that had been maintained during the headlong gallop across the desert
that evening. She had known all along the Arab's obvious affection for
his French servant, and it was confirmed now by the anxiety that he did
not take the trouble to conceal--so unlike his usual complete
indifference to suffering or danger.

She looked at him thoughtfully. There were still depths that she had
not fathomed in his strange character. Would she ever arrive at even a
distant understanding of his complex nature? There was a misty yearning
in her eyes as they followed his tall figure up and down the tent. His
feet made no sound on the thick rugs, and he moved with the long,
graceful stride that always reminded her of the walk of a wild animal.
Her new-found love longed for expression as she watched him. If she
could only tell him! If she had only the right to go to him and in his
arms to kiss away the cruel lines from his mouth! But she had not. She
must wait until she was called, until he should choose to notice the
woman whom he had taken for his pleasure, until the baser part of him
had need of her again. He was an Arab, and to him a woman was a slave,
and as a slave she must give everything and ask for nothing.

And when he did turn to her again the joy she would feel in his embrace
would be an agony for the love that was not there. His careless kisses
would scorch her and the strength of his arms would be a mockery. But
would he ever turn to her again? If anything happened to Gaston--if
what he had suggested became a fact and the servant fell a victim to
the blood feud between the two tribes? She knew he would be terribly
avenged, and what would her part be? She wondered dully if he would
kill her, and how. If the long, brown fingers with their steely
strength would choke the life out of her. Her hands went up to her
throat mechanically. He stopped near her to light a fresh cigarette,