For Love of a Bedouin Maid

"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."