Barclay did not trouble his daughter with many questions. It was enough that she was safe. What was more, he knew she would marry the man of her choice, no matter what obstacles were put in her way, as the first Pansy had married him—with the world against her.
All he wanted now was to save the man his daughter had set her heart on; that death should not blight her life as it had blighted his.
When the conflict was over, and the French and English officers met again, Barclay had shown the letter to the commander of the expeditionary force—the man who held the Sultan's life in his hand.
The officer had read Annette Le Breton's statement through in silence. Considering the contents, it did not need Pansy's lovely, anxious face or her father's pleadings to make him promise them life and liberty for Colonel Le Breton's son. More he could not promise. The two governments would want an indemnity that would swallow up most of the kingdom of El-Ammeh.
But his life was all Pansy wanted.
His life, and to be at his side when the blow fell. For a blow it was bound to be, to a man as proud and fierce as her lover. A shock and then a relief.
As Raoul Le Breton read the letter, his old world crashed in ruins about him.
Now he understood his dead mother's hatred of the Sultan Casim. Her endeavours to mould him on European lines. Her pleadings and entreaties for him not to forget the white side. That poor, frail, tortured little mother who had suffered so much for his sake!
His hand went across his anguished face.
He had not forgotten the white side. He had done worse. He had just ignored it. Knowing good, he had preferred evil. He had gone his way as barbaric and licentious as the savage who had murdered his father.