CHAPTER IX.The sun had all but vanished below the horizon; in its departure lighting up the almost cloudless heavens with masses and streaks and rays of every hue from blood red to golden yellow—Nature's glorious tints, to be seen in their fullest beauty only in the East. But the beauty of this particular sunset no one witnessed; for taking a trio of palm trees set in a little patch of vegetation, as the point of vision, an observer placed there would have looked in vain, North, South, East and West for the slightest sign of life. In every direction for leagues upon leagues, as far as the eye could travel was the boundless desert. Not a single object broke the dead level of the sand. The solitude was supreme, the silence awful. Presently, when the sun was on the point of sinking out of sight, a little breath of wind from the direction of the waning light sprang up, sending a shiver through the palm plumes aloft, and rustling the herbage at their base; the deadly stillness was at an end.Then, if the imaginary watcher by the palm trees had looked North, he would have noticed a little cloud upon the level plain; next a blurred mass of something. Gradually he would have seen this something expand and develop, until, finally, it took form in the shape of a troop of horsemen. On they came, a company of from thirty to forty, shaping their course for the little oasis about the palm trees, the eagerly sought mark of a resting place for the tired traveler and his beast, where the former hopes he will obtain both food and water.Ten minutes later, they had reached their goal. Both men and horses were covered with dust and sweat, and were dropping with fatigue; and it was plain that they had traveled far and fast. Then, at the word of command, each man dismounted and began to water his horse, before attending to his own requirements. The man who gave the order, the reader has met before. He was St. Just; he was on the mission to the sheik with which General Buonaparte had entrusted him, and he expected in a few days to accomplish it.He vaulted from his saddle; then, having unstrapped his cloak, he patted the neck of the grey stallion lovingly, for the good horse had carried him many a weary mile right gallantly. Then he glanced, with a laugh, at his dusty uniform. It was frayed and torn and soiled; yet he wore it with a glow of pride; for was it not the visible sign of his fellowship with that brave army which had proved itself invincible, and was still adding to the glory and the possessions of his country?Be sure that he first attended to his gallant charger's wants. Then he went round among his men to see that they had looked properly to theirs. This duty performed, he sat down to eat his lonely supper; for lonely he was, his only companions being his Arab escort, with whom, though they were friendly, he had naught in common.When he had finished his scanty meal, he seated himself at the foot of one of the palms, set light to his pipe, and gave himself up to thought. It was now six weeks since he had started on this mission. He cursed the luck that had deprived him of the presence of his lady love and, at the same time, of gaining glory in the field of battle under Buonaparte. Was he never to have the same chance as had his brothers in arms of winning renown? He wondered what they were doing at that moment, and what was Halima; was she thinking of him?Though it was irksome and fatiguing, he had not found desert life altogether uneventful; the various difficulties and dangers he had encountered on his journey had prevented that; for instance, on one occasion, owing to the lowness of the Nile, the boat, in which he and some of his men were crossing, had been stranded for hours upon a shoal, and they had been in imminent danger of being drowned. Another time, they had drifted on the rocks at one of the great cataracts, a boat had been dashed to pieces and ten of his followers drowned. Then they had marched for days, without getting to any place where they could purchase remounts; so that, at last, their horses had become so utterly exhausted that they had had to rest for several days to recruit, before proceeding. Besides this, repeated dashes had been made upon them by marauding Arabs they had fallen in with by the way. Thus his original fifty men had been reduced by one mishap and another to thirty-five; and the sullen indifference of these, and his fears of treachery on their part, sorely tried his temper and filled him with anxiety. Further, he was beginning to feel much solicitude about the outcome of his mission; for he was now nearing his journey's end, and expected to make his destination in a day or two.Altogether he was in no happy frame of mind on that November night, while he sat silent in that desolate waste, with his eyes fixed on the glowing embers of the fire, listening drowsily to the movements of the tethered animals and the monotonous tramp of the sentry on the sand hill just above him. Presently he shivered and drew his cloak more closely round him. Then, gradually, his head sank and soon, with the remainder of the camp, he slept.* * * * *The hours wore on. Meanwhile the solitary watcher paced up and down upon his beat, scanning the Eastern sky intently for the first signs of coming day. In his eagerness, he halted for several minutes, and fixed his eyes upon the quarter in which the sun would rise. In his preoccupation, he failed to notice what the camels stretched below him did, that a body of horsemen about a hundred and fifty strong were approaching from the West. The sand muffled the sound of their horses' hoofs. But one old camel heard it; like the veritable desert warrior he was, he raised his head and snorted loudly. At this, the musing sentinel turned round. Too late he saw their danger; the horde was sweeping down, in a rapidly converging semicircle, upon the sleeping camp. It was his last sight on earth; a shot rang out upon the air, and he fell upon his face, struck dead. The next moment, with a resounding yell, the hostile Arabs dashed upon the sleepers.The shot that slew the sentry roused St. Just; he sprang to his feet and rushed to his horse. Two or three others did the same and, mounting, galloped off into the darkness, a hailstorm of bullets in their wake. One of these grazed the gray stallion and made him restless, so that he would not stand for St. Just to mount him. While he was still striving to effect his purpose, the enemy came pouring into the camp on every side, ruthlessly slaying St. Just's half-awakened escort. One of the assailants, seeing by the moonlight St. Just's white face, uttered a cry of joy and threw over his head a noose, then drew him backwards suddenly and sent him to the ground, with a crash that momentarily stunned him. When he came to himself, which he quickly did, he found that he was being searched from head to foot; the noose was tightly bound about his chest, confining his arms behind his back, thus rendering him wholly incapable of resistance. Watch, money, knife, sword, pistol—and, worst of all, his despatches were being passed from hand to hand amidst cries and yells from the crowd around him. One thing only escaped their notice, and that was his darling's locket.Presently a tall man with a coal black beard came up and spoke to him in French. "Are you not he that rode the gray horse at the battle of Embabe?""I am," replied St. Just, expecting that, there and then, an end would be put to his existence."I was sure of it," muttered his interlocutor; then turned to his followers and said something in Arabic that St. Just failed to catch, but it stirred them greatly, for instantly arose a hoarse murmur of anger and disappointment. The man who seemed to be their leader, quieted them by raising his hand, as would a huntsman to his hounds, saying, at the same time, "I will it." Then returned again to St. Just, who, having regained his composure, thus addressed him."Kill me, if you will; but I pray you forward my despatches to him to whom they are addressed. One of them is a letter from a daughter to her father. Have pity upon his gray hairs, if you have none for me.""That is for the Chief to say," retorted the bearded man. "March!" he wound up.In obedience to the order, St. Just set out. Oh, the torture that followed when, at the will of his savage captors, he was compelled by the stress of the rope, though he was on foot, to keep up with his mounted escort, and all the while his chest so confined by his bonds that he could not breath freely. When he lagged, he was urged on and dragged forward with the rope. And, meanwhile, he had the mortification of seeing his own gray horse bestridden by the bearded warrior.At last, after ten hours of this misery, they came in sight of the Nile, on whose bank, under the shadow of overhanging rocks, was pitched what was evidently the temporary encampment of the tribe.The squadron halted and were immediately surrounded by a crowd of women and children and barking dogs, who indiscriminately greeted the returning warriors. Looking about him from the spot where he lay guarded by four men, who regarded him with no friendly eye, St. Just noted that most of the tents had been struck and that, before his arrival, active preparations had been made for a move; also that the main body were eagerly questioning his captors, who, in reply, vociferated loudly and pointed at him with lively gesticulations. Such was the babel of sounds around him, that he could make nothing of their conversation, and, indeed, was in no condition to try, worn out, as he was, in mind and body. He lay in the shadow of a camel, where he had thrown himself upon his arrival, and, at last, he fell asleep.When he awoke, it was dusk, and, while he yet struggled between sleeping and waking, his guards came to him and dragged him to his feet; then drove him unceremoniously towards the pile of rocks. Here, in their shadow, squatting in dignified silence around a fire in front of a large tent, were from ten to twenty aged men—apparently the counsellors of the camp. St. Just was placed in the center, near the fire, whose strong light was shed upon his features, immediately facing the opening of the tent, where he could just make out the form of some one seated. At this juncture, a little breeze sprang up, fanning the fire into greater brightness; so that St. Just could now discern the features of those about him. Seated within three feet of him upon a square carpet, was one of the oldest men he had ever seen. His beard was white as snow, and so long that it swept the ground in front of him. It was impossible to guess his age, for, save for his eyes, which sparkled brightly, he looked like a living corpse.So soon as St. Just was placed before him, the old man spoke: "Let him be unbound, but guarded."Immediately some one behind him cut the rope, and St. Just knew that he was free. After gazing at him for a moment, the old man called, "Ben Idherim!"Out of the throng there strode the man who had been leader of the band that had captured St. Just, and, forthwith, he told how he had swooped down upon the camp; accompanying his recital with expressive gestures. St. Just looked on unmoved while, one by one, to lend vraisemblance to the tale, the articles that had been found on him were handed round the circle of impassive listeners. Finally Idherim produced the despatches and was about to hand them also round, when St. Just broke silence."Sirs, as I said to him who has just spoken, kill me if you will, but send on my despatches."The old chief, who, since the sentence recorded of him, had not spoken, and seemed to have sunk into a stupor, merely nodding his head occasionally when some point in his lieutenant's speech gained his approval, now looked up and fixed his eyes upon St. Just, who stood there pale, travel-stained and weary, but fearless and almost defiant. "Why so; what would you?" he inquired."Sir, one is my general's letter to a chief to whom I was journeying, when stopped, and the other is from the chief's daughter telling of her safety. Again I say, I ask not for my life. Do with me what you will. All I pray is that both letters may be sent on; the one, that my General may know me to be faithful; the other, that a father may have tidings of his daughter."The old man's reply was short and sharp. "Give me the letters." They were handed to him, and then, to the surprise of the young Frenchman, he broke the seals and began to read them.At this moment, a man came out of the darkness and sat down by the chief's side; plainly he was on intimate terms with him. At first, St. Just regarded him idly, out of mere curiosity; then, as though in a dream, the present scene was blotted out, and he saw himself again in Cairo, and in front of him was a house, and from that house came forth a man bearing a woman on his shoulder. Quick as lightning did this scene flash across him, and as quickly did it pass, and he was once more in the present. Forgetting his position as a captive, and with the cry of "Yusuf!" on his lips, he sprang forward and made a rush at the new comer.Instantly the latter started to his feet. In a moment he had recognized the speaker, and, drawing a pistol, he fired point blank at the French officer. The bullet whizzed past his head and flattened itself against the rock behind him.At a word from the chief, four men sprang up and seized the would-be assassin and bore him out of sight. This done, the old man thus addressed his counsellors. "Yusuf, because he is my nephew, have I spared; but for that, he would have died; first, because he deserted my daughter the lady Halima, when the invaders came; secondly, because he has outraged justice by firing upon a prisoner undergoing trial. For this I have decreed that Yusuf be banished from our tribe for ever."A murmur of approbation went round the circle. The chief continuing, addressed St. Just, "As to you, know that I am him you seek; and this is my answer to your General's letter. For myself and on behalf of my tribe, I refuse to accede to his request. No bribes or promises shall make me turn my arms against my country. Yet, because he has spared my daughter, will I stand aloof; I will take no part against him. You can tell him this, if you live to see him. But the chances are against you, for you, a messenger of peace, have fired upon my tribe."The venerable gentleman forgot to state that his people began the firing; possibly, in the one-sided view he took, he overlooked it. "For this," he went on, "justice demands that there shall be shot for shot; accordingly, you will take your stand on the top of yonder rock, and ten of the youngest of the camp children of those able to bear arms, shall fire a shot each at you. If you survive, then shall you go free. As I have said, so let it be."He ceased speaking, whereupon the circle broke up, and all took up a position in front of the tent.Now, the distance from the rock to the tent was but forty yards, and the rock itself, on the top of which St. Just soon found himself, tied so that he could not move, was about twenty feet high by only two feet broad. And here he stood, looking down upon the scene upon which the silvery moonbeams fell, waiting for the death he felt was close upon him. Outwardly he was calm, for he had faced death too often to display fear of it; but a tumult raged within his breast. It was hard to die so young, and, for an instant, such anguish took possession of him that, but that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, he would have pleaded for mercy; but, the next moment, the word 'Courage' was whispered in his ear, and the voice that whispered it was Halima's. Doubtless this was the result of imagination acting on an overwrought mind, but it steadied him, and his failing heart revived.The next instant, there was a flash, followed by the ping of a bullet, and the report of a gun echoing among the rocks. A voice below counted "One," in Arabic; then there was a pause. The bullet had missed. The second, aimed better, grazed his ear. The third passed through the fleshy part of his shoulder and buried itself in the stake behind him. The fourth and fifth shots hit the rock at his feet; and the sixth passed through the rope that bound him, almost severing it. The seventh, eighth and ninth flew wide. After that, there was a long pause.Presently the Frenchman heard a howl of exultation, and a tall, graceful youth took his place in front of the living target, resting his weapon on the ground, with the air of a practiced marksman. From where he stood, St. Just could see the youngster's black eyes twinkling with joy, while he glanced along the barrel; for was he not the best shot of the tribe, and his aim deadly? A second's pause, then, carefully pressing the trigger, the marksman fired.St. Just felt as though a hot iron had seared his side, and he knew that he was hit. Unconsciously, he bounded into the air with the shock; thereby bursting the already half severed rope. Then, falling over and over, he landed, not on the ground, but on a projecting corner where he was held suspended by his tunic.When he recovered consciousness, he found himself lying in a tent, and by him was the Sheik, holding in his hand the locket of Halima, the case deeply dented with a bullet mark."But for this, you would have died," exclaimed the Sheik. "Further had I read the whole of my daughter's letter, Yusuf would have taken your place. Now, rest yourself, assured that you have the friendship of one who is strong to help alike in hate and love."On the morrow St. Just lay unconscious in a raging fever.CHAPTER X.But what of the Lady Halima, who had not seen her lover, or had any tidings of him for six weary weeks?At the very moment when St. Just was undergoing his fearful ordeal on the rock, she was wandering restlessly, feverishly, about her own apartments, her thoughts wholly occupied with him. Indeed, ever since they had been parted, she had thought of little else. But, whereas, generally, her reflections, though she felt saddened by his absence, were tinged with pleasure at the thought of his handsome face and form, his bravery, his return to her with credit to himself for the successful performance of his mission; to-night they were full of gloom. She had a presentiment, she strove in vain to dissipate, that her beloved was in the direst peril. She was endowed with a more than ordinary share of that faculty which places us en rapport with those with whom we have a strong affinity; so that, even when separated by thousands of miles from those we love, we feel, rather than know, that misfortune is overtaking them.And so it was that Halima; convinced of her lover's danger and her helplessness to avert it, she paced up and down the room wringing her hands, the tears trickling down her cheeks, and continually crying, "Oh! Henri, Henri, what is it that is happening to you, my love? My heart tells me that you are in dreadful peril; and I—I am powerless. Oh! why did you leave me?"At the thought that she would never see him more, Halima became so overcome that she burst into a flood of weeping and sank upon a divan, burying her fair face in its cushions. And thus, somewhat later, she was found by Buonaparte, who, since his aide-de-camp's departure had been a not infrequent visitor. Unheard by her, he entered the room, wrapped in an ample cloak, and silently approached her side; then, with arms folded, stood looking down upon her.Feeling intuitively that she was not alone, Halima raised her tear-stained face, and her eyes fell on the General. She gave a little start, then feebly tried to smile. Buonaparte dropped his cloak and seated himself upon the cushions by her side."What ails you, fairest one?" he asked. "Why this grief? I would come to see you oftener, but my leisure hours are few, so that I cannot visit you so often as I would. Come, pretty one, dry those tears, and tell me what it is that troubles you."Now Halima, having known Buonaparte for hard on two months, had learned something of his disposition; and she feared to tell him that she loved St. Just. So, bringing her feelings under some control, she answered, "Alas, Sir, I wept, because the memory came back to me that I had annoyed you, when, wishing to amuse, I pretended to forecast your future. But indeed, General, I was not serious; and, surely, you did not so take me."If she thought that by this speech she had cleverly put him off the scent of her real sentiments, she mistook her man. He tapped the floor impatiently with his foot and answered fretfully, "Tut, tut, that is all past and gone. It cannot be that which troubles you. Is it not rather the absence of the handsome Captain? By my soul, I am greatly in his debt for introducing me to so fair a flower." And he looked ardently at Halima.Now, when a victorious General, and, moreover, a youthful one, lays himself out to captivate a woman, she feels flattered by his notice, and he rarely fails. The present instance was no exception to the rule, for a smile broke out on the fair lady's face, and she gave him a glance that told even more than words."But fret not for him," Buonaparte went on; "he is not worth your tears; forecast his future, as you profess you can, and you will see that it is so. Even I am seer enough to tell, without the aid of magic bowls, what he is doing. I know what my young officers are, and he is no exception. Doubtless he is at this moment flirting with some dusky beauty on the banks of the Nile, while his men are resting for the night."Then he leaned back in his seat to see how she would take his reflections on her lover's want of constancy; at the same time he was furtively casting his eyes in his cold, calculating way, upon her charms; though, apparently examining his hands, of whose delicate whiteness he was inordinately vain.But the way that she received his words astonished him. Indignant at his sneering accents, stung by the suggestion that any other woman could take her place in St. Just's affections, her jealousy aflame at the thought that perhaps there was some truth in it, and anxious to defend the absent one, she threw prudence to the winds, and gave her feelings play.Springing from the divan, she turned and faced the General, her eyes flashing with the scorn and anger he had enkindled."If all men were as you suppose," she cried, "then should I pity women. But it is not so. To seek to make me jealous by hinting that the man I love—yes, I love him, and I glory in it—and shall love so long as I draw breath, has forgotten me and is dallying with another woman, is unworthy of the conqueror of Egypt. You have dared me to peer into the future, to learn my lover's doings and his fate. I fearlessly accept your challenge. Doubtless I shall find that many dangers will beset him, for, in these perilous times, it can scarce be otherwise; but, be that as it may, of this I am well assured, that, whatever the future has in store for him, in the end, he will be more fortunate than yourself, who, though you will rise to the highest point of human greatness, will not retain it—not even the freedom of the humblest subaltern in your army. Your insatiable ambition will prove your fall. Now you know my feelings towards Henri St. Just. I had meant to keep my secret. But what I feel for him can be of no consequence to you; and I am sure you will not let it prejudice him. But if I thought that you would harm him, I would this instant bid you begone, and would look upon your face no more. And, had I ever feared you on his account, this city weeks ago would have no longer held us, for you would have been no more, and I should have fled with my lover to the desert. But now to read his fate."And she turned from him and began to make her preparations for diving into the unseen.Now, although what she had said had sunk deep into his breast and rankled there, Buonaparte did net suffer his resentment and his wounded pride to show upon the surface. But he stored it up against her, adding it to the grievance of her previous forecast of his future. He meant to make this woman his, and his anger made him all the more determined; but the fruit was not yet ripe for plucking, albeit it was maturing fast. Clever actor as he was, there were few better able to disguise their feelings. He broke into a little laugh and then replied:—"I crave your pardon, gentle lady;" he laughed to himself at the irony of the epithet; "in that unconsciously I have angered you. I little thought that my soldier's badinage would have let loose so impetuous a torrent of wrath from the lips of so beauteous a creature. Happy St. Just to have such a champion. But one thing I have to urge in my excuse; I knew not that he was so favored, for you had never let fall a word to that intent. Forgive me then, fair Halima; I will not so offend again." Then, after a short pause, during which he watched her movements, he resumed, "well, is the magic bowl in order? I would see how far the outcome of your incantations will give the lie to my jesting prophecy."The preparations had given the girl the time and opportunity for regaining her self-control and recognizing the folly of making an enemy of Buonaparte. She laughed gayly; then placed the crystal bowl upon a table near the divan and, as on the former occasion, dropped some of the mysterious fluid into it."Now it is ready," she said.Eagerly both craned their necks forward over the bowl and gazed intently into the clear black fluid.At first, nothing was to be seen; then, gradually, in the depths of the fluid could be discerned the outline of a rock, which, by degrees, became more and more distinct. Then it was seen that on the summit of it was a figure made fast to a stake. Next an Arab came in sight, and he leveled a matchlock at the captive man, who was standing with head bent low upon his breast. There was a puff of smoke; the human target bounded up in the air, then fell headlong from the rock and into space, disclosing in his fall the features of St. Just!At this, Halima removed her gaze and uttered a piercing shriek; the spell was broken, the picture vanished; nothing but the smoke-black surface of the liquid in the bowl remained.Then, "Mon Dieu!" she cried, "it cannot be; it must be false;" and, with that, fell fainting at the feet of Buonaparte.For the moment, he also was staggered by the vision; but his bewilderment did not last long. He broke into an unpleasant laugh, and turned his gaze on the unconscious girl. "True, or not, it is as marvelous as it is unaccountable. As for St. Just, I am persuaded he is dead. I am sorry, for he was a good officer, and he saved my life. I wish I had not sent him on this mission."For a few seconds, he felt a touch of genuine regret, not unmixed with remorse, and the feeling showed itself in his usually impassive face.Then, a glance at the unconscious girl turned his thoughts into a fresh channel. Bah! regrets were vain and childish; St. Just was gone; 'twas a pity; but the girl remained and no one now stood between her and him.He turned his attention to her, and, by dint of fanning her and sprinkling her with water, in a short time he was rewarded by seeing her languidly unclose her eyes in returning consciousness. He now raised her from the ground, and placed her on the divan. At first her eyes wandered vaguely round the room, as though in search of something that she missed. As yet, memory had not returned; but the blessing of forgetfulness was not granted her for long; soon she knew all that had occurred, and with the knowledge, she burst into a flood of tears.Buonaparte made no attempt to restrain her sobs; he knew her weeping would be the sooner over, if unchecked until it had spent its force. He sat beside her, watching her in silence. Gradually the heaving became slower and more regular in its movements; the sobs less frequent; the tears, instead of streaming down her cheeks, now came only in odd drops, and presently, with a long-drawn sigh, they ceased.Then Buonaparte gazed tenderly into the liquid depths of the glistening eyes, and took one of her little hands in his. Forgotten was his own charming wife in distant Paris, in the fascination of the little Arab beauty, and, bending over her, he murmured in the thrilling tone he well knew how to use as often as occasion served, "Dear heart, let me console you. To regret is weak, is useless; it will not bring him back. You may think me hard and cruel; but be advised by me, when I tell you that the easiest way to solace one's self for a lover's loss is to install another in his place. Come then to me, and I will teach you so to love, that you will say that all your previous experiences were but a parody of the passion."He spoke with such ardor that she could not but be moved. Still, she shook her head petulantly, but she did not withdraw her hand, and her glance showed no displeasure. And so, for a short time, they sat in silence, Buonaparte still holding her hand, and fearing to break the spell by speaking.His patience was rewarded, for, presently, she spoke in a voice that trembled slightly, but still was clear and sweet, and her eyes were turned on him, in such wise that he felt himself bewitched and consumed try his desire."If I could have absolute faith in what my eyes have seen this night," she said, "I would consider your proposal, which, in your position, is most flattering; for I know that you will rise—aye faster than has risen any other man before. And those who join themselves with you will rise with you. See," she continued, getting up and walking to the open window. She flung open the lattice and, pointing to one of the many stars with which the sky was studded, "Right over your head you behold yon star. It is the star that rules your destiny. Each one of us in coming into this world has his particular star that brightens with his rise, with his fall, and dies with him. But the majority of persons are so commonplace and unimportant that their stars are so small as to be invisible. It is only the great ones of the earth whose stars can be observed. My mother told me that it is the same in her country—France—that, when a star is seen falling from the sky, some soul is quitting its earthly tenement."Mark well your star and watch its varying brilliancy, and, when you see that lessening, be warned and pause in your career; if not, be well assured that, for all your many victories—and those you have already won are as nothing to those in store for you—the time will come when you will suffer a defeat so crushing that it will put the finishing stroke to your career."She ceased, and, at first, Buonaparte made no reply, but stood gazing at the star she had pointed out, now twinkling dimly before the approaching dawn. Not that he paid any heed to her "prophetic vaporings," as, mentally, he termed them. He was thinking over her statement that, if assured of her lover's death, she might entertain his (Buonaparte's) proposal; and conning how he might convince her that St. Just was dead; for he had conceived a burning passion for this woman.Then he turned from the window and thus addressed her. "Fair Halima, I thank you for your warning, and it shows you take an interest in me. I may, therefore, hope that in time your spark of interest may kindle into the flame of love. With you always at my side to scan the heavens for me and give me warning, failure would be impossible. Come to me, then, and share the greatness that is in store for me. Why remain faithful to what is but a tender memory; why deny your youth and beauty the pleasures that are their due. You have proved to your own satisfaction that St. Just is dead, and——""Sir," she interrupted him, "I am but a beginner in my art; and the Fates sometimes play us false. A woman is influenced more by instinct than by reason. Now, my instinct, or my heart—call it which you will—tells me that to-night my vision has been distorted, that my eyes have seen that which was not true. If I had absolute proof that St. Just is dead I—I might——" She ceased, not knowing how to complete her sentence; her thoughts had out-run her powers of speech. She cast down her eyes and the blood rushed to her face in her confusion.And the man noticed it and was quick to take advantage of her implication. "You might learn to love me," he exclaimed; and there was a note of triumph in his tone.Halima marked it and hastened to reply, "Nay, Sir, you do violence to my thoughts, and make my word out-run them. I said not aught of love."Buonaparte eyed her keenly. "For the present," he said, "I will be satisfied with your unspoken thought. But you talked of proof of your lover's death. Alas! I fear it will be only too easy to obtain. I doubt not that, before a month is out, I shall bring you such evidence as it will be impossible to disbelieve.""But how will you convince me? Nothing short of the evidence of eye-witnesses will do it.""You forget that St. Just had an escort of fifty tried and faithful Arabs. If one or more of these should testify to his death, would you then believe?"And she, strong in her belief that St. Just would die, ere he would suffer himself to be taken captive—in which case the vision must have been false—assented. She knew her lover would strain every nerve to execute his trust; to deliver not only his General's but also her own letter; both his honor and his love were at stake. So, in the hope that the month's delay would bring a favorable turn in Fortune's Wheel, she parted from her new admirer.CHAPTER XI.Buonaparte was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet; whether the object of his pursuit was a hostile army or a woman. So, the next morning, he started enquiries for news of St. Just amongst the chiefs now under his sway. Failing to gain information in that quarter, he sent his Mameluke, Roustan, with a search party in a boat up the Nile, to learn whether any of the headmen of the villages on its bank had seen or heard anything of the young French Officer, or any of his party of fifty Arabs.Day followed day with no result, until a month had slipped by since Buonaparte's parting with the Arab girl. The General was seated one afternoon under a tree in the garden of his house at Cairo musing on various matters and, among them, on Halima, when word was brought to him that Roustan was without, desiring to have speech with him.Buonaparte ordered the messenger to admit him instantly. When the Mameluke entered, he bent his knee deferentially to his master, then stood in a position of attention, waiting to be addressed."Well, Roustan, what news?" asked Buonaparte sharply."Sir," replied the faithful slave, "I have performed the commission you entrusted to me, and have obtained certain information concerning Captain St. Just.""In one word," interrupted Buonaparte, "is he alive or dead?""He is dead, General; of that I have obtained indisputable proof."A scarcely audible sigh escaped the General; but this was the only sign of relief he gave. His face remained impassive as usual, nor did he make the slightest movement."Proceed with the particulars," he said.Roustan went on to relate that he had traced St. Just and his party to a certain oasis in the desert, distant about five weeks' journey from Cairo, and that there the trail had broken off. Not to abandon the search, he had remained in the neighborhood for a few days, prosecuting inquiries among the tribe that dwelt about there. He had been on the point of giving up his quest as useless, and returning to Cairo the next day, when he was aroused from sleep by the return of some of the tribe, in company with four strangers. Three of these had formed part of St. Just's escort, and the fourth was a prisoner, a renegade of the tribe of Auim, of the name of Yusuf. Him the three others were desirous of bringing on to Cairo, where, of course, they would have to report themselves to their commander.Roustan then went on as follows:"I brought the four men on with me and they are now guarded in the citadel, where they will remain until your pleasure concerning them shall be known.""You have done well, Roustan," was the General's comment, when the slave ceased speaking; "I shall not forget to reward your services. Bring me that little table."There was a light writing table near at hand in the garden, and Roustan wheeled it up to his master. Buonaparte seized a sheet of writing paper, wrote a few lines on it rapidly, folded it up and addressed it to the Lady Halima. It was to the effect that he had much to tell her at eleven o'clock that night. He handed the letter to Roustan, charging him to deliver it at once, and, having done so, to proceed to the citadel with orders that the fourth man, Yusuf, was to be kept apart from the others, and that all were to be strictly watched and allowed to have no communication with any one outside."Inform the Governor," Buonaparte concluded, "that I shall visit them at nine o'clock this evening, when you are to be ready to accompany me."Then, once more commending him for his sagacity, Buonaparte waved his hand to signify that the interview was at an end.* * * * *The deep tones of the bell that notified the hours was resounding through the citadel at nine o'clock that evening, echoing along the silent passages in the great courtyard, when Buonaparte, attended by his body servant, passed through the arched entrance way.Standing within the gate, a few yards from the sentry, was a figure that, like Buonaparte, was closely muffled in a cloak. The figure approached the newcomers and saluted."No formalities, General, if you please," said Buonaparte. "I prefer my visit here to be unknown. Lead me to the prisoners.""Will you follow me, Sir?" said the person thus addressed. Then, taking a lighted lantern from underneath his cloak, he led the way across the courtyard towards a low block of buildings, which he entered. Traversing a short, dark passage, they turned to the right, and were immediately challenged by a soldier, whose "Qui va là?" was answered by their guide who, after giving him the countersign, ordered him to stand aside from a heavy wooden door before which he stood on guard. Then the guide placed the lantern on the ground, while he unlocked the door that gave entrance to a small square chamber. In a corner of this room the Arabs were huddled up together asleep. Round their wrists ran the light steel chains, the ends of which were attached to staples in the wall. Buonaparte took the lantern from their guide and, walking up to the three sleeping figures, regarded them much as a keeper would the wild beasts in his charge. The flashing of the lantern, dim as was its light, awoke the sleepers, who yawned and stretched themselves. Then they rose to a sitting posture and glared with sullen indifference and in silence at their visitors.Buonaparte gazed at them for a moment or two; then, turning to Roustan, said, "Go to guard house and call a dozen men. Bring them hither and bid them conduct these men to the house of the Lady Halima. I will interrogate them in her presence."Roustan salaamed and left the chamber."Come, General," Buonaparte went on, "we will go and see the other prisoner."Then he passed out, with his companion.After walking a few paces, they came to a door, and this having been unlocked, they found themselves in a smaller cell than that in which the three Arabs were confined. Here, however, there was but one occupant. Yusuf, for he it was, was, unlike the other captives, unbound, and was pacing his cell with restless step.At the entrance of Buonaparte and his companion, he scowled at them; then broke into a torrent of angry words, that both his hearers found difficult to follow.When he ceased speaking, Buonaparte addressed him."You are of the tribe of Auim?" No reply. "Speak and I will free you, if you tell me what I want to know.""I accept," came the sullen answer; "you do not look like a man who lies. Say on."Buonaparte put several questions, which Yusuf answered; then he went on to relate what the reader already knows; how that he had seen St. Just shot at and fall headlong from the rock."Ha, ha!" he ended with a fiendish chuckle, "He is dead, sure enough. I knew he would die when they shot at him." Here he stopped."How?" asked Buonaparte, who, during the recital, had stood leaning with his back against the door and idly kicking one foot against the lintel."Because I have his amulet. That once lost, his fate was certain. See, here it is."And the exulting ruffian held before Buonaparte's astonished eyes the identical trinket Josephine had given to St. Just in Paris on the night of their meeting at the Palais de Luxembourg.Buonaparte snatched it from him suddenly.With a howl of rage, Yusuf dashed forward to regain it—only to meet the point of a sword, which, gleaming at his breast, had been instantaneously drawn by the General's companion.Buonaparte put the jewel in his pocket and, as if abstracted, and taking no further notice of the captive, walked from the cell. A moment later, his companion, having locked the door, rejoined him.Presently they reached the outer gate way, and Buonaparte, mounting his horse, which a soldier held, galloped off into the darkness, leaving his companion standing under the archway, lost in thought.
CHAPTER IX.
The sun had all but vanished below the horizon; in its departure lighting up the almost cloudless heavens with masses and streaks and rays of every hue from blood red to golden yellow—Nature's glorious tints, to be seen in their fullest beauty only in the East. But the beauty of this particular sunset no one witnessed; for taking a trio of palm trees set in a little patch of vegetation, as the point of vision, an observer placed there would have looked in vain, North, South, East and West for the slightest sign of life. In every direction for leagues upon leagues, as far as the eye could travel was the boundless desert. Not a single object broke the dead level of the sand. The solitude was supreme, the silence awful. Presently, when the sun was on the point of sinking out of sight, a little breath of wind from the direction of the waning light sprang up, sending a shiver through the palm plumes aloft, and rustling the herbage at their base; the deadly stillness was at an end.
Then, if the imaginary watcher by the palm trees had looked North, he would have noticed a little cloud upon the level plain; next a blurred mass of something. Gradually he would have seen this something expand and develop, until, finally, it took form in the shape of a troop of horsemen. On they came, a company of from thirty to forty, shaping their course for the little oasis about the palm trees, the eagerly sought mark of a resting place for the tired traveler and his beast, where the former hopes he will obtain both food and water.
Ten minutes later, they had reached their goal. Both men and horses were covered with dust and sweat, and were dropping with fatigue; and it was plain that they had traveled far and fast. Then, at the word of command, each man dismounted and began to water his horse, before attending to his own requirements. The man who gave the order, the reader has met before. He was St. Just; he was on the mission to the sheik with which General Buonaparte had entrusted him, and he expected in a few days to accomplish it.
He vaulted from his saddle; then, having unstrapped his cloak, he patted the neck of the grey stallion lovingly, for the good horse had carried him many a weary mile right gallantly. Then he glanced, with a laugh, at his dusty uniform. It was frayed and torn and soiled; yet he wore it with a glow of pride; for was it not the visible sign of his fellowship with that brave army which had proved itself invincible, and was still adding to the glory and the possessions of his country?
Be sure that he first attended to his gallant charger's wants. Then he went round among his men to see that they had looked properly to theirs. This duty performed, he sat down to eat his lonely supper; for lonely he was, his only companions being his Arab escort, with whom, though they were friendly, he had naught in common.
When he had finished his scanty meal, he seated himself at the foot of one of the palms, set light to his pipe, and gave himself up to thought. It was now six weeks since he had started on this mission. He cursed the luck that had deprived him of the presence of his lady love and, at the same time, of gaining glory in the field of battle under Buonaparte. Was he never to have the same chance as had his brothers in arms of winning renown? He wondered what they were doing at that moment, and what was Halima; was she thinking of him?
Though it was irksome and fatiguing, he had not found desert life altogether uneventful; the various difficulties and dangers he had encountered on his journey had prevented that; for instance, on one occasion, owing to the lowness of the Nile, the boat, in which he and some of his men were crossing, had been stranded for hours upon a shoal, and they had been in imminent danger of being drowned. Another time, they had drifted on the rocks at one of the great cataracts, a boat had been dashed to pieces and ten of his followers drowned. Then they had marched for days, without getting to any place where they could purchase remounts; so that, at last, their horses had become so utterly exhausted that they had had to rest for several days to recruit, before proceeding. Besides this, repeated dashes had been made upon them by marauding Arabs they had fallen in with by the way. Thus his original fifty men had been reduced by one mishap and another to thirty-five; and the sullen indifference of these, and his fears of treachery on their part, sorely tried his temper and filled him with anxiety. Further, he was beginning to feel much solicitude about the outcome of his mission; for he was now nearing his journey's end, and expected to make his destination in a day or two.
Altogether he was in no happy frame of mind on that November night, while he sat silent in that desolate waste, with his eyes fixed on the glowing embers of the fire, listening drowsily to the movements of the tethered animals and the monotonous tramp of the sentry on the sand hill just above him. Presently he shivered and drew his cloak more closely round him. Then, gradually, his head sank and soon, with the remainder of the camp, he slept.
* * * * *
The hours wore on. Meanwhile the solitary watcher paced up and down upon his beat, scanning the Eastern sky intently for the first signs of coming day. In his eagerness, he halted for several minutes, and fixed his eyes upon the quarter in which the sun would rise. In his preoccupation, he failed to notice what the camels stretched below him did, that a body of horsemen about a hundred and fifty strong were approaching from the West. The sand muffled the sound of their horses' hoofs. But one old camel heard it; like the veritable desert warrior he was, he raised his head and snorted loudly. At this, the musing sentinel turned round. Too late he saw their danger; the horde was sweeping down, in a rapidly converging semicircle, upon the sleeping camp. It was his last sight on earth; a shot rang out upon the air, and he fell upon his face, struck dead. The next moment, with a resounding yell, the hostile Arabs dashed upon the sleepers.
The shot that slew the sentry roused St. Just; he sprang to his feet and rushed to his horse. Two or three others did the same and, mounting, galloped off into the darkness, a hailstorm of bullets in their wake. One of these grazed the gray stallion and made him restless, so that he would not stand for St. Just to mount him. While he was still striving to effect his purpose, the enemy came pouring into the camp on every side, ruthlessly slaying St. Just's half-awakened escort. One of the assailants, seeing by the moonlight St. Just's white face, uttered a cry of joy and threw over his head a noose, then drew him backwards suddenly and sent him to the ground, with a crash that momentarily stunned him. When he came to himself, which he quickly did, he found that he was being searched from head to foot; the noose was tightly bound about his chest, confining his arms behind his back, thus rendering him wholly incapable of resistance. Watch, money, knife, sword, pistol—and, worst of all, his despatches were being passed from hand to hand amidst cries and yells from the crowd around him. One thing only escaped their notice, and that was his darling's locket.
Presently a tall man with a coal black beard came up and spoke to him in French. "Are you not he that rode the gray horse at the battle of Embabe?"
"I am," replied St. Just, expecting that, there and then, an end would be put to his existence.
"I was sure of it," muttered his interlocutor; then turned to his followers and said something in Arabic that St. Just failed to catch, but it stirred them greatly, for instantly arose a hoarse murmur of anger and disappointment. The man who seemed to be their leader, quieted them by raising his hand, as would a huntsman to his hounds, saying, at the same time, "I will it." Then returned again to St. Just, who, having regained his composure, thus addressed him.
"Kill me, if you will; but I pray you forward my despatches to him to whom they are addressed. One of them is a letter from a daughter to her father. Have pity upon his gray hairs, if you have none for me."
"That is for the Chief to say," retorted the bearded man. "March!" he wound up.
In obedience to the order, St. Just set out. Oh, the torture that followed when, at the will of his savage captors, he was compelled by the stress of the rope, though he was on foot, to keep up with his mounted escort, and all the while his chest so confined by his bonds that he could not breath freely. When he lagged, he was urged on and dragged forward with the rope. And, meanwhile, he had the mortification of seeing his own gray horse bestridden by the bearded warrior.
At last, after ten hours of this misery, they came in sight of the Nile, on whose bank, under the shadow of overhanging rocks, was pitched what was evidently the temporary encampment of the tribe.
The squadron halted and were immediately surrounded by a crowd of women and children and barking dogs, who indiscriminately greeted the returning warriors. Looking about him from the spot where he lay guarded by four men, who regarded him with no friendly eye, St. Just noted that most of the tents had been struck and that, before his arrival, active preparations had been made for a move; also that the main body were eagerly questioning his captors, who, in reply, vociferated loudly and pointed at him with lively gesticulations. Such was the babel of sounds around him, that he could make nothing of their conversation, and, indeed, was in no condition to try, worn out, as he was, in mind and body. He lay in the shadow of a camel, where he had thrown himself upon his arrival, and, at last, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, it was dusk, and, while he yet struggled between sleeping and waking, his guards came to him and dragged him to his feet; then drove him unceremoniously towards the pile of rocks. Here, in their shadow, squatting in dignified silence around a fire in front of a large tent, were from ten to twenty aged men—apparently the counsellors of the camp. St. Just was placed in the center, near the fire, whose strong light was shed upon his features, immediately facing the opening of the tent, where he could just make out the form of some one seated. At this juncture, a little breeze sprang up, fanning the fire into greater brightness; so that St. Just could now discern the features of those about him. Seated within three feet of him upon a square carpet, was one of the oldest men he had ever seen. His beard was white as snow, and so long that it swept the ground in front of him. It was impossible to guess his age, for, save for his eyes, which sparkled brightly, he looked like a living corpse.
So soon as St. Just was placed before him, the old man spoke: "Let him be unbound, but guarded."
Immediately some one behind him cut the rope, and St. Just knew that he was free. After gazing at him for a moment, the old man called, "Ben Idherim!"
Out of the throng there strode the man who had been leader of the band that had captured St. Just, and, forthwith, he told how he had swooped down upon the camp; accompanying his recital with expressive gestures. St. Just looked on unmoved while, one by one, to lend vraisemblance to the tale, the articles that had been found on him were handed round the circle of impassive listeners. Finally Idherim produced the despatches and was about to hand them also round, when St. Just broke silence.
"Sirs, as I said to him who has just spoken, kill me if you will, but send on my despatches."
The old chief, who, since the sentence recorded of him, had not spoken, and seemed to have sunk into a stupor, merely nodding his head occasionally when some point in his lieutenant's speech gained his approval, now looked up and fixed his eyes upon St. Just, who stood there pale, travel-stained and weary, but fearless and almost defiant. "Why so; what would you?" he inquired.
"Sir, one is my general's letter to a chief to whom I was journeying, when stopped, and the other is from the chief's daughter telling of her safety. Again I say, I ask not for my life. Do with me what you will. All I pray is that both letters may be sent on; the one, that my General may know me to be faithful; the other, that a father may have tidings of his daughter."
The old man's reply was short and sharp. "Give me the letters." They were handed to him, and then, to the surprise of the young Frenchman, he broke the seals and began to read them.
At this moment, a man came out of the darkness and sat down by the chief's side; plainly he was on intimate terms with him. At first, St. Just regarded him idly, out of mere curiosity; then, as though in a dream, the present scene was blotted out, and he saw himself again in Cairo, and in front of him was a house, and from that house came forth a man bearing a woman on his shoulder. Quick as lightning did this scene flash across him, and as quickly did it pass, and he was once more in the present. Forgetting his position as a captive, and with the cry of "Yusuf!" on his lips, he sprang forward and made a rush at the new comer.
Instantly the latter started to his feet. In a moment he had recognized the speaker, and, drawing a pistol, he fired point blank at the French officer. The bullet whizzed past his head and flattened itself against the rock behind him.
At a word from the chief, four men sprang up and seized the would-be assassin and bore him out of sight. This done, the old man thus addressed his counsellors. "Yusuf, because he is my nephew, have I spared; but for that, he would have died; first, because he deserted my daughter the lady Halima, when the invaders came; secondly, because he has outraged justice by firing upon a prisoner undergoing trial. For this I have decreed that Yusuf be banished from our tribe for ever."
A murmur of approbation went round the circle. The chief continuing, addressed St. Just, "As to you, know that I am him you seek; and this is my answer to your General's letter. For myself and on behalf of my tribe, I refuse to accede to his request. No bribes or promises shall make me turn my arms against my country. Yet, because he has spared my daughter, will I stand aloof; I will take no part against him. You can tell him this, if you live to see him. But the chances are against you, for you, a messenger of peace, have fired upon my tribe."
The venerable gentleman forgot to state that his people began the firing; possibly, in the one-sided view he took, he overlooked it. "For this," he went on, "justice demands that there shall be shot for shot; accordingly, you will take your stand on the top of yonder rock, and ten of the youngest of the camp children of those able to bear arms, shall fire a shot each at you. If you survive, then shall you go free. As I have said, so let it be."
He ceased speaking, whereupon the circle broke up, and all took up a position in front of the tent.
Now, the distance from the rock to the tent was but forty yards, and the rock itself, on the top of which St. Just soon found himself, tied so that he could not move, was about twenty feet high by only two feet broad. And here he stood, looking down upon the scene upon which the silvery moonbeams fell, waiting for the death he felt was close upon him. Outwardly he was calm, for he had faced death too often to display fear of it; but a tumult raged within his breast. It was hard to die so young, and, for an instant, such anguish took possession of him that, but that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, he would have pleaded for mercy; but, the next moment, the word 'Courage' was whispered in his ear, and the voice that whispered it was Halima's. Doubtless this was the result of imagination acting on an overwrought mind, but it steadied him, and his failing heart revived.
The next instant, there was a flash, followed by the ping of a bullet, and the report of a gun echoing among the rocks. A voice below counted "One," in Arabic; then there was a pause. The bullet had missed. The second, aimed better, grazed his ear. The third passed through the fleshy part of his shoulder and buried itself in the stake behind him. The fourth and fifth shots hit the rock at his feet; and the sixth passed through the rope that bound him, almost severing it. The seventh, eighth and ninth flew wide. After that, there was a long pause.
Presently the Frenchman heard a howl of exultation, and a tall, graceful youth took his place in front of the living target, resting his weapon on the ground, with the air of a practiced marksman. From where he stood, St. Just could see the youngster's black eyes twinkling with joy, while he glanced along the barrel; for was he not the best shot of the tribe, and his aim deadly? A second's pause, then, carefully pressing the trigger, the marksman fired.
St. Just felt as though a hot iron had seared his side, and he knew that he was hit. Unconsciously, he bounded into the air with the shock; thereby bursting the already half severed rope. Then, falling over and over, he landed, not on the ground, but on a projecting corner where he was held suspended by his tunic.
When he recovered consciousness, he found himself lying in a tent, and by him was the Sheik, holding in his hand the locket of Halima, the case deeply dented with a bullet mark.
"But for this, you would have died," exclaimed the Sheik. "Further had I read the whole of my daughter's letter, Yusuf would have taken your place. Now, rest yourself, assured that you have the friendship of one who is strong to help alike in hate and love."
On the morrow St. Just lay unconscious in a raging fever.
CHAPTER X.
But what of the Lady Halima, who had not seen her lover, or had any tidings of him for six weary weeks?
At the very moment when St. Just was undergoing his fearful ordeal on the rock, she was wandering restlessly, feverishly, about her own apartments, her thoughts wholly occupied with him. Indeed, ever since they had been parted, she had thought of little else. But, whereas, generally, her reflections, though she felt saddened by his absence, were tinged with pleasure at the thought of his handsome face and form, his bravery, his return to her with credit to himself for the successful performance of his mission; to-night they were full of gloom. She had a presentiment, she strove in vain to dissipate, that her beloved was in the direst peril. She was endowed with a more than ordinary share of that faculty which places us en rapport with those with whom we have a strong affinity; so that, even when separated by thousands of miles from those we love, we feel, rather than know, that misfortune is overtaking them.
And so it was that Halima; convinced of her lover's danger and her helplessness to avert it, she paced up and down the room wringing her hands, the tears trickling down her cheeks, and continually crying, "Oh! Henri, Henri, what is it that is happening to you, my love? My heart tells me that you are in dreadful peril; and I—I am powerless. Oh! why did you leave me?"
At the thought that she would never see him more, Halima became so overcome that she burst into a flood of weeping and sank upon a divan, burying her fair face in its cushions. And thus, somewhat later, she was found by Buonaparte, who, since his aide-de-camp's departure had been a not infrequent visitor. Unheard by her, he entered the room, wrapped in an ample cloak, and silently approached her side; then, with arms folded, stood looking down upon her.
Feeling intuitively that she was not alone, Halima raised her tear-stained face, and her eyes fell on the General. She gave a little start, then feebly tried to smile. Buonaparte dropped his cloak and seated himself upon the cushions by her side.
"What ails you, fairest one?" he asked. "Why this grief? I would come to see you oftener, but my leisure hours are few, so that I cannot visit you so often as I would. Come, pretty one, dry those tears, and tell me what it is that troubles you."
Now Halima, having known Buonaparte for hard on two months, had learned something of his disposition; and she feared to tell him that she loved St. Just. So, bringing her feelings under some control, she answered, "Alas, Sir, I wept, because the memory came back to me that I had annoyed you, when, wishing to amuse, I pretended to forecast your future. But indeed, General, I was not serious; and, surely, you did not so take me."
If she thought that by this speech she had cleverly put him off the scent of her real sentiments, she mistook her man. He tapped the floor impatiently with his foot and answered fretfully, "Tut, tut, that is all past and gone. It cannot be that which troubles you. Is it not rather the absence of the handsome Captain? By my soul, I am greatly in his debt for introducing me to so fair a flower." And he looked ardently at Halima.
Now, when a victorious General, and, moreover, a youthful one, lays himself out to captivate a woman, she feels flattered by his notice, and he rarely fails. The present instance was no exception to the rule, for a smile broke out on the fair lady's face, and she gave him a glance that told even more than words.
"But fret not for him," Buonaparte went on; "he is not worth your tears; forecast his future, as you profess you can, and you will see that it is so. Even I am seer enough to tell, without the aid of magic bowls, what he is doing. I know what my young officers are, and he is no exception. Doubtless he is at this moment flirting with some dusky beauty on the banks of the Nile, while his men are resting for the night."
Then he leaned back in his seat to see how she would take his reflections on her lover's want of constancy; at the same time he was furtively casting his eyes in his cold, calculating way, upon her charms; though, apparently examining his hands, of whose delicate whiteness he was inordinately vain.
But the way that she received his words astonished him. Indignant at his sneering accents, stung by the suggestion that any other woman could take her place in St. Just's affections, her jealousy aflame at the thought that perhaps there was some truth in it, and anxious to defend the absent one, she threw prudence to the winds, and gave her feelings play.
Springing from the divan, she turned and faced the General, her eyes flashing with the scorn and anger he had enkindled.
"If all men were as you suppose," she cried, "then should I pity women. But it is not so. To seek to make me jealous by hinting that the man I love—yes, I love him, and I glory in it—and shall love so long as I draw breath, has forgotten me and is dallying with another woman, is unworthy of the conqueror of Egypt. You have dared me to peer into the future, to learn my lover's doings and his fate. I fearlessly accept your challenge. Doubtless I shall find that many dangers will beset him, for, in these perilous times, it can scarce be otherwise; but, be that as it may, of this I am well assured, that, whatever the future has in store for him, in the end, he will be more fortunate than yourself, who, though you will rise to the highest point of human greatness, will not retain it—not even the freedom of the humblest subaltern in your army. Your insatiable ambition will prove your fall. Now you know my feelings towards Henri St. Just. I had meant to keep my secret. But what I feel for him can be of no consequence to you; and I am sure you will not let it prejudice him. But if I thought that you would harm him, I would this instant bid you begone, and would look upon your face no more. And, had I ever feared you on his account, this city weeks ago would have no longer held us, for you would have been no more, and I should have fled with my lover to the desert. But now to read his fate."
And she turned from him and began to make her preparations for diving into the unseen.
Now, although what she had said had sunk deep into his breast and rankled there, Buonaparte did net suffer his resentment and his wounded pride to show upon the surface. But he stored it up against her, adding it to the grievance of her previous forecast of his future. He meant to make this woman his, and his anger made him all the more determined; but the fruit was not yet ripe for plucking, albeit it was maturing fast. Clever actor as he was, there were few better able to disguise their feelings. He broke into a little laugh and then replied:—
"I crave your pardon, gentle lady;" he laughed to himself at the irony of the epithet; "in that unconsciously I have angered you. I little thought that my soldier's badinage would have let loose so impetuous a torrent of wrath from the lips of so beauteous a creature. Happy St. Just to have such a champion. But one thing I have to urge in my excuse; I knew not that he was so favored, for you had never let fall a word to that intent. Forgive me then, fair Halima; I will not so offend again." Then, after a short pause, during which he watched her movements, he resumed, "well, is the magic bowl in order? I would see how far the outcome of your incantations will give the lie to my jesting prophecy."
The preparations had given the girl the time and opportunity for regaining her self-control and recognizing the folly of making an enemy of Buonaparte. She laughed gayly; then placed the crystal bowl upon a table near the divan and, as on the former occasion, dropped some of the mysterious fluid into it.
"Now it is ready," she said.
Eagerly both craned their necks forward over the bowl and gazed intently into the clear black fluid.
At first, nothing was to be seen; then, gradually, in the depths of the fluid could be discerned the outline of a rock, which, by degrees, became more and more distinct. Then it was seen that on the summit of it was a figure made fast to a stake. Next an Arab came in sight, and he leveled a matchlock at the captive man, who was standing with head bent low upon his breast. There was a puff of smoke; the human target bounded up in the air, then fell headlong from the rock and into space, disclosing in his fall the features of St. Just!
At this, Halima removed her gaze and uttered a piercing shriek; the spell was broken, the picture vanished; nothing but the smoke-black surface of the liquid in the bowl remained.
Then, "Mon Dieu!" she cried, "it cannot be; it must be false;" and, with that, fell fainting at the feet of Buonaparte.
For the moment, he also was staggered by the vision; but his bewilderment did not last long. He broke into an unpleasant laugh, and turned his gaze on the unconscious girl. "True, or not, it is as marvelous as it is unaccountable. As for St. Just, I am persuaded he is dead. I am sorry, for he was a good officer, and he saved my life. I wish I had not sent him on this mission."
For a few seconds, he felt a touch of genuine regret, not unmixed with remorse, and the feeling showed itself in his usually impassive face.
Then, a glance at the unconscious girl turned his thoughts into a fresh channel. Bah! regrets were vain and childish; St. Just was gone; 'twas a pity; but the girl remained and no one now stood between her and him.
He turned his attention to her, and, by dint of fanning her and sprinkling her with water, in a short time he was rewarded by seeing her languidly unclose her eyes in returning consciousness. He now raised her from the ground, and placed her on the divan. At first her eyes wandered vaguely round the room, as though in search of something that she missed. As yet, memory had not returned; but the blessing of forgetfulness was not granted her for long; soon she knew all that had occurred, and with the knowledge, she burst into a flood of tears.
Buonaparte made no attempt to restrain her sobs; he knew her weeping would be the sooner over, if unchecked until it had spent its force. He sat beside her, watching her in silence. Gradually the heaving became slower and more regular in its movements; the sobs less frequent; the tears, instead of streaming down her cheeks, now came only in odd drops, and presently, with a long-drawn sigh, they ceased.
Then Buonaparte gazed tenderly into the liquid depths of the glistening eyes, and took one of her little hands in his. Forgotten was his own charming wife in distant Paris, in the fascination of the little Arab beauty, and, bending over her, he murmured in the thrilling tone he well knew how to use as often as occasion served, "Dear heart, let me console you. To regret is weak, is useless; it will not bring him back. You may think me hard and cruel; but be advised by me, when I tell you that the easiest way to solace one's self for a lover's loss is to install another in his place. Come then to me, and I will teach you so to love, that you will say that all your previous experiences were but a parody of the passion."
He spoke with such ardor that she could not but be moved. Still, she shook her head petulantly, but she did not withdraw her hand, and her glance showed no displeasure. And so, for a short time, they sat in silence, Buonaparte still holding her hand, and fearing to break the spell by speaking.
His patience was rewarded, for, presently, she spoke in a voice that trembled slightly, but still was clear and sweet, and her eyes were turned on him, in such wise that he felt himself bewitched and consumed try his desire.
"If I could have absolute faith in what my eyes have seen this night," she said, "I would consider your proposal, which, in your position, is most flattering; for I know that you will rise—aye faster than has risen any other man before. And those who join themselves with you will rise with you. See," she continued, getting up and walking to the open window. She flung open the lattice and, pointing to one of the many stars with which the sky was studded, "Right over your head you behold yon star. It is the star that rules your destiny. Each one of us in coming into this world has his particular star that brightens with his rise, with his fall, and dies with him. But the majority of persons are so commonplace and unimportant that their stars are so small as to be invisible. It is only the great ones of the earth whose stars can be observed. My mother told me that it is the same in her country—France—that, when a star is seen falling from the sky, some soul is quitting its earthly tenement.
"Mark well your star and watch its varying brilliancy, and, when you see that lessening, be warned and pause in your career; if not, be well assured that, for all your many victories—and those you have already won are as nothing to those in store for you—the time will come when you will suffer a defeat so crushing that it will put the finishing stroke to your career."
She ceased, and, at first, Buonaparte made no reply, but stood gazing at the star she had pointed out, now twinkling dimly before the approaching dawn. Not that he paid any heed to her "prophetic vaporings," as, mentally, he termed them. He was thinking over her statement that, if assured of her lover's death, she might entertain his (Buonaparte's) proposal; and conning how he might convince her that St. Just was dead; for he had conceived a burning passion for this woman.
Then he turned from the window and thus addressed her. "Fair Halima, I thank you for your warning, and it shows you take an interest in me. I may, therefore, hope that in time your spark of interest may kindle into the flame of love. With you always at my side to scan the heavens for me and give me warning, failure would be impossible. Come to me, then, and share the greatness that is in store for me. Why remain faithful to what is but a tender memory; why deny your youth and beauty the pleasures that are their due. You have proved to your own satisfaction that St. Just is dead, and——"
"Sir," she interrupted him, "I am but a beginner in my art; and the Fates sometimes play us false. A woman is influenced more by instinct than by reason. Now, my instinct, or my heart—call it which you will—tells me that to-night my vision has been distorted, that my eyes have seen that which was not true. If I had absolute proof that St. Just is dead I—I might——" She ceased, not knowing how to complete her sentence; her thoughts had out-run her powers of speech. She cast down her eyes and the blood rushed to her face in her confusion.
And the man noticed it and was quick to take advantage of her implication. "You might learn to love me," he exclaimed; and there was a note of triumph in his tone.
Halima marked it and hastened to reply, "Nay, Sir, you do violence to my thoughts, and make my word out-run them. I said not aught of love."
Buonaparte eyed her keenly. "For the present," he said, "I will be satisfied with your unspoken thought. But you talked of proof of your lover's death. Alas! I fear it will be only too easy to obtain. I doubt not that, before a month is out, I shall bring you such evidence as it will be impossible to disbelieve."
"But how will you convince me? Nothing short of the evidence of eye-witnesses will do it."
"You forget that St. Just had an escort of fifty tried and faithful Arabs. If one or more of these should testify to his death, would you then believe?"
And she, strong in her belief that St. Just would die, ere he would suffer himself to be taken captive—in which case the vision must have been false—assented. She knew her lover would strain every nerve to execute his trust; to deliver not only his General's but also her own letter; both his honor and his love were at stake. So, in the hope that the month's delay would bring a favorable turn in Fortune's Wheel, she parted from her new admirer.
CHAPTER XI.
Buonaparte was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet; whether the object of his pursuit was a hostile army or a woman. So, the next morning, he started enquiries for news of St. Just amongst the chiefs now under his sway. Failing to gain information in that quarter, he sent his Mameluke, Roustan, with a search party in a boat up the Nile, to learn whether any of the headmen of the villages on its bank had seen or heard anything of the young French Officer, or any of his party of fifty Arabs.
Day followed day with no result, until a month had slipped by since Buonaparte's parting with the Arab girl. The General was seated one afternoon under a tree in the garden of his house at Cairo musing on various matters and, among them, on Halima, when word was brought to him that Roustan was without, desiring to have speech with him.
Buonaparte ordered the messenger to admit him instantly. When the Mameluke entered, he bent his knee deferentially to his master, then stood in a position of attention, waiting to be addressed.
"Well, Roustan, what news?" asked Buonaparte sharply.
"Sir," replied the faithful slave, "I have performed the commission you entrusted to me, and have obtained certain information concerning Captain St. Just."
"In one word," interrupted Buonaparte, "is he alive or dead?"
"He is dead, General; of that I have obtained indisputable proof."
A scarcely audible sigh escaped the General; but this was the only sign of relief he gave. His face remained impassive as usual, nor did he make the slightest movement.
"Proceed with the particulars," he said.
Roustan went on to relate that he had traced St. Just and his party to a certain oasis in the desert, distant about five weeks' journey from Cairo, and that there the trail had broken off. Not to abandon the search, he had remained in the neighborhood for a few days, prosecuting inquiries among the tribe that dwelt about there. He had been on the point of giving up his quest as useless, and returning to Cairo the next day, when he was aroused from sleep by the return of some of the tribe, in company with four strangers. Three of these had formed part of St. Just's escort, and the fourth was a prisoner, a renegade of the tribe of Auim, of the name of Yusuf. Him the three others were desirous of bringing on to Cairo, where, of course, they would have to report themselves to their commander.
Roustan then went on as follows:
"I brought the four men on with me and they are now guarded in the citadel, where they will remain until your pleasure concerning them shall be known."
"You have done well, Roustan," was the General's comment, when the slave ceased speaking; "I shall not forget to reward your services. Bring me that little table."
There was a light writing table near at hand in the garden, and Roustan wheeled it up to his master. Buonaparte seized a sheet of writing paper, wrote a few lines on it rapidly, folded it up and addressed it to the Lady Halima. It was to the effect that he had much to tell her at eleven o'clock that night. He handed the letter to Roustan, charging him to deliver it at once, and, having done so, to proceed to the citadel with orders that the fourth man, Yusuf, was to be kept apart from the others, and that all were to be strictly watched and allowed to have no communication with any one outside.
"Inform the Governor," Buonaparte concluded, "that I shall visit them at nine o'clock this evening, when you are to be ready to accompany me."
Then, once more commending him for his sagacity, Buonaparte waved his hand to signify that the interview was at an end.
* * * * *
The deep tones of the bell that notified the hours was resounding through the citadel at nine o'clock that evening, echoing along the silent passages in the great courtyard, when Buonaparte, attended by his body servant, passed through the arched entrance way.
Standing within the gate, a few yards from the sentry, was a figure that, like Buonaparte, was closely muffled in a cloak. The figure approached the newcomers and saluted.
"No formalities, General, if you please," said Buonaparte. "I prefer my visit here to be unknown. Lead me to the prisoners."
"Will you follow me, Sir?" said the person thus addressed. Then, taking a lighted lantern from underneath his cloak, he led the way across the courtyard towards a low block of buildings, which he entered. Traversing a short, dark passage, they turned to the right, and were immediately challenged by a soldier, whose "Qui va là?" was answered by their guide who, after giving him the countersign, ordered him to stand aside from a heavy wooden door before which he stood on guard. Then the guide placed the lantern on the ground, while he unlocked the door that gave entrance to a small square chamber. In a corner of this room the Arabs were huddled up together asleep. Round their wrists ran the light steel chains, the ends of which were attached to staples in the wall. Buonaparte took the lantern from their guide and, walking up to the three sleeping figures, regarded them much as a keeper would the wild beasts in his charge. The flashing of the lantern, dim as was its light, awoke the sleepers, who yawned and stretched themselves. Then they rose to a sitting posture and glared with sullen indifference and in silence at their visitors.
Buonaparte gazed at them for a moment or two; then, turning to Roustan, said, "Go to guard house and call a dozen men. Bring them hither and bid them conduct these men to the house of the Lady Halima. I will interrogate them in her presence."
Roustan salaamed and left the chamber.
"Come, General," Buonaparte went on, "we will go and see the other prisoner."
Then he passed out, with his companion.
After walking a few paces, they came to a door, and this having been unlocked, they found themselves in a smaller cell than that in which the three Arabs were confined. Here, however, there was but one occupant. Yusuf, for he it was, was, unlike the other captives, unbound, and was pacing his cell with restless step.
At the entrance of Buonaparte and his companion, he scowled at them; then broke into a torrent of angry words, that both his hearers found difficult to follow.
When he ceased speaking, Buonaparte addressed him.
"You are of the tribe of Auim?" No reply. "Speak and I will free you, if you tell me what I want to know."
"I accept," came the sullen answer; "you do not look like a man who lies. Say on."
Buonaparte put several questions, which Yusuf answered; then he went on to relate what the reader already knows; how that he had seen St. Just shot at and fall headlong from the rock.
"Ha, ha!" he ended with a fiendish chuckle, "He is dead, sure enough. I knew he would die when they shot at him." Here he stopped.
"How?" asked Buonaparte, who, during the recital, had stood leaning with his back against the door and idly kicking one foot against the lintel.
"Because I have his amulet. That once lost, his fate was certain. See, here it is."
And the exulting ruffian held before Buonaparte's astonished eyes the identical trinket Josephine had given to St. Just in Paris on the night of their meeting at the Palais de Luxembourg.
Buonaparte snatched it from him suddenly.
With a howl of rage, Yusuf dashed forward to regain it—only to meet the point of a sword, which, gleaming at his breast, had been instantaneously drawn by the General's companion.
Buonaparte put the jewel in his pocket and, as if abstracted, and taking no further notice of the captive, walked from the cell. A moment later, his companion, having locked the door, rejoined him.
Presently they reached the outer gate way, and Buonaparte, mounting his horse, which a soldier held, galloped off into the darkness, leaving his companion standing under the archway, lost in thought.