She looked down for a moment thoughtfully at the dim shape of the hound
lying at the man's feet, and then with a last upward glance at the
bright stars turned back into the tent. All her nervous fears had
vanished in speaking to Gaston, who was the embodiment of practical
common sense; earlier, when unreasoning terror had taken such a hold on
her, she had forgotten that he was within call, faithful and devoted.
She picked up the fallen book, and lying down again forced herself to
read, but though her eyes followed the lines mechanically she did not
sense what she was reading, and all the time her ears were strained to
catch the earliest sound of his coming.
At last it came. Only a suggestion at first--a wave of thought caught
by her waiting brain, an instinctive intuition, and she started up
tense with expectancy, her lips parted, her eyes wide, hardly
breathing, listening intently. And when he came it was with unexpected
suddenness, for, in the darkness, the little band of horsemen were
invisible until they were right on the camp, and the horses' hoofs made
no sound. The stir caused by his arrival died away quickly. For a
moment there was a confusion of voices, a jingle of accoutrements, one
of the horses whinnied, and then in the ensuing silence she heard him
come into the tent. Her heart raced suffocatingly. There was a murmur
of conversation, the Sheik's low voice and Gaston's quick animated
tones answering him, and then the servant hurried out. Acutely
conscious of every sound, she waited motionless, her hands gripping the
soft mattress until her fingers cramped, breathing in long, painful
gasps as she tried to stop the laboured beating of her heart. In spite
of the heat a sudden coldness crept over her, and she shivered
violently from time to time. Her face was quite white, even her lips
were colourless and her eyes, fixed on the curtain which divided the
two rooms, glittered feverishly. With her intimate knowledge every
movement in the adjoining room was as perceptible as if she had seen
it.
He was pacing up and down as he had paced on the night when
Gaston's fate was hanging in the balance, as he always paced when he
was deliberating anything, and the scent of his cigarette filled her
room. Once he paused near the communicating curtain and her heart gave
a wild leap, but after a moment he moved away. He stopped again at the
far end of the tent, and she knew from the faint metallic click that he
was loading his revolver. She heard him lay it down on the little
writing-table, and then the steady tramping began once more. His
restlessness made her uneasy. He had been in the saddle since early
dawn. Saint Hubert had advised him to be careful for some weeks yet. It
was imprudent not to rest when opportunity offered. He was so careless
of himself. She gave a quick, impatient sigh, and the tender light in
her eyes deepened into an anxiety that was half maternal. In spite of
his renewed strength and his laughing protests at Raoul's warnings,
coupled with a physical demonstration on his less muscular friend that
had been very conclusive, she could never forget that she had seen him
lying helpless as a child, too weak even to raise his hand. Nothing
could ever take the remembrance from her, and nothing could ever alter
the fact that in his weakness he had been dependent on her. She had
been necessary to him then. She had a moment's fierce pleasure in the
thought, but it faded as suddenly as it had come. It had been an
ephemeral happiness.