Ibraheim Omair kept his hold upon her, and presently, with a horrible
loathing, she felt his hand passing over her arm, her neck, and down
the soft curves of her slim young body, then with a muttered
ejaculation he forced her to face him.
"What are you listening for? You think that Ahmed Ben Hassan will come?
Little fool! He has forgotten you already. There are plenty more white
women in Algiers and Oran that he can buy with his gold and his devil
face. The loves of Ahmed Ben Hassan are as the stars in number. They
come and go like the swift wind in the desert, a hot breath--and it's
finished. He will not come, and if he does, he will not find you, for
in an hour we shall be gone."
Diana writhed in his grasp. The hateful words in the guttural voice,
pronounced in vile French, the leering, vicious face with the light of
admiration growing in the bloodshot eyes, were all a ghastly nightmare.
With a sudden desperate wrench she freed herself and fled across the
tent--panic-stricken at last. But in her blind rush she tripped, and
with a swiftness that seemed incompatible with his unwieldiness
Ibraheim Omair followed her and caught her in his arms. Struggling he
carried her to the divan. For a moment he paused, and instinctively
Diana lay still, reserving her strength for the final struggle.
"One hour, my little gazelle, one hour----" he said hoarsely, and bent
his face to hers.
With a cry Diana flung her head aside and strained away from him,
fighting with the strength of madness. She fought like a boy with a
swift thought of gratitude for Aubrey's training, and twisting and
writhing she managed to slip through his grasp until her feet rested on
the ground. But his grip on her never relaxed; he dragged her back to
him, resisting fiercely, ripping the thin shirt from her shoulders,
baring her white, heaving bosom. Gasping, she struggled, until, little
by little, his arms closed round her again. She braced her hands
against his chest, fending him from her till she felt the muscles in
her arms must crack, but the crushing force of his whole weight was
bearing her steadily backwards, and downwards on to the soft cushions
beside them. His hot breath was on her face, the sickening reek of his
clothes was in her nostrils. She felt her resistance growing weaker,
her heart was labouring, beating with wild bounds that suffocated her,
the strength was going from her arms, only a moment more and her force
would be exhausted. Her brain was growing numbed, as it had been when
the man who held her had murdered the woman before her eyes. If he
would only kill her now. Death would be easy compared with this. The
faint hope that still lingered was almost extinguished. Ahmed had not
come, and in her agony the thought of him was a further torture. The
sneering words of Ibraheim Omair had not shaken her faith. He would
come, but he would come too late. He would never know now that she
loved him. Oh, God! How she loved him! Ahmed! Ahmed! And with the
soundless cry the last remnant of her strength went all at once, and
she fell weakly against the chief. He forced her to her knees, and,
with his hand twined brutally in her curls, thrust her head back. There
was a mad light in his eyes and a foam on his lips as he dragged the
knife from his waistbelt and laid the keen edge against her throat. She
did not flinch, and after a moment he dropped it with a horrible laugh.