CHAPTER IX

"_Love is one and the same in the original, but

there are a thousand copies of it, and, it may

be, all differing from one another_."

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

Ben Kelham, disguised as Rameses the Great, laid a hand upon the girl's

shoulder as, passing to the left of the tent, she walked slowly towards

the door leading to the grounds, whilst sounds of wrath came from the

serried ranks of those who wished to pry into the future.

The fortune-teller had sent word that there would be no more reading of

horoscopes or hands that evening, and had absented himself therewith

through a back entrance.

"You _have_ been a long time," said Ben Kelham. He looked magnificent

as the great Sestoris, who had stood well over six feet in the days of

Ancient Egypt. "What was the man telling you?"

Damaris was disturbed, and it was most unfortunate that, under the spur

of inquietude, he should have chosen just this occasion and this moment

to allow a hint of authority to creep into his voice and a shadow of

proprietorship to show in his actions.

"How do you know who I am?" parried the girl coldly, as she shrugged

the proprietory hand off her shoulder.

"Wellington gave you away. He followed your trail to the tent and sat

growling at everybody until I came along and removed him."

"I wish you would leave the dog alone," said Damaris, with a certain

amount of acerbity. "He is my custos."

"But that is not the kind of guardian you want, Damaris--you are too

beautiful, you know. Let us sit here; it's lovely and warm, and the

stars look just like diamonds, don't they?"

"I would rather walk," said Damaris, who was longing to sit down.

But she sat down when Ben Kelham took her by the elbow and led her to

the seat; and she sat quite still when he suddenly took both her hands.

"Oh! don't, Ben," she said, when he pulled them up against his heart.

"I can't stand any more to-night." And he, being over-slow in the

uptak', failed to catch her in this slip of the tongue.

"I want you for my wife, dear," was all he said.

Then Damaris pulled her hands away and, removing the yashmak, looked up

into his face, whilst he drew a breath sharply at the beauty of her.

"I love you so, dear! I'm a clumsy fool at speaking, but I could show

you how I love you. I want to marry you and take you right away home.

Do you know, I--I don't know how to explain it, but I--somehow feel you

are in danger out here. I--will you------?"

Damaris looked to the right and looked to the left, hesitated and chose

the middle path.

"I can't answer you now, Ben. I'm--I'm not sure about loving you, and,

of course, one can't marry without that on both sides, can one?"

Oh, the blessed little ignoramus!

"Besides," she added as an afterthought, "I'm so young, and so are you."

"Oh, Damaris! Surely you don't want to wait until you find someone

who's had lots of experience, which only means that he hasn't been

playing the game as far as his future wife is concerned and will come

to you like a ready-made suit returned from the cleaner's. The Kelhams

always marry young, and our brides are always very young. That's why,

I think, we're so strong and long-lived." He veered suddenly from the

mazy subject of eugenics and pleaded hard, persuasively, stubbornly.

But Damaris, just as stubbornly, shook her head.

"Besides, Ben, this is unexpected. I haven't seen anything of you

since I have been out; surely, if you love me so, you would have come

over more often to--to--prepare the way."

She unashamedly exposed her hurt, whilst the man inwardly called

himself every kind of a fool for having listened to another's voice

upon a subject as vital and tricky as love.

Still he urged and pleaded, being of those who, refusing to take No as

an answer, usually succeed in attaining their desire.

A wearisome process, but well worth while once in a lifetime, whatever

kind of a clutter those first cousins, obstinacy, stubbornness and

strong will cause you to accumulate about your feet at other times.

"I don't know enough to marry," persisted the girl. "I want to know

what love really is, first."

"Oh! but, dear, I can teach you all you want to know," replied the man,

in the customary all-sweeping manner of the male.

"But I want to know all about the different kinds."

"There are no different kinds, Damaris. There is only one sort."

"Then explain this to me."

It seemed that two months before the girl had left England, she had

found the tweeny, Lizzie Stitch by name, sobbing over the cinders in

her sitting-room grate. The besmirched little face, like a sodden

little pudding, had been covered with grimy hands, and the thin little

chest had heaved under the scanty cotton blouse and the stress of the

tale of betrayal and desertion.

"I didn't know, miss. I didn't do it purposelike for a lark. I did

think it was love, _real_ love what--what is h'always pardinned. Well,

miss, if you think it wise to force 'im, I'll do what you say, though

it's not about meself as I'm worrying; it's 'cause I must have a father

for the kid. I couldn't put it out, an' lose it, not h'ever so."

Then had come about a strange scene of transformation. Confronted by

Damaris with a riding-whip in one hand, a special license in the other,

and Wellington at her heels, the fox-faced young man had professed a

desire to marry the tweeny on the spot.

Then had been granted a seventh-heaven glimpse of what love, real love,

can be, to the tweeny maid, changing her into a veritable spitfire, who

had turned and rent the fox-faced youth.

"I wouldn't 'ave you, nohow, no, not if yer were the larst man on

earth, not 'alf I wouldn't. I'll get through my trouble, miss, all

right, an' by meself, thanking you kindly for troubling, an' I'll wait

until Mister Right comes along; that's what I'll do, Mister Runaway."

And when Mr. Runaway had hinted that Mr. Right might kick at being

called upon to shoulder the encumbrances of others, she had snatched

the special license from her young mistress, torn it into bits, flung

it into the foxy face and blazed into a big-hearted, big-minded,

all-understanding little tweeny maid of a woman.

"I said Mr. Right, didn't I, yer bloomin' chuckhead? 'E'll unnerstand

that it was all done in mistake, an' not by preference, so to speak.

An' unnerstandin', he'll forgive. Lots of them mistakes are made by

girls like me"--thumping of washed but still grimy hand above gallant

little heart--"through swipes like you. Life's full of 'em down our

way. But life's love, and love's life, and you can't get away from

that, that yer can't. And I'd raver die wiv my love shut up

'ere"--more thumps above gallant little heart--"than throw it away on a

louse like you, _that_ I would, not 'arf!"

Ben Kelham said nothing, and there fell a silence between the two,

though the Egyptian night was as full of noise as it ever is in the big

cities of the East.

"What did she mean, Ben," said Damaris at last, "by that love which

understanding can forgive even--even _her_ trouble?"

And to Ben Kelham came the tweeny's seventh-heaven glimpse of the

understanding of real love.

He rose and swept Damaris, a-thrill at the mastery, into his arms,

where he held her as he might have held a child.

"That, dear,"--and he spoke choosing the simplest words, just because

he knew no others, "that means that if you said you loved me, and I--if

I ever found you in a--how shall I put it?--in--no matter how

compromising a situation--that I should love you just the same, because

I should know that, although to all appearances you--you might have

sinned, yet the real you, the pure, honourable, perfect woman in you,

could not show the smallest stain. Do you understand?"

"Almost," whispered the girl, as she lay still in the arms that held

her as a child.

"You've _got_ to understand. Listen! It may sound brutal, but you've

got to understand my love for you. Supposing you disappeared, as

Englishwomen do sometimes in the East. Supposing I searched, and found

you, and you--you were--you were like the little tweeny girl. What

should I do? Why, Damaris, unless you came to me and confessed to sin,

I'd marry you, loving you, understanding you, without asking any

questions."

"Without asking any explanation?"

"Yes, dear. Yes. Because I love you----"

"And you would forgive me?"

"But, dear, there wouldn't be any need for forgiveness; the real, pure

you would not have done anything wrong."

Then he blundered.

Like most big men, he was diffident; he underestimated the attraction

of his strength allied to a very gentle courtesy; in fact, bound up in

his love for Damaris, he had never given it a thought excepting to

curse the awkwardness of his body and the slowness of his speech. He

knew nothing of the honesty which looked out of the eyes; the quiet

strength of his movements and speech; the feeling of confidence he

inspired.

He was not given to self-analysis; he loved the sun in the heavens, the

grass under foot and the traditions of his house too much to waste time

on that kind of thing.

So that, fearing to have hurt the girl or bored the girl, he plumped

her on her feet, when he could have won her and saved her and others,

including himself, a mint of pain if he had only just crushed her up to

his heart and kissed her.

She stood quite still, with that dazed little feeling which falls upon

one who has entered the wrong room.

"I'm not going to bother you any more, dear," he said, watching for the

flash of relief which did not cross the beautiful face.

"What are you going to do?"

"There has come a report of lion somewhere near Karnak. I think I

shall run down and have a look round. I thought of going on to Nairobi

once I was really fit, so have got all my shooting gear with me. But,

remember, you have only to send for me, and I will come. And don't try

to run away, Damaris." And his voice was stern as he took her by the

shoulders and drew her towards him. "You are mine! I'm letting you go

now because you want to learn about life, and that you can't do if you

have a man always on your heels. You will learn all right, dear, and

suffer a bit, dear, but you will come to me in the end.

"I can't offer you the witchery and colouring and poetry of the East,

but I do offer you the biggest love there has ever been in a man's

heart for a woman and------"

A troupe of riotous guests came streaming down the path.

"One o'clock!" they shouted. "One o'clock. Masks off; masks off!"

The two walked slowly towards them.

"You _would_ like a lion's skin, wouldn't you?" he asked eagerly, and

stared amazed at the reproachful, hurt eyes which looked back at him

just as the dancers swooped upon her.

A lion's skin! When she was craving for the strength of his arms about

her, and the tower of his love behind her, from the top of which she

could safely make monkey-faces of derision at Life, standing with

lesson-books in one hand and a cane in the other.

She turned her back on him and entered the ballroom, and he went back

to the seat in the garden, unconscious of the woman who watched.

And as the merry little crowd ran laughing into the hotel, the duchess,

with mind intent on a cigarette, slipped out of another door and

hurried as fast as her outrageous heels would allow her to a seat under

the date-palms.

She took a Three Castles from the jewelled Louis XV snuff-box, rasped a

match on the sole of one little crimson shoe, lit her cigarette, and

studied the slipper.

Then she turned her head and saw a man, an Arab, standing beside the

seat.

There had been no sound; just out of the dark he had suddenly

materialised in the startling, silent way of the East.

Well does it behove us to remember that we have claimed the privilege

of giving lessons in morality, culture, good-breeding, manners, in

fact, in one word, civilisation to the world at large.

In the glaring sun of an Eastern mid-day you can sit with your feet

figuratively or literally on the table, if it pleases you; it will but

be accounted as one more eccentricity unto you; but in the shadows, an'

you would retain the position of teacher to the world at large, keep

the heels on the rail of your chair; for there are ears and eyes a-many

in the shadows and behind the silken curtain.

But it took a good deal more than the sudden appearance of a native to

make the old lady start.

She put out her cigarette with the toe of a red shoe, took another from

the snuff-box, rasped a match--not on the sole of her foot this

time--lit the fragrant weed and looked at the man, who salaamed.

"Yes?" she said courteously.

"I am the fortune-teller, great lady. In the sand, by the stars, or

the lines of your jewelled hand, if in your graciousness you will

permit me, I will tell you your future."

"My son, behold. I am near the sunset, the moment approaches when my

tired feet will advance still further upon the bridge which leadeth me

to my God and your God. What is past I know; what is, _is_; what is to

be, is so near that, behold, sometimes in the stillness of the night I

hear the angels whispering as they take counsel as to the moment when,

one shall tap me upon the shoulder, saying, 'Come!'"

He sank to the ground just at her feet and looked up in the splendid

old face with an agony of hurt born of misunderstanding in his own, so

that, suddenly realising that her refusal had been taken for antipathy,

she stretched out her hand, which, having first pulled a corner of his

white mantle between, he held upon the back of his own.

"Tell me, then, of those I love."

The fortune-teller looked her straight in the face.

"Thy hands are full of love-flowers, white woman; thy head is crowned

with them; thy feet pass upon them; thou art all love. Yea! even

though there are many upon the bridge who, having preceded thee, await

thy coming, yet art thou surrounded with love. And in the flowers in

thy hands is there one which thou cherishest, and for which thou

fearest.

"Fear not, wise woman; let thy heart beat tranquilly at dawn, at noon

and at the setting of the sun; for it is written that no harm shall

befall the flower, no stain shall mark the ivory petals of innocence;

no rude hand pluck it before its time. Thou art not the only one to

love the flower, wise woman. There is one also who loveth it and

watcheth it and will pluck it in due season; there is yet another who

loveth and watcheth, but from a great, great distance. If by the grace

of Allah, who is God, the flower should be placed even for the passing

of an hour within the hands of him who watcheth from afar, I tell thee,

for so it is written, fear not, for no harm shall befall the fragrant

blossom."

The old woman nodded her head so that the diamond leaves glistened, and

smiled gently and lifting her hand pulled aside the corner of the

mantle, and laid her hand again on his.

"Nay, touch me not, for fear I shall pollute thee, thou woman of one

great race; thou descendant of one unbroken line; thou noble with

unblemished shield."

Then she leant right forward, and laid both hands upon his shoulders.

"My son, my son, perchance could a very wise, very old woman help thee

in thy stress, for behold, she understands all things, having herself

passed through the troubled waters of life."

The fortune-teller shook his head as he gripped the little hands upon

his shoulders.

"For me there is no help, wise, all-loving woman. But she who loves

me, she whom I love and for whom I would die, even breaks her heart

through me, her first-born, in my desert home. Her beautiful eyes are

full of tears, she lifts not her head, and my father, whom I honour, is

far from her in her stress. Perchance in the golden mint of thy heart

hast thou a few coins of patience, wisdom and love to spare."

As the old woman got slowly to her feet, the man sprang up beside her.

"My son, though thou drainest a fortune from the mint of Love at dawn,

yet is it still there at eventide," she whispered as she raised her

jewelled hand to his shoulders and pulled him down towards her. "My

son, thou art my son, and I have faith in and a great love for thee and

thine."

And she kissed him upon the forehead, whilst the tears stood in her

eyes, and turned towards the house, without noticing a man and a woman

sitting in the shadows at the far side of the grounds.

For the woman who watched was Zulannah the harlot, who had gained an

easy admission under the secrecy of her veils and the potency of

backschish.

And as Ben Kelham had sat down, she had crept quietly from behind the

palms to stand, a shimmering bundle of silks and satins, in front of

the man who looked up in annoyance, and then smiled.

You really couldn't be rude to anything so tantalisingly beautiful,

especially when the lady of your choice has just shown a certain

lamentable want of appreciation in regard to your person and

propositions.

"It's one o'clock, fair lady; you must unmask."

And he uttered a cry of astonishment.

Zulannah had lifted her veil.

And the moments sped as she wove the golden web of beauty and desire

and love, into which, however, the clumsy fly refused to be enticed.

But Ben Kelham, for all his slowness, was no fool, and understanding

that the woman was offering him something outside her usual wares, and

understanding also the danger of rousing the wrath of such a woman, he

dealt with the matter as delicately as he could.

"--Come but once to my entertainments," she urged. "My girls shall

dance for thee, my animals fight for thee."

The man shuddered, sick to the soul at the thought of the means by

which this woman enslaved her suitors.

"Am I not beautiful?" she added.

She made her last bid; she stepped back into the moonlight and unwound

her veils from about her, standing, palpitating, trembling under the

possession of her strange love.

Beautiful! She was a dream--yet beside her beauty the pure loveliness

of Damaris Hethencourt would have shown like the work of an Old Master

beside a coarse copy.

But what will you?

Some like the snow-peaks and some the stretching plain; others the

turbulent ocean, and yet others the farmyard with its rural sights and

sounds. Thank goodness for it! Just imagine the lamentation

throughout the world if love, like the _couturière_ set fashions for

the seasons!

"Love dictates that women, this season, shall resemble the dazzling

peaks of the Himalayas."

And we looking as the majority of us _do_ look!

Not that we should really be downhearted about it. Not a bit. Only

let the decree go forth, and every one of us, at the end of a week or

so, would by hook or by crook have acquired a distinctly peak-like

appearance.

But Kelham looked up, looked long, and smiled.

"You _are_ beautiful--very beautiful--the most beautiful woman I have

seen--save one."

Zulannah recognised her defeat and in a whirl of rage and scented veils

disappeared through the _talik_ palms.

And, arrived at her house, she stormed through court and rooms and down

to the bottom of the scented garden, leaving a trail of terror-stricken

servants lying face downwards in her wake.

She leant over the marble balustrade and looked down into the huge pit

with marble walls and sanded floor. All around it were cages in which

were confined great beasts; and alcoves in which she and her guests,

behind iron bars, would sit, when sated with love and feasting, to

watch the animals fight to the death.

Then she ran quickly down the flight of marble steps, and clapped her

hands.

From some dark corner a shape came running, ambling like some gigantic

ape, maintaining an upright position by means of an occasional thrust

at the ground with the knuckles of the left hand. The small eyes in

his large head blinked craftily at the beautiful woman--its own mate

being well-nigh as simian as itself--; it shuffled on its huge feet and

pulled at its gaudy raiment with abnormally long fingers. The

monstrosity had been nicknamed "Bes," after the monstrous dwarf god of

Ancient Egypt, by someone--the nationality of whom is of no

account--who had balanced the ardour of his studies with hours of

leisure in the bazaar. The beasts, aroused doubtlessly by the scent of

the thing which brought them meat, roared and flung themselves against

the bars of the cage.

They were half-starved.

Unlike most of her class, Zulannah was mean. She was a niggard in

things which did not concern herself.

So that, to feed his numerous progeny of repulsive simian shape, the

keeper of the cages starved the beasts. Not that Zulannah cared one

iota for their hunger or suffering; it made them fight the merrier for

a bit of meat.

And she sat in her ebony chair close to the bars, with a brazier beside

her, and laughed delightedly as the liberated lion flung itself at the

cages in which roared its wretched brethren.

And then the great beast stopped suddenly in the middle of the den,

growling softly, snuffing the air. Then, with heartrending roar hurled

itself straight at the bars behind which she sat.

Was she afraid? Not one bit. She was behind the bars. She laughed

aloud and clapped her hands, standing just out of reach of the paw

which tried to reach her.

Back across the sand rushed the animal, and then with all its might

crashed against the barrier.

A look of horror swept the woman's face--the middle bar had bent. She

sensed her danger, but kept her nerve. Without hesitating, she turned

to the brazier at her side, carefully selected a handle well wrapped

about, and, turning again swiftly, thrust the red-hot point down the

lion's maw.

'Twere best not to describe the rest of the awful scene in which a

woman safe behind bars clapped her hands over the pain she had caused.

But is it surprising that Zulannah's enemies were legion?