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Page 97
Just an hour before they arrived, Ben Kelham had started from the Gate
of To-morrow to find his school-mate, Hugh Carden Ali, at his Tents of
Purple and of Gold.
CHAPTER XXXI
"_Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain;
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain_."
TENNYSON.
Hugh Carden Ali, quite still and strangely unwelcoming, stood just
inside his tent; as Ben Kelham flung himself off his horse; neither did
he put out his hand to take the outstretched one of his old
school-fellow.
Pretending not to notice the seeming lapse in courtesy, Kelham turned
to hitch his horse, only to find that that product of the bazaar had
cleared for the horizon.
It were wise when out in the desert, if your horse is not
desert-trained, to hang on to the bridle until you have hobbled or
hitched your steed, lest peradventure the vultures, at a discreet
distance, should assemble about you later, as you lie raving upon the
sands, only waiting until your ravings cease altogether, to approach
quite near to you.
That the omission was intentional never crossed his mind. He
remembered his friend's religion and the strictness with which he
adhered to its tenets, and thought that perhaps the shaking of a
fellow-creature's hand was forbidden at certain hours.
So that he did not offer his hand again, but his eyes shone with all
the affection, which might be termed love, he had had at Harrow for the
man who had met him so often as opponent in the cricket-field, and as a
friend in his rooms.
He stood quite still for a minute just outside the tent, the moon
shining down upon his splendid six-foot-two, and a little shadow of
doubt swept across the face of the Eastern as, so strong was the
moonlight, he noticed the set of the jaw and the honesty of purpose in
the steady grey eyes.
This Englishman might make a mistake, might blunder in the slowness of
his deliberate way--there was the faintest suspicion of a smile on Hugh
Carden Ali's face as he remembered, even at this critical moment, how,
having won the toss, it had taken Ben Kelham so long to decide, at the
foot of the Hill, whether to put his side in or not--but that he would
deliberately behave like a cad to anything so beautiful and desirable
as Damaris, or in fact to any man, woman, child or beast on earth, no!
that thought was not to be entertained for one moment.
Come to think of it, what a blessing it is that the cad cannot efface
the mark of Nature's branding-iron.
He may be an Adonis, a diplomat, a _bon viveur_, a good sort, a real
sport; he may have a brain and a personality and a gift for choosing
and wearing his clothes; his blood may be cerulean, red or merely
muddy; but just watch out. One day he will forget to shoot his linen,
and you will catch a glimpse of the mark of the beast.
And in the second of time which it took this little analysis of his
friend to flash across his mind the hands of Life moved slowly towards
the hour.
He put his hand to his turban, then stood on one side.
"Come in, Kelham. Who ever would have thought of seeing you! Jolly
decent of you coming all this way out to see me. I thought you were
after lion, but I see you have no gun. I'm afraid I can only offer you
coffee. No pegs in a Mohammedan's tent, you see."
They each advanced one step and their hands met and gripped across the
little dividing-line, on one side of which, one of the two stood under
the stars which belong to all men, and the other inside the desert
dwelling.
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