“No woman is safe unar-r-med, and not even ar-r-med, alone in ze deser-r-t wiz a man. Be r-reasonable, little English r-r-ose, and wr-r-ite ze little letter.”
“You could take me with an escort to Hutah, Zarah.”
Zarah humbly touched her forehead, and threw out her hands as she raged inwardly at the other’s obstinacy.
“I am ze mozer of my people. Zey mour-r-n, zey weep in zeir-r sor-r-row. I cannot leave zem even for a little, little while.”
“You liar!” said Helen to herself, thoroughly aware at last of the trap which had been laid for the man she loved.
There was no sign whatever in the women’s faces of the strength of the passions in their hearts.
Zarah smiled the gentle smile of propitiation as she played for the fierce love which had possessed her for so long, repressing the hate and jealousy which urged her to call the half-caste and bid him fling the girl down to the rocks beneath.
In the depths of Helen’s eyes lay the confident smile and the look of strength of those who can bear all, risk all, defy all, for love’s sake.
Fell a little pause as the sun ray crept along the floor, flooding the room with light, making a golden halo round Helen’s head.
“You do as I ask?” The question fell so gently in the quiet place.