She gave in suddenly, lying quiet in his arms. She had touched the
lowest depths of degradation; he could do nothing more to her than he
had done. For the moment she could fight no further, she was worn out
and utterly weary. A numb feeling of despair came over her and with it
a sense of unreality, as if it were a hideous nightmare from which she
would wake, for the truth seemed too impossible, the setting too
theatrical. The man himself was a mystery. She could not reconcile him
and the barbaric display in which he lived with the evidences of
refinement and education that the well-worn books in the tent evinced.
The fastidious ordering of his appointments puzzled her; it was strange
to find in such a place. A dozen incongruities that she had noticed
during the day crowded into her recollection until her head reeled. She
turned from them wearily; she was too tired to think, too spent in mind
and body. And with the despair a kind of indifference stole over her.
She had suffered so much that nothing more mattered.
The strong arms around her tightened slowly. "Look at me," he said in
the soft slow voice that seemed habitual to him, and which contrasted
oddly with the neat, clipping French that he spoke. She shivered and
her dark lashes flickered for a moment. "Look at me." His voice was
just as slow, just as soft, but into it had crept an inflection that
was unmistakable.
Twenty-four hours ago Diana Mayo had not known the meaning of the word
fear, and had never in all her life obeyed any one against her
inclination, but in twenty-four hours she had lived through years of
emotions. For the first time she had pitted her will against a will
that was stronger than her own, for the first time she had met an
arrogance that was greater and a determination that was firmer than
hers. For the first time she had met a man who had failed to bow to her
wishes, whom a look had been powerless to transform into a willing
slave. In a few hours that had elapsed she had learned fear, a terrible
fear that left her sick with apprehension, and she was learning
obedience. Obedient now, she forced herself to lift her eyes to his,
and the shamed blood surged slowly into her cheeks. His dark,
passionate eyes burnt into her like a hot flame. His encircling arms
were like bands of fire, scorching her. His touch was torture.
Helpless, like a trapped wild thing, she lay against him, panting,
trembling, her wide eyes fixed on him, held against their will.
Fascinated she could not turn them away, and the image of the brown,
handsome face with its flashing eyes, straight, cruel mouth and strong
chin seemed searing into her brain. The faint indefinite scent of an
uncommon Turkish tobacco clung about him, enveloping her. She had been
conscious of the same scent the previous day when he had held her in
his arms during the wild ride across the desert.