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Page 99
They talked, instead, disjointedly upon things which, though they
interested them mightily, were not near their hearts as is the Hill to
the Harrovian. They had both come to a decision, which, however, left
them in nowise comforted.
Ben Kelham decided as he walked about the tent that not a word about
the anonymous letter or the courtesan should pass his lips. How could
he ever have thought of mentioning the matter, even if it had been only
as a safeguard for the future in finding out the best way in which to
silence the woman's lying tongue? Besides, if Carden, he thought, had
met Damaris or the duchess, he would most surely have said so--which
only showed that he knew nothing whatsoever about the Oriental.
Hugh Carden Ali had come to his decision even as he had realised that
honour bade him give up the girl whom he had held so close to his heart
in his one hour reft from life; on the pretext of want of
accommodation, with promise to meet in Cairo or elsewhere as soon as
possible, he would send Ben Kelham back upon the track to Luxor, and by
a circuitous route would take the girl at dawn to a spot from whence
she could ride to Kulla, and get from there by boat to Denderah or back
to Luxor.
None save the _sayis_ knew she had come to the tents this night, and he
was faithful and as dumb as a dog. Besides--the Oriental had shrugged
his shoulders--if he should prove to be otherwise, what easier than to
silence him for all eternity?
And if a life barren of love stretched as bleak and limitless as the
desert before him, what then? Life was short, and if children of mixed
races were to suffer the hell he must suffer through honour, well,
surely praise should be offered to Allah in that he would never see his
man-child upon the breast of woman.
"Kismet!"
He whispered the Oriental's supreme submission to the inevitable and
caught his breath, then lit another cigarette.
Ben Kelham placed his hand upon the chequered curtain, which swung back
at his touch.
"Is this where you sleep, Carden? I never thought you had another room
behind."
"It is the room in which I make my ablutions prescribed by Mohammed the
Prophet of Allah who is God, at the hour of prayer."
The words, which were in truth a prayer for the safe keeping of the
woman be loved and had renounced, rang sonorously through the tent,
causing Ben Kelham to turn and look at the Oriental, who had risen to
his feet as he prayed.
The two fine men stood looking at each other across the tent; then the
Englishman moved forward and sat down on the end of the wooden couch as
the other moved back and leant against the wall, with his fingers upon
the little amulet above his heart.
"Have you ever been in love, Carden?" Kelham asked abruptly, unable to
control the question.
"There is no have-been in love. You either love or you do not love.
Do you?"
Ben Kelham nodded his head.
"Then, if you do, why, in the name of Allah who is your God as well as
mine, are you here? Why are you not at the feet of this woman,
stricken with wonder and humility before the gifts the great God has
given you? Why do you leave her exposed to the temptations of the
East, where has been wrecked the soul of many a white woman? What is
the killing of wild beasts compared to the look of the woman's eyes?
Where are your eyes, the eyes of your soul? What is this love you
speak of which lets you drop the jewel from between your fingers as you
would drop the half-consumed cigarette upon the ground?"
It was the prisoner's last despairing cry as the prison-door swings to,
shutting out the sun, the song of birds, the voice of children; it was
the beggar hungering for a crust, crying against the wasted abundance
of the rich man's table.
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