’ve got to say to you now.” And with characteristic directness he told her plainly the course he had decided.

At first she did not seem to understand, then as she grasped the meaning of his words a cry of terror burst from her. “You can’t go—you can’t, you can’t. Oh, Gervas, stay with me, don’t leave me! If you go you’ll never come back and I—” she shuddered, horribly, and her frenzied voice sank to an agonised whisper. “He’ll kill you. Gervas, he’ll kill you!”

“Pray God, I don’t kill him,” he retorted, grimly, and with gentle force he unloosened the tightly clasped arms that were locked about his neck. “I’ve got to go, dear,” he said, steadily, “it’s the only thing I can do.” And unable to bear the sound of her passionate weeping he turned away. But with a wail of anguish she leaped to her feet, striving with all her strength to hold him.

“Gervas, Gervas, don’t leave me like that—tell me you love me, tell me you’ll come back to me—”