And so it was with a little sigh of content that he laid his head back upon his saddle, pulled his cloak more disposedly about him, and prepared to give nature freely what during the past three hours she had stolen.
With the usual result. Sleep deserted him. He closed his eyes resolutely; he breathed with exact precision; he even counted an imaginary flock of sheep as they passed sedately between two supposititious hurdles. He remained broadly awake, his eyes rebelling against their imprisonment till at last he gave up trying to coerce them. He searched his pocket, found tobacco and a pipe, and smoked. His brain became suddenly active.
He reviewed the circumstances of the last few days. He debated his position, appraised his progress. It was typical of his temperament equability that he did this; it was part of the dogged resolution with which he approached the vital problems of his career. He knew that for the first time he had encountered passion, and that it had mastered him. He had seen Claire Van Arlen perhaps half a dozen times before he realized this, and realized it, too, with a certain ingenuous wonder at the thing which had such power over him. But he had made no attempt to combat it. He knew that this girl had become for him the pivot of existence. As matters had gone, he had scarcely had the opportunity for introspection. Passion had gripped him, and now passion's authority had gone beyond the limits of question. He set his face unswervingly towards his goal. The days of debating an alternative path had gone by.
He sighed. Up the path he had chosen had he made any progress? Yes, one great step had been taken. She knew the goal he sought; he had made it absolutely plain. He had read repulse in her eyes as she first divined it. He had read it again, but tinged with a thrill of curiosity, at his second allusion. The third time? There he was beaten. She had seemed to fling him a sort of encouragement. Why? What was her intention here? She had not softened towards him; instinct told him that. And yet—and yet. He sighed again. There were many barriers in this road he had set out upon—barriers which must be levelled one by one. Dislike, suspicion, but not, thank God, apathy. No—from the first he had interested her—from the moment of their first meeting he had been forced into prominence in her regard.
A hand fell lightly upon his shoulder, bringing him back with a start from the possibilities of romance to the facts of an everyday African world. The most engrossing of these, for the moment, was Daoud's face.
There was a sense of importance in the Moor's aspect, the importance of discovery. Aylmer realized this at once.
"You have discovered—what?" he asked sharply.
Daoud waved his hand with a magnificent and comprehensive gesture.
"All, Sidi," he answered. "The two we seek, with the child, are in an encampment of Berber tribesmen within an hour's march."
Aylmer scrambled to his feet. He made but little noise as he did so, but there was a corresponding movement in the half-dozen recumbent figures beside him. Perinaud, raising himself upon his elbow, looked thoughtfully at the scout.