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Page 70
Two wise women, they were fighting for the happiness of the young, as
the shadows fell and the stars came out and faded before the light of
the moon as she trailed her silver garments across the heavens.
Jill had risen once to her feet, in a moment of anger, and had gone out
onto the balcony and stood looking down, smiling upon the crowd,
composed chiefly of women, who had raised their hands and called down
the blessings of Allah upon her.
The steps were strewn with gifts, ranging from live goats to masses of
sticky sweetmeats and glass beads. Mothers had brought their sickly
babies and laid them down amongst the goats and beads, hoping that if
even the shadow of the blessed woman were to fall upon them they might
be healed.
Mustapha kept guard, hurling abuse at those who tarried, helping their
departure by the aid of his foot. Hobson stood like a grim sentinel
outside the sitting-room door. She had made tea under the greatest
difficulty--the kettle of tepid water had been flung at the salaaming
offender who had brought it--and had taken it in blushing brick-red
when Jill had risen and kissed her on both cheeks. Dinner had been
served, hardly tasted, and been sent away, and a whole tray of cups
full of burnt milk showed the perturbation of the maid's mind as she
waited, and waited for the sound of the little bell which summoned her
to her grace's presence.
"You are a noble-looking woman, my child," said the duchess, as she
keenly scrutinised the fair face with great blue eyes and broad
humourous mouth, which, but for an added serenity and dignity, was so
very like the face of the girl who had been left behind at Ismailiah
over twenty years ago, and who had journeyed into the desert with the
Arabian Sheikh and had married him. "I'm not surprised your husband
adores you. Could he not have come with you? I have always longed to
see him."
It seemed that the Sheikh Hahmed had been invited to Bagdad, to some
conference concerning the big Arabian question, but hoped to be able to
greet her grace before her departure. In the meanwhile his dwellings,
his servants, his horses and everything he was possessed of were hers.
"And he means it, _Petite Maman_; he loves making people happy. I--I
_love_ him." She paused for a moment; then looked straight into the
stern old eyes. "My love for my son is as great as my love for his
father, and I would lay down my life for their happiness."
There was no tenderness in the sad old eyes and no lines of yielding in
the stern old mouth; for although her heart was aching to say yes to
the mother's insistent demands for her son's happiness, her common
sense had turned her into a very rock of resistance.
"I am happy, radiantly happy." Jill, who was sitting on a stool at the
old woman's feet, slipped to her knees and caught the wrinkled old
hands in her own. "So why should the little girl not be happy with my
son, who is the finest man and dearest son ever born to woman? Tell me
what difference is there? Why should my son be made unhappy? Tell me!"
She knew perfectly well. Her son's words on the roof of his dwelling
under the stars were ringing in her ears; but she was hanging on to a
very forlorn hope with both hands, tricking herself with the thought
that, out of her love for her, the wise old woman might see things in a
different light and give her consent to the marriage just because the
man was her son.
But the old woman caught the mother to her breast and stroked the
golden head and kissed it with a world of pain in her sad old eyes.
"Because, dear," and the words were very gentle and the voice was very
soft, "just because, when we love, we think of ourselves only, and not
of those to come."
The old woman sighed as Jill raised her head sharply: "Try to
understand, little one. You, my dear, a white woman, married a
pure-bred Arab. Ah! my, dear, my dear, forgive me, your son is------"
Jill sprang to her feet, and as she sprang caught the rope of pearls
upon the arm of the chair, breaking it and scattering the jewels to the
four corners of the room.
She flung out her hands, making the Eastern sign to scare away evil
spirits. "The omen!" she whispered. "The omen! A broken string of
pearls means--means--death."
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