But by degrees as she continued to lie still the pressure on her body

was relieved slightly, and she was able to turn her head a little

towards the air for which she was almost fainting, but not enough to

enable her to see what was passing around her. She drank in the cool

air eagerly. Though she could not see she knew that the night had come,

the night that she had hoped would fall before she reached her

destination, but which now seemed horrible. The fresh strength that the

air gave her fanned the courage that still remained with her.

Collecting all her force she made a sudden desperate spring, trying to

leap clear of the arm that now lay almost loosely about her, her

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spurred heels tearing the chestnut's flank until he reared

perpendicularly, snorting and trembling. But with a quick sweep of his

long arm the Arab gathered her back into his hold, still struggling

fiercely. His arms were both round her; he was controlling the maddened

horse only with the pressure of his knees.

"Doucement, doucement." She heard the slow, soft voice indistinctly,

for he was pressing her head again closely to him, and she did not know

if the words were applied to herself or to the horse. She fought to

lift her head, to escape the grip that held her, straining, striving

until he spoke again.

"Lie still, you little fool!" he snarled with sudden vehemence, and

with brutal hands he forced her to obey him, until she wondered if he

would leave a single bone unbroken in her body, till further resistance

was impossible. Gasping for breath she yielded to the strength that

overpowered her, and ceased to struggle. The man seemed to know

intuitively that she was beaten, and turned his undivided attention to

his horse with the same low laugh of amusement that had sent the

strange feeling through her when her shots had missed him. It had

puzzled her then, but it grew now with a horrible intensity, until she

knew that it was fear that had come to her for the first time in her

life--a strange fear that she fought against desperately, but which was

gaining on her with a force that was sapping her strength from her and

making her head reel. She did not faint, but her whole body seemed to

grow nerveless with the sudden realisation of the horror of her

position.

After that Diana lost all sense of time, as she had already lost all

sense of direction. She did not know if it was minutes or hours that

passed as they still galloped swiftly through the night. She did not

know if they were alone or if the band of Arabs to which this man

belonged were riding with them, noiseless over the soft ground. What

had happened to her guide and his men? Had they been butchered and left

where they fell, or were they, too, being hurried unwillingly into some

obscure region of the desert? But for the moment the fate of Mustafa

Ali and his companions did not trouble her very much; they had not

played a very valiant part in the short encounter, and her own

situation swamped her mind to the exclusion of everything else.




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