Part 2 (1/2)

Claire's heavy eyes grew more thoughtful. The white lids fluttered lower over them till they looked like the eyes of one half asleep. She lay in silence, plunged in a reverie that was deep and dark. In this reverie she forgot to move her fan, which dropped from her hand and fell softly upon the rug. Renfrew did not interrupt her. His wors.h.i.+p had learned to wait upon her moods. A huge dragon-fly pa.s.sed on its journey towards the far blue range of the Atlas Mountains. It whirred in its haste, and its burnished body shone in the suns.h.i.+ne between its gleaming wings. Claire s.n.a.t.c.hed at it with her hand, but missed it.

”I should like to wear it as a jewel,” she said.

Then she turned slowly again towards Renfrew, and continued her nocturne as if it had never been broken off.

”The canvas flap fell down again over the doorway, Desmond, and it seemed that just then the breeze died away, expiring in that angry gust.

I could not see anything but the interior of the tent, and only that very dimly. But this man outside. I wanted to see him.”

”Did you recognise that he was not one of the soldiers, then?”

”Perfectly. He was not dressed as they are. They were entirely m.u.f.fled up with hoods drawn forward above their faces. And in their hands one could see their guns. This man was bareheaded, and looked half naked.

And in his hands--”

She stopped meditatively.

”Was there anything in his hands?”

”Well--yes, there was.”

”What?”

”I wanted to know what it was. But at first I only lay quite still and wished the wind would come again and blow the flap up so that I could see out. But it had quite gone down. The canvas did not even quiver.”

”Was it near dawn?”

”I haven't an idea. Does the breeze sink then?”

”Very often.”

”Ah! Perhaps it was then. Oh, but you'll see in a minute what nonsense it is to think about that. I lay still, as I said, for some time, waiting for the breeze. And when it wouldn't come, I made up my mind that I must arrive at a decision either to turn my face on the pillow and go to sleep, or else to get up, go to the tent door, and look out.”

”To see this man?”

”Exactly.”

”Which did you do?”

”Turned my face on the pillow.”

”And went off to sleep?”

”No, grew most intensely awake--as I supposed. The pillow was like fire against my cheek. It burnt me. With the departure of the breeze the night had become suddenly most intolerably hot. I turned over on my back and lay like that. Then I felt as if there was sand on the sheets.”

”Sand! Impossible! We aren't in the desert.”

”No. But it seemed as if I lay in hot sand. I s.h.i.+fted my position, but it made no difference. I sat up. The tent door was still closed. I listened. All those dogs had ceased to bark. There wasn't a sound. Even the jackals had left off whining. Then I slipped out of bed and threw that rose-coloured Moorish cloak over me. It rustled just like a thing rustles in gra.s.s, Desmond.”

She looked at him with a sort of peculiar significance, and as if she expected him to gather something definite from the remark.