Kitabı oku: «For Love of a Bedouin Maid», sayfa 13

"Agreed," he said; "we can but try the other, should this fail to bring us out. Mahmoud, to the right; go on in front, and keep a good look out."

But now that they had left the tunnel, they found the traveling much harder, for the road was rough and strewn with obstacles—great blocks of stone they had to skirt, and smaller ones embedded in the lava, with which the whole way was covered, so that hardly a step could be taken on the level, and they constantly stumbled, and sometimes found themselves full length upon the ground. Occasionally, their path was completely barricaded by a pile of debris, over which they had to scramble as best they could. Spite of all her husband's care, Halima received several serious bruises, her feet especially smarting and aching, so that she could scarce refrain from moaning; for all that, she made no sound, but struggled bravely on.

They were really traversing the upper portion of the ruined city, for they found themselves passing through the courtyards of deserted houses and by the ends of still standing inner walls, on which St. Just noticed, with a curious sense of half awakened interest, wonderfully executed frescoes of battle scenes, and others. In different circumstances he would have stayed his steps to admire and wonder, for in some cases the pictures were in no way marred, and the colors so fresh that they might have been laid on the day before. But their peril was too great to leave room for admiration of passing objects; so they hurried stumbling on.

Suddenly they found their progress barred; a huge wall of rock loomed high before them; the road went no further; unless there should be a way round this new obstacle, they would have to retrace their steps and try the other road. Seating Halima on a fallen stone—she was now too tired to object to being left while the others searched about—St. Just made his way in one direction along the face of rock, and sent Mahmoud in the other, to see whether a passage could be found.

Presently the boy cried out, "Way here, Master." And almost immediately, St. Just was at his side. An opening had been cut within the rock, and thence, leading downwards was a flight of steps; but the treads were so slippery and uneven from their lava coating, that to descend them would be perilous, though, St. Just thought, possible with care. Should they slip, they might slide down into an almost fathomless abyss. For all that, he resolved to try it; indeed there seemed to be no alternative.

And now something else both puzzled and alarmed him; the air was perceptibly warmer than when they had left the temple, and every moment it grew hotter; he feared the volcano's energy was increasing. Had they escaped entombment in the temple, only to be burnt to death? The thought was maddening; he said nothing of it to his companion, and together they rejoined Halima. He told her of their discovery, and they lost no time in beginning their descent. It was performed in this wise. St. Just seated himself on the top step and then gradually worked himself, with his hands and feet, on to the next; Halima followed behind him in the same position, and Mahmoud came last, propelling himself in like fashion. Thus, in case Halima should slip, her motion would be checked by her husband's body.

Save for a few slight cuts and bruises, they reached the bottom of the flight of steps in safety—there were eighteen in all—and found themselves in a road that crossed the point at which the steps gave on it. This time they chose the left, and traveled on. The air was almost stifling and choked with dust, so that they had difficulty in breathing; but still they dragged on their weary steps in silence, Halima now leaning on her husband's arm.

After proceeding thus for half an hour, the air ever getting hotter, and at the same time lighter, they reached an open space; and here they paused to look about them. Their torches were now of little use; the flames from the volcano lighted up the scene all round. Close on their left was a huge ruined building, that St. Just decided had been the palace of some great one. To the right, at what, in the half-smothered glare, seemed a considerable distance, the crater was belching out flames and smoke and red hot cinders, accompanied by cracklings and roarings and rumblings that were terrible to hear; whilst broad streams of white-hot, boiling lava were pouring down on the ruined city away in front, below them, where they lay like sheets of liquid fire; and, with it all, were sulphurous fumes, whose stench was sickening, that caused their eyes and throats to smart and made respiration painful.

Hope almost died within them; in such an atmosphere life could not long hold out.

"Our only chance lies in this large building," said St. Just. "The volcano bars our progress towards the right; the burning city in the front; unless we can find a way out through the building, we are hopelessly cut off."

To penetrate it was easy, for the walls were full of gaps, and they soon found themselves in a large courtyard; this was clear of obstacles and quickly crossed. As good luck would have it, an open gate-way faced them; passing through, they gained a road that rose gradually as far as they could see—evidently the main approach to the building.

Once more their hope revived, and, though faint, their strength all but exhausted, they crawled along this road. It was bordered by banks and rocks; no houses lined its sides; plainly it was a thoroughfare cut in the mountain's face or side, and leading to and from the city. Higher and higher they ascended; and now, for the first time, they could feel a cooler air blowing in their faces; it was but a breath, but it was there, and it added to their hope; this was no sulphur-laden blast—that was now behind them—but an earth-borne breeze.

"We are on the right track; we shall yet escape," cried St. Just, and there was a note almost of exultation in his voice. When one has been within the very jaws of death, even a short respite revives the fainting heart.

Suddenly Halima reeled against him and would have fallen, had he not supported her.

"I can go no farther," she gasped faintly. "Leave me here, Henri, and save yourselves, you and the boy."

"Never," he answered resolutely. "Why, sweetheart, we are saved. Before long, we shall see the sky; we are breathing pure air now."

"It is too late; I am so worn out that I have no life left in me. I care not to live, I am so weary—only to die in peace."

"You shall rest awhile; you may do it safely now; in fact a rest will be of service to us all."

He laid her gently down, and, almost in a moment, she had fallen asleep. Meanwhile St. Just and Mahmoud sat and watched. Sleep would have been everything to them also, but they durst not yield to it. How much further should they have to go, St. Just wondered wearily, before they would be free. He had now every confidence that they would escape, provided that their strength held out; but would it? That depended on the distance they had still to go; and there was Halima.

He let her sleep for about an hour, and then he roused her.

"Oh! let me be," she cried. "I am too weak to move, I was happy; it was cruel of you to disturb me."

"Dearest," he said, "it had to be; but I and Mahmoud will carry you while we can."

They took her up between them and staggered on. Their progress was now slow indeed, and they had to make frequent stoppages to rest. Oh! for a drink of water to moisten their parched tongues and throats! Still onward and upward they stumbled with their almost unconscious burden.

They reached the limit of the road and were there faced by an arched gateway cut in the solid rock. It had been guarded by a pair of bronze gates, one of which still hung on its hinges; the other lay prone before them. The gateway gave on to a tunnel, whose length they could not ascertain, for no light showed through it; it was black as night. They would have to relight their torches; so far, the crater's glare had served them. They put down Halima, and St. Just got out a tinder box and the torches were rekindled. He turned to Halima.

"Can you walk a little, do you think?" he asked. "It will be difficult to carry you with torches in our hand."

He could scarce speak, and felt that to carry her at that moment was beyond him.

"I will try," she said, "if you will each give me an arm."

And thus they crawled along, the tunnel echoing to their footsteps. No one spoke; they were past that. Their road was easier now, for it was on the level; but what they gained in that, was balanced by their failing strength. It bore slightly to the right and seemed interminable, but it was really not a quarter of the length it appeared to them. It was only that they were so worn out. On they staggered, swaying this way and that, and sometimes almost falling, each feeling that, if their journey should not soon end, they must die of sheer exhaustion.

St. Just felt Halima totter. "Bear up," he whispered—he had no voice—"we are nearly through."

But it was useless; she heard him not, but sank fainting to the ground. St. Just signed to Mahmoud, and they raised her and carried her a few yards; then they put her down to rest themselves. Thus they proceeded with many halts for a hundred yards or so. Having to carry their torches, they had but one arm for her.

They were resting, Halima lying on the ground, when suddenly St. Just clutched Mahmoud's arm convulsively and pointed ahead; he was too far gone to speak.

In the far distance was a tiny point of light.

Once more they took up Halima, who was still unconscious, and resumed their way, but now full of hope; and hope lent them strength.

Larger and larger grew the spot of light—not the lurid light from the horrid crater, but the white light of day—so that now they could almost see their way without their torches. Suddenly St. Just's foot struck violently against some obstruction, and all three fell heavily to the ground, the shock, in their then exhausted state, rendering them unconscious.

*      *      *      *      *

Mahmoud, perhaps because he was the youngest, was the first to come to himself. He looked around, and was surprised to find he knew the place. It was a cave in which he had more than once sheltered from the storm. The way out possessed no real difficulties, though it was intricate.

Casting a glance at the two prostrate figures, and assuring himself that they still lived, he ran out of the cave; the knowledge that they were saved, and the fresh air, had given him new strength. On he sped, and, after a run of half a mile, he dashed, breathless and almost speechless, into the midst of their own tribe.

"Water!" he panted.

They offered him a pitcher, and he drank till he could hold no more. Then, in a few words, he explained what had occurred, and where St. Just and Halima would be found. The cave was known to many of the tribe, and a rescue party was at once made up.

Halima was some time recovering, but St. Just, except for the cuts and bruises he had received, was soon himself again.

He told Mahmoud, they would never have been saved, but for his assistance, and that he should remember him with gratitude and affection to his dying day. And he did. Between the master and the servant the tie was for the future more like that between two brothers. When they were alone, Mahmoud handed him the silver box, which he had preserved through all their danger.

The boxes that contained the gold were also safe, and had been transported to the camp before St. Just's return.

CHAPTER XXII

The effects of the terrible experience she had undergone were very serious to Halima. She had been carried from the cave to the encampment on a litter, for she had not been able to stand, still less to ride or walk. She lay on a couch and moaned, acutely sensible to pain, yet seemingly unconscious, so great was her prostration. She felt bruised and sore all over, every nerve and muscle overstrained; her body was one huge ache, her joints burned like fire, and she could scarcely have suffered more had she been stretched out on the rack.

Thus she passed the weary night, vainly longing, oh! so earnestly, for the sleep that would have been everything to her, but that her sufferings would not permit; for, with the cessation of exercise, her joints stiffened and the pain increased. In the morning she was in a high fever, and delirious. It was nature's retaliation for the affront that had been put upon her; for no one may insult her with impunity, and she rebels when too much is demanded of her, as when nerves and thews are overstrained and the brain is overwrought.

St. Just, the old nurse and Ben Kerriman, the doctor, stood gravely watching the unconscious girl, who lay staring at them with wide open eyes, eyes in which there was no trace of recognition; and their heart sank within them. The old doctor's knowledge of the healing art was superficial, and he was acquainted only with the simple herbal remedies. These he administered, but with little faith in their efficiency; such hope as he had, lay in the soundness and natural vigor of her constitution, aided by her youth. He gazed upon her sorrowfully, and shook his head doubtfully—almost despairingly. For all that, he was unremitting in his care, and in this he was ably seconded by the old nurse and St. Just. He was resolved that nature should have every chance. For a week she hovered between life and death, on more than one occasion the vital spark flickering so feebly that every moment they thought it would die out. In a week the critical moment that would decide her fate arrived. It passed and she was saved; her strong constitution had gained the mastery of the fever; the temperature of her blood was lowered; the florid color faded from her face; the pulse, that had been rapid and irregular, became calm and measured; a slight moisture broke out upon the hot, parched skin, and consciousness returned. She looked up in the faces of the watchers with a feeble smile, and her lips moved slightly, but no sound escaped them. Then she closed her eyes and dropped off into a calm, refreshing sleep, that lasted many hours.

When she awoke she was able to speak. From that moment she gradually gained strength; nothing now ailed her, but extreme debility, and each day that grew less. Ben Kerriman, in fact, was surprised at her rapid progress towards recovery.

All this time the treasure that had almost cost their lives was kept carefully guarded. It had been stored up in a hut, which had been then banked round and on the top with sand, the door only being exposed. St. Just kept the key of this, and each day he went in to count the boxes and see that they had not been tampered with. Moreover, night and day the hut was always watched by two men—not, of course, always the same—in whom implicit confidence could be placed. All these precautions were scarcely needed, for no member of the tribe would have robbed its chief; but St. Just, realizing that he was but the bailee of this great wealth, was resolved to run no risk.

He had deferred the examination of the silver casket, until his wife should be restored to health, feeling that she would like to be present at its opening; but one day, when she was thoroughly recovered and they were alone together, and likely for some time to be undisturbed, he brought it out. It was soon forced open, and then the sight disclosed to view made Halima's eyes sparkle with delight, and St. Just's to beam with satisfaction. They had expected to find precious stones, but had never dreamed of such as these. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and others whose names they did not know, all flawless, and of the purest water; the diamonds colorless as ice, the others with tints rich and deep. And there were no mean sized stones among them; some as large as pigeon's eggs, others equaling the size of marbles; there were none smaller. They were all unset and badly cut, but the size and quality were there. Little as St. Just knew of the value of such gems, he was satisfied that the contents of that little silver box far out-weighed in worth the treasure stored up in the hut outside.

When the jewels had been duly inspected and admired, it was arranged that Halima should have the charge of them, and, with a view to their safe custody, she said she would sew them into a pad or belt, and wear them under her clothing, until the opportunity should arrive for their disposal.

The subject naturally brought up that of the remainder of the treasure. Now that his anxiety on the score of his wife's health was over, St. Just was desirous of relieving himself of his responsibility as soon as possible. Having no immediate personal interest in the money, its custody had become an incubus he would fain shake off. Accordingly, he now suggested that a messenger should be at once despatched to Cairo with a letter to the persons mentioned by the late sheik, informing them of the existence of the gold and of the old man's wishes in regard to it, and inquiring whether, and by what route it would be safe for him, St. Just, to bring it.

Halima wished the matter to be put oft for a time; said the treasure was quite safe where it was, that the country was so unsettled that its transport would be hazardous, that the withdrawal of so many men as would be necessary for the convoy would leave her insufficiently protected; and advanced a number of other reasons more or less plausible, for postponing action for the present. Summed up, they simply meant that she wished to keep her husband with her.

He combated her objections one by one, showing that she made too much of them; then he dwelt on his own uneasiness at having the charge of so much wealth, and on his pledged word to the old sheik; appealing, finally, to her filial affection and her duty to her father.

This last was his most mighty argument, and it prevailed with the result that she agreed that a messenger should be sent to Cairo with all speed.

Now this decision was a most untoward one, as events will show. Had St. Just at once set out with the treasure, without previously communicating with the men in Cairo, the current of his life would have flowed in a very different channel from that it took.

It may be remembered that when St. Just rejoined the tribe with Halima, shortly before the old sheik's death, his wife's old nurse regarded him with great repugnance; though why, unless it was for his nationality, he could not understand. At first he had hoped that her undoubted love and fidelity towards his wife, whose affection for himself the old woman must have seen was strong and deep, would have wrought some change in her feelings towards him—and he, on his part, albeit by no means sympathetic towards her, had done his utmost to capture her goodwill. So far from that, however, her aversion for him seemed daily to increase, and, after Halima's illness, attained to such a pitch of hatred that, if she could have slain him with impunity, she would have done so. It was not that she indulged in any overt acts of insolence or disobedience; but the looks of diabolical malignancy she flung at him as often as she met his eyes, sufficiently revealed her sentiments.

And the cause was this; she, of course, had been Halima's chief attendant in her illness, and, during her ramblings, her young mistress had disclosed the fact of her betrayal and, in consequence, her deep sense of injury and desire for vengeance; but with no mention of the name of her seducer.

The nurse being unaware that Halima knew Buonaparte, thereupon jumped to the conclusion that St. Just was the man who had robbed her former nurseling of her virtue, having assailed her in a moment when she was off her guard; that the intimacy once begun, Halima had been unable to free herself from her relations with her betrayer, and had thus lapsed to the position of his mistress, a toy he could discard when weary of it. The statement that they were really married with Mahometan rites the old woman regarded as a mere blind to cover Halima's dishonor. The thought worked her into a state of rage and hatred that was uncontrollable, and she resolved to punish the unsuspecting Frenchman, if by any means it could be done.

The course of events now seemed to have brought about her opportunity. The existence of the treasure was known throughout the camp, and it was rumored that it was to be sent to Cairo. When, therefore, the old woman heard that a messenger was to be despatched thither, she guessed what was his errand and laid her plans accordingly. Everything seemed to favor them, for the man selected for the mission was one of those most devoted to the late sheik's nephew, Yusuf, and withal one who deeply resented St. Just's position in the tribe. Naturally, St. Just was not aware of this, or another man would have been chosen. Yusuf had always been a favorite with the nurse; she had been present at his birth and had seen him grow to manhood, and had looked forward to seeing him eventually assume the headship of the tribe; thus his banishment by the old sheik had sorely troubled her. She now saw a chance of his reinstatement.

There were those in Cairo who would know his whereabouts. Accordingly, she sought the messenger who was to go to Cairo and who, it happened, was akin to her, and could be trusted not to betray her confidence, and instructed him to seek out Yusuf, and, should he find him, to tell him of the coming treasure; that, if he could collect a sufficient force and keep a good look out, he would be able to intercept it, and at the same time kill St. Just, who would be with it. That accomplished, there would be nothing to prevent his taking the leadership of the tribe, and making Halima his wife, should he desire it.

Should St. Just's messenger be unable to get speech of Yusuf, he was to forward her instructions to him by some one he could trust. The old woman was satisfied that, if Yusuf lived, he could be found, for many knew him; he had held an important position in the tribe and had many influential friends in Cairo.

She had no doubt that Yusuf would act upon her information, should it arrive in time; her only fear was that it might not reach him until St. Just should have advanced so far on his journey with the treasure, as to preclude Yusuf from making his arrangements for attacking him. However, that, as she piously observed, would be as Allah willed.

In due course, St. Just's messenger returned with letters from his Cairo correspondents. They had expressed delight at hearing of the treasure, and requested him to bring it on at once.

It was now February in the year 1800, and nothing stood in the way of St. Just's making an immediate start. To tell the truth, he was becoming somewhat wearied with desert life, and ready to welcome almost anything that would vary its monotony. So he set about at once to make his preparations. They were simple, including only a sufficiency of camels to transport the treasure, the devising of a ready mode of securing it on their backs, and the selection of the men to tend them; also supplies for the men's consumption by the way. The camels would need no food, for they would be required only to take the treasure to the river bank. St. Just had decided to make the whole journey by the Nile. It would take somewhat longer than by the desert route, but he preferred it as being less tedious and much more interesting. His point of debarkation would be a village five days' journey from Cairo; St. Just had halted there before, and was acquainted with a sheik who was friendly to the tribe and would, he hoped, supply him with camels for the remaining portion of the route.

It was agreed between himself and Halima—for she held firmly to her resolution to proceed to France—that, when he should have transacted the business connected with the treasure, he should write to her, by the returning party, stating where he would await her. Having regard to the condition of the country and the risk he ran of recognition, both felt that, at this stage, no definite fixture for their meeting could be made.

When everything was ready and the moment of departure had arrived, Halima, who thought she had schooled herself to the separation, broke down altogether. She threw her arms about his neck and clung to him with desperation, almost devouring him with kisses.

"Oh! Henri," she sobbed, "I would you were not leaving me, my husband. Oh! I cannot let you go. Stay, my dear one, and let Abdallah take this treasure; he is to be trusted and will see that it be handed over safely. I am sure you need not go. Oh! would we had never seen this cursed gold!"

"Nay, my Halima," he replied sadly, and he stroked the silky head that lay against his breast; "go I must; I pledged my word to your dead father. It is hard enough, God knows, to part from you; don't make it harder for me by your tears. But our parting will not be for long, and, when we meet again, it will be for life. Before six months are passed, we shall be on our way to France."

"Ah! I know not. Once before you left me, promising to return soon; but it was more than twelve months before my eyes again rested on you; and, in the interval, how much had happened. They told me that you were no more, and—but I cannot bear to think of all I went through then; I would blot it from the pages of my life's history. And now it may be the same again. It is not that I do not trust you, Henri, but others may control your movements and keep you from me. Oh! I have an awful foreboding that it will be so; that, when you shall have faded from my sight, it will be years before my eyes will be set on you again. Oh! stay, my husband; do not leave your Halima who loves you so. I cannot live without you!"

"Wife," he replied, "it tears my heart to leave you, but I cannot now draw back; I should be dishonored before all the tribe. Oh! seek not to restrain me, for it but prolongs our sorrow, and avails nothing."

"Oh! you are cruel!" she wailed. "You love me not as I love you."

It was true there was the more fervor in her passion, but whether it would be as enduring as her husband's was a question to be decided by the future. It is not always the fiercest fire that burns the longest; rather is its ardor the soonest spent.

Halima went on much in the same strain, he vainly endeavoring to soothe her, until he could no longer bear it. So, impressing one long, fervent kiss upon her quivering lips, he unclasped her arms from round him and tore himself from her embrace; then handed her over to her old nurse, who received her willingly enough, though she scowled ferociously at him and mumbled words of menace. Then he gave the signal for departure, and the whole party moved away.

Aided by the current and fair winds, they made good progress, and, when a fortnight had elapsed, had performed half their journey, having reached a point hard by the ruined city of Thebes. Up to this moment they had not left the boat, but here was a convenient landing place, and St. Just had a fancy for seeing something of the place. So the boat was moored a little distance from the river bank, and a smaller one they had on board was launched, and in it, St. Just, with Mahmoud and a few of the men took their places and were rowed ashore. His chief follower and the other men were given strict injunctions not to leave the larger boat till his return, which would be on the morrow. So far their journey had been without adventure; they had scarcely even seen a soul; only now and then a solitary horseman had appeared about half a mile away; and then, after looking about him, apparently with no particular object, had galloped off.

After making a cursory inspection of the ruins, while the day-light lasted, St. Just had a fire built up and lighted, for the night was cold and squally, and settled down to camp out till the morning under the shelter of a ruined wall, with Mahmoud close at hand and the others at a little distance.

Wearied just sufficiently to make rest enjoyable, he fell into a half-dreamy state, but still awake, and thought of Halima, picturing her now asleep; wondering whether at that moment he occupied her dreams; and how long it would be before they would meet again. By an easy transition his thoughts reverted to the treasure, and he fell to pondering on the probabilities of a successful issue to his undertaking, and the chances of his being recognized in Cairo by any of his former comrades. At this point he dropped off into a heavy sleep, and in his sleep his mind went back into the past. He dreamed that he was a mere youth and had just joined his regiment. A scene in his campaign in Italy came vividly before him. His company were sleeping in the marshes, when, suddenly, they were attacked. He could hear again the clash of arms, the cries of the alarmed sleepers, and, in the distance the sound of shots. It all seemed so real that, in his excitement, he awoke and, with a cry, sprang to his feet.

In a moment he realized that this was no dream, but that they were in truth attacked. He had no occasion to rouse Mahmoud; the lad was a light sleeper and the noise had waked him. Both drew their swords and rushed on to where the conflict was proceeding. His men were contending against fearful odds, and the result of the encounter could not be doubtful. He saw the hopelessness of their position, and felt that death was staring him in the face; for all that, he did not hesitate an instant, but threw himself upon the nearest foe. Before their swords had crossed, he had recognized him as Yusuf; then he knew there had been treachery; it was impossible the man could have been there by chance. This sudden recognition and the thought it prompted, disconcerted him, and, for the moment, threw him off his guard. Yusuf was a skillful swordsman, and had had more practice with the desert weapon, with which both were armed, than had St. Just. The Arab began to press him sorely, and the young Frenchman found that he had met more than his match. Still desperately he fought on, the personality of his opponent lending fury to his attack. Indeed, both were animated by the same passion, jealousy, for Yusuf had recognized in the other the man who had snatched Halima from his arms and usurped his position in the tribe. His look of malignant triumph was awful to behold, for in his eyes his hated rival was already slain. With a skillful movement of his flexile wrist, he sent St. Just's sword flying, then drew back his arm to make the lunge that should deal the death stroke. The Frenchman felt that in another moment he would have done with life. But that moment did not come. Before the Bedouin could deal the blow, Mahmoud, who had been watching his opportunity, got behind him and ran him through the heart. Yusuf with a groan, threw up his arms and fell heavily to the ground. Before St. Just had had time to realize his respite, a blow on the head felled him also, and he knew no more.