By which he meant Helen’s schooldays and Helen’s illness and Helen’s death; but how was the Arabian, blinded by love and vanity, to know that, especially as out of sheer gratitude he held her hand in both of his whilst he talked.
He took her to the steps and watched her descend, then turned and flung himself upon the divan with the watch against his lips, whilst Zarah the Cruel, wide awake to the danger of his walking amongst her men whilst Helen remained in the camp, climbed the narrow path to the building where dwelt the girl he thought to be dead.
“May her envier stumble over her hair.”—Arabic Proverb.
She had told Ralph Trenchard that the girl was dead, when not only was she alive, but a person of some consequence in the camp through the thrice cursed episode of the black mare.
Knowing nothing about constancy and honour and about as much about the question of nationality in marriage, she was firmly convinced that in time the white man, forgetting Helen, would succumb to her beauty and marry her.
But before that thrice blessed day, even before he left his dwelling to walk with her in the camp as he had just suggested, the girl must disappear so that the unlucky lie should have a slight foundation of truth, as have so many falsehoods in the East when sifted to the bottom.
Once the girl was dead she would rely upon her own power over her own people to prevent the real facts of the case from reaching his ears.
The first thing was to find a way of ridding herself of the girl who stood as an obstacle in that path of peace and love which ended in the white man’s heart, but, above all, a way which would cause no comment amongst the men. The way was shown her, startlingly clear and simple, within the hour.
She cursed herself, the lie, fate and the black mare as she climbed the steep steps to Helen’s prison.