Part 12

Of the two, Halima was the first to awake to consciousness and, with it, to the memory of her love for St. Just and of all she had lost in losing him. Buonaparte she had never loved; his apparent devotion to her had but flattered her woman's pride and love of power; and now, even he had deserted her; for months she had not seen him. She could have survived this, but for St. Just's return; but the sight of him had fanned into a glowing flame the smoldering ashes of her love, that had never quite died out. And now he, too, had left her. Life was no longer possible to her, and she would end it.

Imbued with this resolve, she sprang from her seat and rushed to a table close at hand, on which lay a sharp-pointed, narrow-bladed little dagger, with jeweled haft, a mere toy, it looked, but it had the potentiality of dealing death. Distraught with the agony of a hopeless love, she seized the glittering weapon, and raised her arm, intent on plunging the dagger to the hilt into her palpitating bosom. Then, with a longing to take one last look on the place in which so many heart-stirring incidents had occurred, she moved across the room and threw open the latticed window.

She gazed on the well-remembered scene, noticing each familiar shrub, each well-known object, a pigeon circling overhead in the blue expanse, a tall pinnacle of the citadel, just visible above the wall. Then her eye fell upon the fountain--what was that lying motionless beside it? A man! In an instant she had recognized the well-loved form; it was St. Just!

She swayed and felt as if about to faint again; then clutched at the window for support.

"Dead!" she moaned; "killed by me. By his side I will breathe out my life; my dying lips shall be pressed to his in one last fond kiss, and I will whisper in his ears--though he will hear me not--that I never loved but him, for all I was so weak as to yield myself to the embraces of another."

Still grasping the dagger, she rushed, like one demented, from the room, down the staircase and into the courtyard. Then, with a low cry, she flew to her lover's side and, throwing herself upon her knees, she wound one arm around his neck and kissed him passionately.

"Oh, my darling," she wailed, "I loved you so--ah, more than you ever guessed--and I have lost you! But though in life I cannot be yours, in death I will not be parted from you. At least, we can lie together in one grave. Sleep on in peace, my loved one, your Halima is coming to you. One last kiss on those dear lips, and then--!"

She pressed her face to his in one long devouring kiss--a kiss that typified her whole being's passion; a kiss in which she seemed to breathe out her very soul.

Then she bared her heaving bosom and raised her arm to strike.

And he? Whether it was that, even in unconsciousness, the impassioned outpouring of her soul struck a responsive chord in his; or that the pressure of her soft arm round his neck and the hot kisses she showered upon his face put warmth into his body and quickened the sluggish action of his heart; or that both these causes combined to bring about what happened; certain it is that, at the moment when the despairing girl was about to end her life, he sighed profoundly and woke up from his swoon; then turned his eyes on her. In a moment he had grasped what she was about to do, had seized her uplifted arm, wrenched the knife from her and flung it into the basin of the fountain.

"Oh! Halima!" he cried. "What were you about to do? A moment more and I should have been too late. Thank God that I came to in time. Ah! my love, what prompted this rash resolve?"

"I thought you dead; that I had killed you, and I could not live without you."

"Live with me, my darling; live for vengeance; for vengeance on your betrayer, as I mean to do."

"It shall be so," she cried fiercely. "To punish him we will devote our lives." Then, the stern expression softening into a look of such adoring love that the last shred of the man's resentment vanished, "Oh, Henri, Henri, my love, my life," she murmured; then sank sobbing on his breast.

He pillowed her lovely head upon his shoulder and caressed her fondly. For the moment, he forgot that another had possessed her. Then presently, when she had grown somewhat calmer, "Buonaparte has sailed for France," he said "and you are free. Forget the past, as I will strive to do, and find renewed happiness with me. Your father looks to see us man and wife. What say you, sweet?"

She raised her face suffused with tears, but smiling through them, to his, and in the lovelight in her eyes he read her answer.

He pressed her to his breast and kissed her again and again.

"Sweetheart," he said presently, "I have turned my back upon the army; henceforth I live for you alone."

"And revenge," she added sternly.

Then, hand in hand, they went into the house.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

When the reunited lovers had somewhat calmed down after the exciting scene in which they had been the actors, St. Just handed Halima her father's letter, and showed her those the old man had given for friendly Sheiks in Cairo.

Satisfied, after reading his letter, that her father favored her marriage with St. Just, and the arrangement so entirely coinciding with her most ardent desire, Halima quickly became all smiles, and entered with avidity into his plans for giving it effect, and for making their escape together from Cairo at the earliest practical opportunity, to rejoin the Sheik. Both were aware that Halima was being watched, by Buonaparte's orders, to prevent the very thing they meditated; so the greatest circumspection would be needed. They were in hopes, however, that, now that Buonaparte was no longer in the country, the watch would be less strictly kept, if even it were not wholly discontinued.

And St. Just, on his part, had to be very careful in his movements and always to go about disguised. At the same time, he thought he ran little risk from the military authorities; for it was known to them, that he had been sent on a mission by the General-in-chief and had, for all they knew, either returned with him to France, or remained in Alexandria. As an alternative, his absence might be accounted for, either by his death or capture by hostile Arabs; for, from one or other of these causes, couriers were constantly disappearing. The desert swarmed with murderous nomads.

Captain Tremeau, who would have been the most likely person to see through his disguise, had accompanied Buonaparte to France, and most people thought that St. Just had done the same. Accordingly, he felt comparatively safe. For all that, he thought it unwise to be seen too frequently at Halima's house; so that his visits there were few and secret. He had taken up his abode with Mahmoud and Abdallah in a retired quarter of the city, where their presence was not likely to excite suspicion.

He lost no time in presenting his letters of introduction to the sheiks, who were all leading Mussulmans and hostile to the French. His introducer, the Sheik Ibrahim, was a man of weight and influence, so that any one he recommended was sure to be favorably received. Consequently, St. Just found these sheiks very friendly and ready to help him all they could. And they proved their good-will most effectively by supplying him with ample funds for his ride across the desert. Further to gain their confidence, St. Just professed to have renounced the Christian faith, and his desire to become a follower of the Prophet; and, soon afterwards, his so-called conversion was effected, and he talked of "Allah" with the best of them. Additionally, he had been influenced in this course by the discovery that Halima's friends, the sheiks in Cairo, regarded with aversion the thought of her marriage with a Christian, and were doing their utmost to dissuade her from it, at any rate, until she had joined her father. But, now that St. Just had become one of them in faith, all opposition was removed; and, soon afterwards, he and Halima were made man and wife with Islam rites.

Meanwhile, Halima had kept her eyes about to see how far she was being followed in her movements. In the result she felt satisfied that the watch on her was not so close as formerly, and this she told her husband, on his next visit. She said she was confident that she could now get away unnoticed, and urged him to arrange to leave the city at once. Now that she had become his wife, it fretted her to see so little of him; the hours seemed to pass so slowly in his absence, and she lived in a fever of unrest until he returned; she yearned for a renewal of his fond caresses and the ardent expression of his passion. So that she was prepared to run even great risks in order to be with him always; now, however, she thought they would run none.

Accordingly, it was resolved that the attempt to escape from Cairo should be made on the following day. It was now the middle of September, nearly a month since St. Just had fled from Alexandria.

At about four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day the passer-by might have seen three beggars loitering in a street not far from Halima's house. The oldest of the three was a villainous-looking old rascal, whose stomach swelled out enormously, as though he were suffering from dropsy. It may be at once stated, however, that its abnormal size was due not to a liquid, but a solid cause--hay stuffed in between his body and his clothing. This man was the Arab Abdallah. The two men with him were Mahmoud and St. Just, the former limping along with one leg bent at right angles and supported on a stump; the latter suffering, apparently, from some fearful face disease--paint artistically applied.

Beggars suffering from various diseases are common in the East, where they make a market of their disfigurements, which are profitable in proportion to their loathsomeness. As a matter of course, there are numbers of impostors among the tribe, and these are generally the most importunate in appealing to the charity of the sympathetic portion of the community. In fact, it is in the East, as with us in the West, those who make the greatest noise about their troubles are the least deserving.

Beggars being seen at almost every corner, the presence of these three sunning themselves on the steps of a house in a quiet street excited no suspicion.

"This begging seems to be a fairly profitable calling," said Abdallah, who had just made a successful appeal to a charitable passer-by. "No wonder there are so many halt and maimed about." And he chuckled grimly at the thought of the kindly dupes.

"No doubt it pays well," rejoined St. Just; "though 'tis a despicable life, at best. But come, it is time for us to be moving towards the house. 'Tis close upon the hour of prayer, when the Lady Halima is to join us. Are the camels in readiness, Mahmoud?"

"I have seen to that, Sir," replied the lad; "there will be no delay with them."

"Good," resumed St. Just. "We will be going."

And they moved on slowly, with the slouching gait that seems to go with beggars, towards Halima's street, passing on their way a mosque, from which they could hear the sound of voices raised in prayer.

Then they took up their station near the house and waited. Presently a small door in the wall--not the main entrance--was opened, and a young Arab boy stepped out and looked cautiously around. No one, but the three beggars, was in sight. He locked the door; then flung the key into the kennel, where it buried itself in a heap of garbage.

The boy stopped for a moment and seemed to be listening to the voices of the devotees in the neighboring mosque; then came swiftly towards the three watchers. Then something occurred that made St. Just's heart leap high. The boy drew from his breast something that St. Just instantly recognized as the amulet Madame Buonaparte had given him in Paris, and whose loss he had so much regretted, believing he should never see it again.

Convinced by this act that the youth was a messenger from Halima, St. Just remarked to Mahmoud in his natural voice, to satisfy the newcomer of his identity, "Mahmoud, this boy is surely a servant of the Lady Halima."

Before Mahmoud could reply, the young Arab had sprung forward with the cry of "Henri! My husband."

"Halima?" exclaimed St. Just, amazed. "No wonder I did not recognize you. What means this strange costume?"

"I thought I should, dressed thus, the better escape notice. But tell me how you like me in this garb? Think you I make a comely boy?"

And she laughed a merry laugh.

"A charming one, indeed," he answered, with a smile; "and 'twas a happy thought of yours. But we must not waste the time in pretty speeches. We will go on in advance, and you follow at a little distance, keeping us well in sight. You are far too pretty and well clad to form one of our ragged party."

And as he said, they did, making their way quickly to the three men's lodgings, which they all entered. Soon three men came out dressed like honest traders, the characters they intended to assume. They were accompanied by an Arab boy--so those who might meet the party would suppose.

Then they made their way down another street and halted at some gates that gave on to a large yard. Through these St. Just passed with Mahmoud, leaving Halima in Abdallah's charge outside. They were not long absent and, when they returned, they brought with them three camels, St. Just handing Abdallah a piece of paper.

"Ben Hadji is a good man," said that worthy. "He has kept faith with us. The Sheik, my master, will reward him. Thanks to him, our passage through the city gate and on to Gizeh should be easy."

Then the camels were got down on their knees and the party mounted--all but Mahmoud, who, in the character of a servant, was to walk behind, until they should reach the further boundary of Gizeh, where a camel would be provided for him.

Then the party started, Halima between Abdallah and St. Just mounted on their camels, and Mahmoud in the rear on foot. In due course, they reached the city gate, where they were challenged by the officer on guard; but the paper they had with them passed them through.

A few hours later, the same party dismounted, were waiting on a little landing stage on the river bank, at the point where the village of Gizeh stands. Moored to the stage was a long, low, boat with broad square sails; such a boat as is in use upon the Nile by the natives even at the present day. In this they were on the point of embarking when they heard shouts; and, looking round they saw an Arab, dusty and travel-stained, running towards them. He made at once for Abdallah, to whom he panted out:--

"Good master, I saw you from the bank. A minute later, and I should have missed you. I would have speech with you. My business is important. I have traveled far and fast to seek you."

He took him apart and whispered in his ear.

Abdallah's face lengthened at the communication, but, at first, he made no reply. Grasping the man by the arm, lie motioned him to the boat. "Step in," he said. "Our way is thine; we go to the 'Tomb of the Kings.'"

They were soon all settled in the boat, and the sail was set; then, the wind being dead aft, they began to travel rapidly up the river.

Presently Abdallah caught St. Just's eye and, unseen by the others, signed to him to come to him. When the young Frenchman had come up, the other whispered something in his ear. It was the communication he had received from the stranger, and at it St. Just looked grave. But almost immediately, he rejoined Halima, at whose side he sat, silent and preoccupied.

When his silence had become noticeable, Halima looked anxiously in his face and, noting his grave and sad expression, she laid her hand gently on his arm.

"Henri," she said, "something has happened to disturb you. I can see it in your face. If some new trouble has arisen, let me share it with you. I am your wife, and it is my privilege to do so. If I cannot console you in your sorrow, at least, let me bear my part in it. I am no coward, as you know. Tell me, my dear one," she concluded pleadingly.

He took her hand in his. "Alas! my Halima," he said. "I have sad tidings for you, but they concern not your husband, but your father. Your messenger brought news that your father has been stricken down by illness, sick, as it is feared, to death."

She gave a start, and a little cry proceeded from her lips. It was the last thing she had thought of. Her father, though well on in years, had always seemed so hale and strong.

"My father ill, and like to die?" she cried. "Oh! may Allah save him. He is all I have, save you. Oh! tell them to make all speed. I must, I will see him before he dies, if die he must."

The tears gathered in her eyes, and she wept silently.

"My dearest, we could not go faster than we are," he said. "The wind is in our favor and is carrying us forward bravely. Bear up, my Halima, in the hope that Allah will so order it, that you shall see your father again."

She made no reply to this, and he sat on, silent, by her side, still holding her hand in his.

Presently, when her first grief had spent itself, her tears ceased to flow and she dried her eyes. Then she looked up trustfully into St. Just's face and said, "It will be as Allah wills; if I am to lose one protector in my father, I have gained another in my husband. Strong in the possession of your love, I will not rebel against the decrees of Allah."

"Fear not, my dear one," he replied earnestly. "I will be father, lover, husband all in one to you, henceforth."

And she smiled at him lovingly in reply.

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

St. Just and his party met with no adventures on their way, and no difficulties beyond such as were inseparable from the river and the desert; but their progress was slow, for there were often delays in getting boats for such stages as were traversed on the river, and these they made as frequent as they could, preferring this mode of journeying to the tracking of the arid desert. But, owing to the bends in the river and also to the cataracts, they were perforce compelled to leave it many times and travel overland.

The last stage was made upon the river, and about six weeks after leaving Cairo--which brought them to the beginning of November--they landed at a small village, which was little more than a group of huts, a few hours' journey from the "Tombs of the Kings," where, as St. Just soon learned, the old Sheik was still encamped.

A messenger was at once despatched to inform the tribe of their arrival, and to announce to the Sheik that, in a few hours, Halima would be with him.

Soon after daybreak on the following morning, they made a move, and, by two o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the out-lying tents of the tribe.

Quite a crowd of people were on the look-out for them, for Halima was beloved by every member of the tribe, and all the party had relatives and friends among them. St. Just, too, was no stranger, and, during his previous stay with them, had gained their confidence and esteem.

When the party came up, therefore, the excitement was tremendous. Men, women and children crowded round them, shouting and gesticulating with delight; Halima, who had spent all her life with them until her father had taken her to Cairo, being the center of attraction. The people rushed forward to kiss the hem of her cloak, to touch her saddle, her stirrup iron--anything that was hers; Halima was touched by the heartiness of her welcome, and her large, dark eyes filled with tears, even while her face beamed with smiles and she bestowed thanks and greetings on the eager faces upturned to hers.

Even the very dogs--those mangy, yapping curs, without which no Arab encampment is complete--shared in the general enthusiasm, running round and round the new arrivals and barking merrily.

It was almost like a royal progress, for the crowd, which was ever on the increase, pressed on with the party, until they came to a halt in the center of the camp.

But, amidst all this turmoil of congratulation, Halima never, for an instant, forgot her husband. The looks of mingled pride and love she turned on him would have satisfied the most exacting man that, though she was grateful for all these tokens of affection, he had all her heart, that he was ever in her thoughts, and that she was ready to forsake her kith and kin, if needs be, so long as she retained his love. In addressing him, she loved to dwell with iteration on the words "Mon mari." In them she summed up all her love and trust. His was the arm that helped her to dismount--though many others proffered their assistance--and to which she clung when she alighted.

No sooner had they gained their feet, than an old, gray-headed man approached them. In him both St. Just and Halima recognized the doctor of the tribe. Halima at once rushed up to him.

"Oh! Ben Kerriman," she exclaimed, "My father! how is he? He is alive?"

"He is alive, Lady," Ben Kerriman made reply; "but he is very weak, and so worn that you will scarcely know him. Still the fever has now left him, and he suffers only from excessive weakness."

"I will go to him at once," she cried eagerly. "Dear father, I long to see him. Come, Henri."

A path was formed for them through the crowd, and they made their way to a large square tent, which St. Just, at once, recognized as the Sheik's; for, in front of it, he and the old warrior had spent many an hour, while smoking their long chibouques, in friendly chat.

When they reached the entrance, St. Just halted and drew back. He thought that, father and daughter having been parted for so long, both would prefer to have their first interview in private. But Halima, at once divining his unspoken thought, seized him by the arm and dragged him forward.

"Of course you are to come in with me," she said in French. "I have no secrets from you now; you are my husband. Besides it is right that you should be with me when I tell him that we are married. Dear, I want you."

He made no more ado, and they went in together.

In a few seconds, when their eyes had accommodated themselves to the dimness of the light, they saw in the far left hand corner of the tent--which, after the luxury of her surroundings at Cairo, struck Halima as bare and comfortless--a couch formed of a pile of skins. On this, propped up with cushions, the old Sheik reclined. He was worn almost to a skeleton, his brown, shriveled skin giving him the appearance of a mummy. The only signs of life about him were his eyes, which shone with unnatural brilliancy, but with no vacant glitter; it was plain that, though the body had lost its strength, the brain still maintained its sway. St. Just could scarce refrain from shuddering at the appalling change in the old Sheik's appearance.

By the side of the bed of skins, within reach of the sick man's hand, was a small round table, on which was placed a horn of cooling drink. A charcoal brazier, with smoldering embers, stood in the center of the tent. Crouched in a corner, watching with apparent unconcern the figure on the couch, was a withered old hag, presumably the nurse. At the entrance of the newcomers, she turned her eyes listlessly upon them, but took no further notice of them.

At the sight of her father, Halima uttered a low cry of pain; then she ran up to the bed, threw herself on her knees beside it, and, seizing one of the claw-like hands that rested on it, covered it with kisses.

"My father!" she cried, "Allah be praised that at last I see you. Oh! I have been fearing that I should be too late, for I heard you were so ill. But, now that I have come I will nurse you back to health."

There was a slight movement in the poor, withered hand, and the glittering eyes took on an expression of content; but presently, this changed to one of puzzled questioning.