Chapter II (6)

She pressed her face to his in one long devouring kiss--a kiss that typified her whole being's passion; a kiss in which she seemed to breathe out her very soul.

Then she bared her heaving bosom and raised her arm to strike.

And he? Whether it was that, even in unconsciousness, the impassioned outpouring of her soul struck a responsive chord in his; or that the pressure of her soft arm round his neck and the hot kisses she showered upon his face put warmth into his body and quickened the sluggish action of his heart; or that both these causes combined to bring about what happened; certain it is that, at the moment when the despairing girl was about to end her life, he sighed profoundly and woke up from his swoon; then turned his eyes on her. In a moment he had grasped what she was about to do, had seized her uplifted arm, wrenched the knife from her and flung it into the basin of the fountain.

"Oh! Halima!" he cried. "What were you about to do? A moment more and I should have been too late. Thank God that I came to in time. Ah! my love, what prompted this rash resolve?"

"I thought you dead; that I had killed you, and I could not live without you."

"Live with me, my darling; live for vengeance; for vengeance on your betrayer, as I mean to do."

"It shall be so," she cried fiercely. "To punish him we will devote our lives." Then, the stern expression softening into a look of such adoring love that the last shred of the man's resentment vanished, "Oh, Henri, Henri, my love, my life," she murmured; then sank sobbing on his breast.

He pillowed her lovely head upon his shoulder and caressed her fondly. For the moment, he forgot that another had possessed her. Then presently, when she had grown somewhat calmer, "Buonaparte has sailed for France," he said "and you are free. Forget the past, as I will strive to do, and find renewed happiness with me. Your father looks to see us man and wife. What say you, sweet?"

She raised her face suffused with tears, but smiling through them, to his, and in the lovelight in her eyes he read her answer.

He pressed her to his breast and kissed her again and again.

"Sweetheart," he said presently, "I have turned my back upon the army; henceforth I live for you alone."

"And revenge," she added sternly.

Then, hand in hand, they went into the house.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

When the reunited lovers had somewhat calmed down after the exciting scene in which they had been the actors, St. Just handed Halima her father's letter, and showed her those the old man had given for friendly Sheiks in Cairo.

Satisfied, after reading his letter, that her father favored her marriage with St. Just, and the arrangement so entirely coinciding with her most ardent desire, Halima quickly became all smiles, and entered with avidity into his plans for giving it effect, and for making their escape together from Cairo at the earliest practical opportunity, to rejoin the Sheik. Both were aware that Halima was being watched, by Buonaparte's orders, to prevent the very thing they meditated; so the greatest circumspection would be needed. They were in hopes, however, that, now that Buonaparte was no longer in the country, the watch would be less strictly kept, if even it were not wholly discontinued.

And St. Just, on his part, had to be very careful in his movements and always to go about disguised. At the same time, he thought he ran little risk from the military authorities; for it was known to them, that he had been sent on a mission by the General-in-chief and had, for all they knew, either returned with him to France, or remained in Alexandria. As an alternative, his absence might be accounted for, either by his death or capture by hostile Arabs; for, from one or other of these causes, couriers were constantly disappearing. The desert swarmed with murderous nomads.

Captain Tremeau, who would have been the most likely person to see through his disguise, had accompanied Buonaparte to France, and most people thought that St. Just had done the same. Accordingly, he felt comparatively safe. For all that, he thought it unwise to be seen too frequently at Halima's house; so that his visits there were few and secret. He had taken up his abode with Mahmoud and Abdallah in a retired quarter of the city, where their presence was not likely to excite suspicion.

He lost no time in presenting his letters of introduction to the sheiks, who were all leading Mussulmans and hostile to the French. His introducer, the Sheik Ibrahim, was a man of weight and influence, so that any one he recommended was sure to be favorably received. Consequently, St. Just found these sheiks very friendly and ready to help him all they could. And they proved their good-will most effectively by supplying him with ample funds for his ride across the desert. Further to gain their confidence, St. Just professed to have renounced the Christian faith, and his desire to become a follower of the Prophet; and, soon afterwards, his so-called conversion was effected, and he talked of "Allah" with the best of them. Additionally, he had been influenced in this course by the discovery that Halima's friends, the sheiks in Cairo, regarded with aversion the thought of her marriage with a Christian, and were doing their utmost to dissuade her from it, at any rate, until she had joined her father. But, now that St. Just had become one of them in faith, all opposition was removed; and, soon afterwards, he and Halima were made man and wife with Islam rites.

Meanwhile, Halima had kept her eyes about to see how far she was being followed in her movements. In the result she felt satisfied that the watch on her was not so close as formerly, and this she told her husband, on his next visit. She said she was confident that she could now get away unnoticed, and urged him to arrange to leave the city at once. Now that she had become his wife, it fretted her to see so little of him; the hours seemed to pass so slowly in his absence, and she lived in a fever of unrest until he returned; she yearned for a renewal of his fond caresses and the ardent expression of his passion. So that she was prepared to run even great risks in order to be with him always; now, however, she thought they would run none.

Accordingly, it was resolved that the attempt to escape from Cairo should be made on the following day. It was now the middle of September, nearly a month since St. Just had fled from Alexandria.

At about four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day the passer-by might have seen three beggars loitering in a street not far from Halima's house. The oldest of the three was a villainous-looking old rascal, whose stomach swelled out enormously, as though he were suffering from dropsy. It may be at once stated, however, that its abnormal size was due not to a liquid, but a solid cause--hay stuffed in between his body and his clothing. This man was the Arab Abdallah. The two men with him were Mahmoud and St. Just, the former limping along with one leg bent at right angles and supported on a stump; the latter suffering, apparently, from some fearful face disease--paint artistically applied.

Beggars suffering from various diseases are common in the East, where they make a market of their disfigurements, which are profitable in proportion to their loathsomeness. As a matter of course, there are numbers of impostors among the tribe, and these are generally the most importunate in appealing to the charity of the sympathetic portion of the community. In fact, it is in the East, as with us in the West, those who make the greatest noise about their troubles are the least deserving.

Beggars being seen at almost every corner, the presence of these three sunning themselves on the steps of a house in a quiet street excited no suspicion.

"This begging seems to be a fairly profitable calling," said Abdallah, who had just made a successful appeal to a charitable passer-by. "No wonder there are so many halt and maimed about." And he chuckled grimly at the thought of the kindly dupes.

"No doubt it pays well," rejoined St. Just; "though 'tis a despicable life, at best. But come, it is time for us to be moving towards the house. 'Tis close upon the hour of prayer, when the Lady Halima is to join us. Are the camels in readiness, Mahmoud?"

"I have seen to that, Sir," replied the lad; "there will be no delay with them."

"Good," resumed St. Just. "We will be going."

And they moved on slowly, with the slouching gait that seems to go with beggars, towards Halima's street, passing on their way a mosque, from which they could hear the sound of voices raised in prayer.

Then they took up their station near the house and waited. Presently a small door in the wall--not the main entrance--was opened, and a young Arab boy stepped out and looked cautiously around. No one, but the three beggars, was in sight. He locked the door; then flung the key into the kennel, where it buried itself in a heap of garbage.

The boy stopped for a moment and seemed to be listening to the voices of the devotees in the neighboring mosque; then came swiftly towards the three watchers. Then something occurred that made St. Just's heart leap high. The boy drew from his breast something that St. Just instantly recognized as the amulet Madame Buonaparte had given him in Paris, and whose loss he had so much regretted, believing he should never see it again.

Convinced by this act that the youth was a messenger from Halima, St. Just remarked to Mahmoud in his natural voice, to satisfy the newcomer of his identity, "Mahmoud, this boy is surely a servant of the Lady Halima."

Before Mahmoud could reply, the young Arab had sprung forward with the cry of "Henri! My husband."

"Halima?" exclaimed St. Just, amazed. "No wonder I did not recognize you. What means this strange costume?"

"I thought I should, dressed thus, the better escape notice. But tell me how you like me in this garb? Think you I make a comely boy?"

And she laughed a merry laugh.

"A charming one, indeed," he answered, with a smile; "and 'twas a happy thought of yours. But we must not waste the time in pretty speeches. We will go on in advance, and you follow at a little distance, keeping us well in sight. You are far too pretty and well clad to form one of our ragged party."

And as he said, they did, making their way quickly to the three men's lodgings, which they all entered. Soon three men came out dressed like honest traders, the characters they intended to assume. They were accompanied by an Arab boy--so those who might meet the party would suppose.

Then they made their way down another street and halted at some gates that gave on to a large yard. Through these St. Just passed with Mahmoud, leaving Halima in Abdallah's charge outside. They were not long absent and, when they returned, they brought with them three camels, St. Just handing Abdallah a piece of paper.

"Ben Hadji is a good man," said that worthy. "He has kept faith with us. The Sheik, my master, will reward him. Thanks to him, our passage through the city gate and on to Gizeh should be easy."

Then the camels were got down on their knees and the party mounted--all but Mahmoud, who, in the character of a servant, was to walk behind, until they should reach the further boundary of Gizeh, where a camel would be provided for him.

Then the party started, Halima between Abdallah and St. Just mounted on their camels, and Mahmoud in the rear on foot. In due course, they reached the city gate, where they were challenged by the officer on guard; but the paper they had with them passed them through.

A few hours later, the same party dismounted, were waiting on a little landing stage on the river bank, at the point where the village of Gizeh stands. Moored to the stage was a long, low, boat with broad square sails; such a boat as is in use upon the Nile by the natives even at the present day. In this they were on the point of embarking when they heard shouts; and, looking round they saw an Arab, dusty and travel-stained, running towards them. He made at once for Abdallah, to whom he panted out:--

"Good master, I saw you from the bank. A minute later, and I should have missed you. I would have speech with you. My business is important. I have traveled far and fast to seek you."

He took him apart and whispered in his ear.

Abdallah's face lengthened at the communication, but, at first, he made no reply. Grasping the man by the arm, lie motioned him to the boat. "Step in," he said. "Our way is thine; we go to the 'Tomb of the Kings.'"

They were soon all settled in the boat, and the sail was set; then, the wind being dead aft, they began to travel rapidly up the river.

Presently Abdallah caught St. Just's eye and, unseen by the others, signed to him to come to him. When the young Frenchman had come up, the other whispered something in his ear. It was the communication he had received from the stranger, and at it St. Just looked grave. But almost immediately, he rejoined Halima, at whose side he sat, silent and preoccupied.

When his silence had become noticeable, Halima looked anxiously in his face and, noting his grave and sad expression, she laid her hand gently on his arm.

"Henri," she said, "something has happened to disturb you. I can see it in your face. If some new trouble has arisen, let me share it with you. I am your wife, and it is my privilege to do so. If I cannot console you in your sorrow, at least, let me bear my part in it. I am no coward, as you know. Tell me, my dear one," she concluded pleadingly.

He took her hand in his. "Alas! my Halima," he said. "I have sad tidings for you, but they concern not your husband, but your father. Your messenger brought news that your father has been stricken down by illness, sick, as it is feared, to death."

She gave a start, and a little cry proceeded from her lips. It was the last thing she had thought of. Her father, though well on in years, had always seemed so hale and strong.

"My father ill, and like to die?" she cried. "Oh! may Allah save him. He is all I have, save you. Oh! tell them to make all speed. I must, I will see him before he dies, if die he must."

The tears gathered in her eyes, and she wept silently.

"My dearest, we could not go faster than we are," he said. "The wind is in our favor and is carrying us forward bravely. Bear up, my Halima, in the hope that Allah will so order it, that you shall see your father again."

She made no reply to this, and he sat on, silent, by her side, still holding her hand in his.

Presently, when her first grief had spent itself, her tears ceased to flow and she dried her eyes. Then she looked up trustfully into St. Just's face and said, "It will be as Allah wills; if I am to lose one protector in my father, I have gained another in my husband. Strong in the possession of your love, I will not rebel against the decrees of Allah."

"Fear not, my dear one," he replied earnestly. "I will be father, lover, husband all in one to you, henceforth."

And she smiled at him lovingly in reply.

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

St. Just and his party met with no adventures on their way, and no difficulties beyond such as were inseparable from the river and the desert; but their progress was slow, for there were often delays in getting boats for such stages as were traversed on the river, and these they made as frequent as they could, preferring this mode of journeying to the tracking of the arid desert. But, owing to the bends in the river and also to the cataracts, they were perforce compelled to leave it many times and travel overland.

The last stage was made upon the river, and about six weeks after leaving Cairo--which brought them to the beginning of November--they landed at a small village, which was little more than a group of huts, a few hours' journey from the "Tombs of the Kings," where, as St. Just soon learned, the old Sheik was still encamped.

A messenger was at once despatched to inform the tribe of their arrival, and to announce to the Sheik that, in a few hours, Halima would be with him.

Soon after daybreak on the following morning, they made a move, and, by two o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the out-lying tents of the tribe.

Quite a crowd of people were on the look-out for them, for Halima was beloved by every member of the tribe, and all the party had relatives and friends among them. St. Just, too, was no stranger, and, during his previous stay with them, had gained their confidence and esteem.

When the party came up, therefore, the excitement was tremendous. Men, women and children crowded round them, shouting and gesticulating with delight; Halima, who had spent all her life with them until her father had taken her to Cairo, being the center of attraction. The people rushed forward to kiss the hem of her cloak, to touch her saddle, her stirrup iron--anything that was hers; Halima was touched by the heartiness of her welcome, and her large, dark eyes filled with tears, even while her face beamed with smiles and she bestowed thanks and greetings on the eager faces upturned to hers.

Even the very dogs--those mangy, yapping curs, without which no Arab encampment is complete--shared in the general enthusiasm, running round and round the new arrivals and barking merrily.

It was almost like a royal progress, for the crowd, which was ever on the increase, pressed on with the party, until they came to a halt in the center of the camp.

But, amidst all this turmoil of congratulation, Halima never, for an instant, forgot her husband. The looks of mingled pride and love she turned on him would have satisfied the most exacting man that, though she was grateful for all these tokens of affection, he had all her heart, that he was ever in her thoughts, and that she was ready to forsake her kith and kin, if needs be, so long as she retained his love. In addressing him, she loved to dwell with iteration on the words "Mon mari." In them she summed up all her love and trust. His was the arm that helped her to dismount--though many others proffered their assistance--and to which she clung when she alighted.

No sooner had they gained their feet, than an old, gray-headed man approached them. In him both St. Just and Halima recognized the doctor of the tribe. Halima at once rushed up to him.

"Oh! Ben Kerriman," she exclaimed, "My father! how is he? He is alive?"

"He is alive, Lady," Ben Kerriman made reply; "but he is very weak, and so worn that you will scarcely know him. Still the fever has now left him, and he suffers only from excessive weakness."

"I will go to him at once," she cried eagerly. "Dear father, I long to see him. Come, Henri."

A path was formed for them through the crowd, and they made their way to a large square tent, which St. Just, at once, recognized as the Sheik's; for, in front of it, he and the old warrior had spent many an hour, while smoking their long chibouques, in friendly chat.

When they reached the entrance, St. Just halted and drew back. He thought that, father and daughter having been parted for so long, both would prefer to have their first interview in private. But Halima, at once divining his unspoken thought, seized him by the arm and dragged him forward.

"Of course you are to come in with me," she said in French. "I have no secrets from you now; you are my husband. Besides it is right that you should be with me when I tell him that we are married. Dear, I want you."

He made no more ado, and they went in together.

In a few seconds, when their eyes had accommodated themselves to the dimness of the light, they saw in the far left hand corner of the tent--which, after the luxury of her surroundings at Cairo, struck Halima as bare and comfortless--a couch formed of a pile of skins. On this, propped up with cushions, the old Sheik reclined. He was worn almost to a skeleton, his brown, shriveled skin giving him the appearance of a mummy. The only signs of life about him were his eyes, which shone with unnatural brilliancy, but with no vacant glitter; it was plain that, though the body had lost its strength, the brain still maintained its sway. St. Just could scarce refrain from shuddering at the appalling change in the old Sheik's appearance.

By the side of the bed of skins, within reach of the sick man's hand, was a small round table, on which was placed a horn of cooling drink. A charcoal brazier, with smoldering embers, stood in the center of the tent. Crouched in a corner, watching with apparent unconcern the figure on the couch, was a withered old hag, presumably the nurse. At the entrance of the newcomers, she turned her eyes listlessly upon them, but took no further notice of them.

At the sight of her father, Halima uttered a low cry of pain; then she ran up to the bed, threw herself on her knees beside it, and, seizing one of the claw-like hands that rested on it, covered it with kisses.

"My father!" she cried, "Allah be praised that at last I see you. Oh! I have been fearing that I should be too late, for I heard you were so ill. But, now that I have come I will nurse you back to health."

There was a slight movement in the poor, withered hand, and the glittering eyes took on an expression of content; but presently, this changed to one of puzzled questioning.

At once she read aright the inquiry in his eyes. She rose from her knees and beckoned her husband to her side.

"He wants to know how I got here," she said; "tell him, dear; it will please him to know what you have done for me."

Then St. Just came forward and, taking Halima's hand in his, addressed the Sheik.

"I promised that I would bring your daughter, Sir, and I have kept my word."

Before he could say more, Halima intervened, "And he has brought you more than a daughter, father, he has brought you a son; he is my husband, and oh! he is so kind to me." She turned her eyes lovingly upon St. Just.

A look of wonder overspread the old man's face, and he turned his eyes affectionately on his daughter; then they sought St. Just. And now, for the first time he spoke, though in so low a tone that he was scarcely audible.

"I am happy, now that my daughter has come back to me safe and well; and I thank you, my son, for bringing her. The news I have just heard bewildered me; but it is well; you have but anticipated my wishes. And you are happy, child; he is good to you?"

"Oh! so good; nobody could be kinder; I have not a thought ungratified. Oh! father, I have had more happiness in this last month than in all my previous life. And another thing, before we married, he joined our faith; he is now a true believer."

A faint smile lighted up the old man's face. "Allah is great," he said, "and Mohammed is His prophet. It is enough; I now can go in peace. My children, may your lives be long and happy." Then, to St. Just, "I give you an old man's blessing, my son; in my Halima you have won a treasure; look to it that you cherish her as she deserves, for I can see that you have all her love; she has a gentle heart, be careful that you wound it not; a delicate instrument, whose chords will not endure rough handling, but will respond feelingly to a gentle touch. Accordingly as you deal with her, may Allah deal with you."

He held out a long, lean hand to the young Frenchman, who pressed it gently, then raised it to his lips.

Then he bent his gaze again on Halima, and held out his arms.

"Embrace me, my child," he said.

Halima knelt down beside him and threw her soft, warm arms around his neck, and kissed him fervently; then rested her head upon his breast. "Dear father," she murmured, "it now only needs one thing to make my happiness complete--to see your strength restored. I will nurse you back to health, and Henri will assist me; it is but weakness that you suffer from."

"A weakness, my child, that will only end in death."

Then, seeing the look of sadness in her face, he added, "But not just yet; I feel now, that a few days still remain to me--it may be weeks. The sight of your dear face has acted like a breath of wind upon the spark of life still left in me, and fanned it into a feeble flicker, though it will never rekindle the dying embers of my frame. But I am content; I have had my day, and it has been a long one--longer than that of most men--and now my night has almost come."

"Oh, say not so, my father," urged his daughter. "It is because you are weak and weary that this is in your heart. I cannot bear to hear you talk thus."

He laid one sinewy palm upon her head and stroked it gently.

"We will say no more of it, since it makes you sad," he said. "We will talk of your affairs." He turned to St. Just. "How comes it, my son, that you were able to leave your brothers in arms for the long journey from Cairo to this place?"

St. Just paled at this, and a look of pain came into his face. He could not put away from him the thought of the epithet that would ever be coupled with his name--a deserter, and in time of war--and he knew that he never would, strive how he might; though his life might not be forfeited, the finger of scorn would be always pointed at him by those aware of his disgrace.

Halima, who knew his every mood, noted his expression of distress, and, to spare him the pain of the confession, intervened before he could make answer to her father's question.

"He has left the French army, and all for love of me," she said. "But do not talk of it, my father, for he likes it not. It is no light matter to renounce one's country for a woman's love, and this sacrifice he has made for me. For the future, he is of our people."

The old Sheik looked in wonder at St. Just; such a sacrifice was beyond his comprehension.

"How he must have loved you, child," he said. "I loved your mother, more than all others in the world; but, even for her, I would not have given up my country or my faith; have sheathed my sword for ever and exchanged the excitement of the battle field, the clash of weapons crossed in deadly combat, the rattle of musketry, the deep boom of guns, the exultant shouts of victory, the pursuit of the flying foe--all this; for the smiles and gentle dalliance of any woman, however fair. Oh! no, I could not have made the sacrifice. I marvel not that he dislikes to dwell on it. We will talk of it no more. Child, you must be no niggard in your love for him; even then you will be his debtor in devotion."

But the excitement he had undergone was telling on him, and he sank back exhausted.

"I am tired, I can talk no more," he murmured. "I feel that I can sleep."

He closed his eyes, and, in a few seconds, he was slumbering peacefully.

"Come," said Halima, "we will withdraw for a space, and return anon."

All this while, the old woman in the corner had remained motionless and silent.

Now, for the first time, Halima caught sight of her. With a little cry of pleasure, she ran forward to her and threw herself on her knees in front of her.

"Nana!" (Nurse) she cried, "I had not seen you. Surely you have not forgotten your little Halima."

Instantly the old woman's features seemed to wake to life; the look of apathy departed, and what was meant for a smile of pleasure took its place; but St. Just thought it ghastly. "My child," she cried, and opened her arms to the dainty form before her. Halima, still kneeling, bent forward and embraced her. The old woman kissed her, crooning over her the while. Then both women gabbled away in low tones, but so rapidly that St. Just, though now a fair Arab scholar, could scarce catch a word.

Presently Halima rose from her knees, and, taking her husband by the hand, she drew him forward. Then she bent her head and whispered a few words in her nurse's ear. As St. Just rightly guessed, she was telling the old woman who he was. Then she turned to St. Just.

"Henri," she said, "this is my old nurse; she was present at my birth and nursed me through my childhood; she has always been with us, and she closed my mother's eyes."

St. Just acknowledged the introduction in a few appropriate words; but, much to his surprise, they seemed to rouse the old creature's ire; for she first favored him with a searching stare and then with an evil scowl. Instinctively St. Just felt that he had made an enemy; but why, he was at a loss to guess. He would ask Halima when they were outside. The hag took no verbal notice of his greeting, but merely mumbled to herself, her expression becoming every moment blacker; and thus they left her.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

The news that St. Just was married to the daughter of their chief quickly spread amongst the tribe. At first great dissatisfaction was expressed; scowls and ominous grumblings were flung at him in passing, some of the men even going so far, among themselves, as to threaten to take his life, so soon as the old Sheik should be no more. The general impression was that, taking advantage of the girl's innocence and her absence from her father, St. Just had used unfair means to make her his.

But, when it became known that the old Sheik had previously given his consent to the intended marriage, and even desired it; further, that St. Just had become a true believer and had renounced his country and adopted theirs, the grumblings gradually died away, except on the part of a few of the younger members of the tribe, who were partisans of the Sheik's banished nephew Yusuf, and had looked forward to his assuming the leadership at his uncle's death. There seemed little chance of this, they feared, now that Halima was married to a man beloved and trusted by her father.

It was now three weeks since the return of Halima with her husband; the old Sheik still lived, and had even gained some little strength, but none could doubt that it was but temporary, and that the end could not be long postponed, in spite of all his daughter's loving care from the moment of her coming.

But one day, their hopes were unexpectedly revived. The day was bright and warm, and seemed to put new vitality into the old Sheik. Halima was much surprised when he raised himself on his elbow without assistance, and said in tones far stronger than he had used of late:

"I feel strangely better this afternoon, my child, and have a longing to see the sun once more, and to breathe the pure desert air; I would be borne to the outside of the tent, where I can see my people."

A look of joy came into his daughter's face, and she sprang up with a little cry. "Oh, father," she exclaimed, "your words sound in my ears like the trickling of water to the thirsting Bedouin; for they tell me that you will yet regain your strength; the change, so long delayed, has at last set in. Praise be to Allah for it."

"Nay, be not deceived, my daughter, 'tis but the expiring flicker before the lamp goes out. But lose not time, get help to bear me out."

So Halima, first telling her old nurse to look to her father while she went out to execute his biddings, left the tent in search of her husband and others to assist him. They soon had formed a comfortable couch of skins and cushions; and then the old man was carried out and set upon it, and propped up with pillows. Then Halima and St. Just seated themselves, one at each side of him.

At first the Sheik said nothing, contenting himself with taking deep draughts of the balmy air, and turning his eyes towards the sun the while he shaded them with his hands. Every moment he seemed to be gaining strength.

Presently he turned his face upwards towards the heavens and spread out his hands; then, at last, he spoke.

"I thank thee, All Merciful, All powerful Allah, that Thou hast permitted me once more to behold Thy glorious sun and to breathe the pure air that sweeps across the desert. And now I pray Thee sustain my strength while I impart my last washes to those from whom I shall so soon be parted."

He crossed his hands upon his knees and turned his eyes first on Halima, next on St. Just, and then went on: "While I have strength to speak, my children, I will give you my last instructions; for something tells me this is my final opportunity."

"Nay, father, say not so," cried Halima, and she laid her little hand on his withered ones and stroked them lovingly, "I cannot bear--"

"Interrupt me not, my child," he broke in solemnly; "for I have much to say to you, and I know the time is short. It is about the buried treasure that I would speak to you. Has your husband told you aught of this?"

"He told me on our journey here, my father,"

"He did well; then I need not recapitulate." Then he turned to St. Just and laid his hands upon his arm. "These are evil days for us, but they will pass. Your chief General has left the country and returned to his own land. Doubtless, he thinks that the generals and the army he has left behind will achieve his purpose of making Egypt an appanage of France. But something tells me that it will not be so; his army will melt away before the climate, and the valor of our people, and our country will be freed from the invader. And then will come the time for the restoration of my father's house in the person of my daughter--and of you, her husband. If you rightly play your part, a great destiny awaits her, and you will share it; and I doubt not you will do so. But, to come to the matter whereof I wish to speak to you. When I am no longer with you, you must choose a fitting time for the removal of this treasure and for its disposal according to my directions. Once I hoped myself to carry out my plans concerning it; but Allah has willed otherwise; my course is run, and you must act for me.

"Here," and the old Sheik took a packet from his breast and handed it to St. Just, "you will find my views put forth; in these papers have I set down the names of the men to whom the gold and silver is to be consigned. They are men of probity and judgment; men who, like myself, have been watching and working secretly year by year, in the face of obstacles almost insurmountable, to complete our plans.

"If things go right when I am gone, Halima will be Queen of Upper Egypt, for she will be the head of a powerful tribe--the strongest and most ancient of all the desert tribes. You, as her husband, will then occupy a high position; but it will be to you no sinecure. I doubt not that, though you are now one of us, the creed and nationality you have abjured, will be urged against you. At first you will meet with opposition, but you must not be discouraged, but exercise great tact and patience, and thus in time you will surmount it."

His voice had been getting gradually weaker, and now a pallor overspread his face, which also became damp with sweat.

"I faint; the draught!" he gasped, and his head dropped forward.

St. Just placed his arm around him and rested his head upon his shoulder; while Halima held a goblet, containing a stimulating and nourishing cordial, to his lips, watching him anxiously the while. He drank it eagerly, then closed his eyes. They feared the last moment had arrived, and St. Just placed his hand upon the old man's heart. Its pulsations were stronger than he had expected. The two watchers gazed at him with affectionate solicitude, but neither spoke a word.

In a few minutes, to their relief, the old warrior opened his eyes and raised his head. Then he began to speak once more. But Halima checked him.

"Oh! father," she cried, "be still a while; you are not strong enough for further speech at present."

"My strength has come back to me, my child," he said, "and I must use it while I may; and talking will not harm me. But I will first drink again."

Fearing that opposition would hurt him even more than would the effort of talking, Halima said no more, but again held the goblet to his lips.

"I can hold it," he said somewhat touchily, and he took it from her. He handed it back to her, and then resumed.

"At one time I had hoped that your cousin Yusuf would have filled my place and ruled the tribe, when I am gone; but he has grievously offended me in the way that you both wot, so that his place in the tribe is blotted out. But I fear he will not take his banishment with patience. Be wary of him, for I am assured that he will trouble you. However specious his promises of fidelity, trust him not; have no dealings with him. Let him not plant his foot within the borders of the tribe. If he do, have no mercy on him; kill him ruthlessly, as you would a scorpion; or a venomous snake. You will have no safety while he lives, for he has friends among the young men of the tribe, who will never cease to plot for him, till he is dead. Our good doctor will inform you of them. He is faithful, as the sun that never fails to run his allotted course. He helped you into life, my child, and his love towards you is great. And now I will rest me for a space, ere I summon my warriors about me; for, presently, I must have speech of them."

He sank back on his cushions and closed his eyes; in a few minutes, from his measured breathing, he seemed to be asleep.

In about an hour he opened his eyes and looked round inquiringly, with a dazed expression. They lighted upon Halima, and he smiled; a look of intelligence appeared upon his face.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "I recollect; you brought me here. I have been asleep and feel refreshed for it. The sun has warmed my blood and put new strength in me. I will address my people while it lasts. Call all my warriors, and let them place themselves before me in due order."

"Oh! father," began Halima, "it is too much for you; it--"

"Be silent, child; I will have it so," he interrupted sternly.

She shrank back, cowed, and made no further effort to dissuade him.

Then the word was passed throughout the camp, and eagerly responded to.

When the whole tribe was gathered in front of him, Ben Ibrahim raised his hand, and every voice was stilled. Even the little children held their peace, impressed by the solemnity of the occasion, without knowing what it meant.

"My children," the chief began--and his voice was clear and strong--"I have called you here to rest my eyes on you once more, and to take my last farewell of you; for the river of my life has almost ceased to flow; and I do not murmur that it should be thus, for I have lived longer than is given the most of us, and it is meet that I should go. I have known every one of you from his birth, for I am older than the oldest of you. In all the many years in which I have been your chief I have striven to deal out justice to you, and, at the same time, to temper it with mercy; but man's knowledge is so limited, and his judgment is so fallible, that some of you I may unknowingly have wronged; if so, I now ask your forgiveness. My warriors, we have stood together on many a hard fought field, and our swords have drunk the blood of worthy foes. Sometimes for a brief space we have been worsted, but never have we turned our backs except when hopelessly outnumbered. Generally I have led you on to victory, and, when we have returned to our women and our little ones, we have not come empty-handed from our enemies. I miss the faces of some who have fallen at my side, but it was the will of Allah, and we dare not question it, and there is no more glorious end than to die fighting for one's home and dear ones. I thank you for your courage and fidelity, and I charge you solemnly to yield the same to her on whom will soon devolve the headship of the tribe--my daughter Halima, whom you have known from the moment of her birth. Also to her husband, my dear son-in-law; and I take this opportunity of declaring that it was with my full consent and wish he married her, and of her own free choice. Yield him, therefore, the same unswerving confidence and obedience you have accorded me. He is worthy of it, and can, moreover, teach you many things unknown to you--new arts, by which you may defeat your enemies; new modes by which you may increase your wealth and comfort; new forms of pleasure for your leisure hours. Therefore, I say to you trust him and conform to his behests.

"You have heard me patiently, and now I ask you with my last breath--for you will see my face again no more--will you be true and faithful to my daughter and her husband, and serve them loyally as you have served me, even to laying down your lives, if it be necessary?"

There was a moment's silence, and then the assemblage shouted with one voice:--

"We will."

"Then swear it on your knees," resumed the Sheik. "Swear it in the presence of Allah, who knows all that is in your hearts, and will deal with you in the great hereafter according to your deeds, and will mete out a fearful punishment to the perjured traitor; swear that you will yield true and loyal service to my daughter and him who is her husband. They, in their turn, shall take the same oath to you."

He raised his arm, then moved it slowly downwards as a sign to them to kneel. The next moment, all were on their knees, the little children, who were too young to understand, being pressed down by their mothers. Then all the men stretched forth their hands to Halima and St. Just, and took this oath of fealty.

"We swear to take the Lady Halima as our ruler, and to be true and faithful to her and to her husband and to defend them against all adversaries while the breath is in our bodies. May Allah so deal with us, as we deal with them."

"It is well," said the Sheik, "I can die content."

When the people had regained their feet, he turned to Halima and St. Just.

"It is your turn, my children."

Then Halima laid her left hand on her father's shoulder, and St. Just moved to her side and took her other hand in his. Then, raising his right arm, he faced the multitude. Thus standing hand in hand--a handsome pair, forsooth, as every one confessed--under the broad, blue expanse, the sinking sun full in their faces, they swore to uphold the honor of the tribe, to be true and just in all their dealings with them, and to do their utmost to promote their welfare. It was St. Just alone who spoke on behalf of both.

When he had finished speaking, Halima bent her gaze downward on her father. He was motionless, his head had fallen forward, and his eyes were partly closed and void of all expression. An awful fear crept over her.

"My father! he has fainted," she exclaimed. "Ben Kerriman!"

The doctor stepped round from behind the Sheik, and placed his ear against the old man's heart; then, looking very grave, he removed his head and took a little mirror from his pocket, and placed it before the patient's lips. When he examined it, its surface was unsullied, its brightness was undimmed. Then Ben Kerriman faced the people, on whom the hush of an impending woe had settled, and raised his hand.

"My friends," he said, "Ben Ibrahim has joined his fathers."

*CHAPTER XX.*

The next day the old Sheik was laid to rest with his ancestors in the "Tombs of the Kings." At first Halima was inconsolable in her grief; but, from its very intensity, it soon spent itself, and her thoughts, from dwelling upon her father, reverted to herself.

She set herself, and in this she was ably seconded by her husband, to gain popularity in her new position; and, to say this, is to say that she succeeded, for her youth and beauty, her sweet temper and winning manners, and her kindness and generosity, compelled her retainers' enthusiastic loyalty, so that they almost worshiped her; also they admired and honored him.

Altogether she was in danger of being spoiled, for St. Just also yielded to her in everything and never sought to impose his will on her. Ben Kerriman, the old doctor, noted all this with regret, and one day remonstrated with St. Just.

"My son," he said, "you will pardon an old man for offering unsought advice; for you know my strong regard for the Lady Halima. But you let her have too much of her own way; it is not good for women to be independent. She should be taught, even more for her own sake than for yours, to control her wishes; she should not have everything she wants. I know her disposition well; she is generous and affectionate; but she is by nature dictatorial and ambitious, and filled with unsatisfied desires. And these qualities have become far more marked since her father's death. I foresee that, unless she be kept in hand, even should she gain the goal marked out by the late Sheik, and become Queen of Upper Egypt, she will not be content. What she has set her heart upon is to go to France and there to make a position for herself. Recollect, too, that she is half French; it was partly that, no doubt, that inclined her to yourself. It would be a terrible disappointment to us all, should she forsake her father's people."

St. Just thanked the old doctor for his kindly meant advice and promised seriously to consider it.

Strange to say, at that very time something was occurring that seemed to lend confirmation to the doctor's views of Halima's disposition. Soon after her father's death, she had chosen to consider herself slighted through the non-observance by a neighboring tribe of some trivial ceremony customary on the decease of a friendly Sheik; and St. Just had been surprised at the importance she had assigned to it and the temper she had shown. Since then, she had been continually urging him to invade their territory to chastise them. But he was unwilling to break the peace of the district, that had been so admirably kept by the old Sheik; and had, so far, held her back.

With a view of diverting her attention from the subject, he proposed that they should set about the recovery of the buried treasure; to his delight, she at once acceded to his suggestion. So he called together some of the elder members of the tribe--those with whom the old Sheik had been in the habit of taking counsel--and told them what he and Halima had resolved.

Accordingly, a party was formed, which, beside St. Just and Halima, consisted of six of the leading members of the tribe, Abdallah, Mahmoud and a guard of forty-five men.

St. Just had been surprised when Halima had announced her intention of accompanying the expedition, and had done his utmost to dissuade her; but she had been resolute to go, and, of course, had had her way.

So, early one morning, they set out. It was now three weeks since the old Sheik's death.

They traveled with all speed, but, for all that, it was nightfall when they reached the rocks that marked the entrance to the subterranean city. To explore it at that time could not be thought of, for all were more or less fatigued; so St. Just gave orders for the camels to be tethered and for the men to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, an impromptu tent being rigged up for Halima. Then fires were lighted, and a meal of stewed kid, supplemented with dates and rice, was prepared and duly eaten. This done, a watch was set, and the men disposed themselves to pass the night, each rolled up in his blanket. St. Just, before he retired to rest, walked through the camp, to see that all were settled and to give his last instructions to the sentry. Then he himself lay down just outside Halima's tent.

But, tired though he was, he could not sleep; his brain was busy with thoughts of the treasure the morrow would disclose--of what it would consist, its value, and all that it might lead to. He tried to put the thoughts away from him, for he longed to sleep; but, the more he tried, the more wakeful he became, and he tossed about from side to side, in the vain hope that, by changing his position, he would effect his purpose.

Presently the sound of a light footfall reached his ear, then some one behind him touched his arm. He started up and laid his hand upon his dagger, believing himself about to be attacked. Halima stood beside.

"You startled me, sweetheart," he exclaimed in muffled tones. "Is anything the matter; are you ill?"

"Hush! no," was her reply, and she put a finger to her lips, "but I want to talk to you, undisturbed. Everyone is now asleep."

She sat down beside him and drew her hood forward, so as to conceal her face. Then, "Henri," she resumed, "do you remember what I said in Cairo the night you pressed me to become your wife?"

"A good deal was said," he answered, "on that memorable occasion; but what is it that you wish me specially to recall?"

"This, that, instead of ending my life as I had intended, I said I would live for you and Buonaparte--for love--and vengeance--vengeance on my betrayer."

St. Just was roused; he had hoped Halima was forgetting this episode in her life, as he himself was striving hard to. The subject was abhorrent to him.

"My dear," he said, "why refer to this? I had hoped it was fading from your memory. We are happy in each other's love; why cherish revengeful thoughts that are impossible of accomplishment?"