If only she had not saved the girl in the first place, if only, in the second, she had not so foolishly allowed Helen to win the men’s hearts by her magnificent horsemanship, if only she had not lied. If it had not been for that thrice cursed episode with Lulah, the mare, she would not have hesitated an hour ridding herself of the girl, either by sending her back to civilization under escort or by some more drastic method.
Up till then the white girl had meant nothing more than a prisoner to the men, and the disappearance of a prisoner, even one of the white race, would have been no subject of comment amongst them. As it was she could do nothing.
The Nubian reported that the men constantly talked about Helen; exercised their best horses in the hope that she would one day ride out in the desert with them, either to hunt ostrich with cheetahs or to lead them to the attack on some caravan or company of Bedouins. They had taken to standing at the foot of the steep steps to gamble upon the chance of seeing her come out upon the platform, whilst gossip ran high as to the relationship between her and the white man whom the half-caste had saved from the sands of death.
So that she cursed herself over and over again for the lie she had told Ralph.
She lied by nature and by habit; in fact, she found it easier and a good deal more enjoyable to lie than to tell the truth, but she had lied without giving herself time to look at the result of this particular lie from every point of view.
The surly negress, with the gait of a lame hen, rose from her squatting position as her dire mistress passed up the steps, and retired still farther into the shadows, where she occupied herself in the pleasant and stimulating, if not too elegant, task of chewing Kaat as a relaxation from the dull work of spying upon the gentle white girl.
Zarah stood for a moment and looked through the doorway at Helen. She sat upon a pile of cushions, reading by the light of a silver lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Certain that the negress had replaced Namlah for the purpose of carrying reports about her, she had made up her mind that nothing but reports of normal behaviour should be carried.
She woefully missed the peace and austerity of the other dwelling, also the view of the desert through the cleft, and of the plateau with the rushing, sparkling river; but she made no sign, neither did she complain about the heat, which was so much greater, nor about the clutter of Persian rugs, cushions and tables, which only served to intensify it. She had been told that her old dwelling-place had been required for certain prisoners, and that on their account she had been forbidden to walk outside. Not a word of which she believed.