Those two days were uneasy ones to Kāra. He felt no dread of Aneth’s final answer, but the waiting for it was wearisome. Their arrangements might easily have been concluded at the last interview had he not been weak enough to defer to the girl’s foolish desire to postpone the inevitable. Since he had come from Fedah, the world had been his plaything, and he found it in no way difficult to accomplish those things he determined upon. He had, therefore, acquired unbounded confidence in the powers of Ahtka-Rā’s remarkable Stone of Fortune, which he believed to have a strong influence over all his undertakings. So the Egyptian merely sought to occupy his time to good advantage until he could bring his bride—willing or unwilling mattered little—home to his handsome villa.
He sent Tadros to summon the most famous merchants of Cairo to wait upon him, and arranged to have the women’s quarters redecorated in regal fashion. He selected many rich silks and embroideries for Aneth’s use when she should need them, and secured an increased corps of Arab servants, well trained in their duties, to attend the slightest wish of their new mistress. He realized that the establishment must hereafter be conducted more upon the plan of a modern European household, and that the apartments of the harem must be transformed into parlors, reception-halls and drawing-rooms.
In marrying Aneth he determined to abandon all Oriental customs and adopt the manners of the newer and broader civilization. He would exhibit his wife in society, and, through her, gain added distinction. His villa would become renowned for its fêtes and magnificent hospitality. Such a life appealed to his imagination, and a marriage with the English girl rendered it possible.
Hatatcha had educated and trained Kāra for a purpose; but now her mission and his oath to fulfil it were alike disregarded. He had given the matter considerable thought recently, and decided that his love for Aneth Consinor canceled all obligations to persecute her or her people further. Hatatcha was dead and forgotten by the world, and her wrongs could never be righted by any vengeance that he might inflict upon her enemies. She could not appreciate the justice of retribution, since her spirit was far away in the nether world with Anubis, and her body in the tombs of Fedah. He had, at first, been conscientious in his determination to accomplish his grandmother’s will, but a girl’s eyes had thwarted him, and Hatatcha had herself proved weak when love assailed her. Even as all his schemes were approaching fruition and his grandmother’s revenge was nearing accomplishment, the compelling power of his love arrested his hand and induced him to cast aside everything that might interfere with his prospective happiness.
On the afternoon of the second day he dressed himself carefully and ordered his chauffeur to be ready to drive him to the Savoy; but as he was about to leave his room, a note was brought to him from Aneth. He tore it open and eagerly read the message—
Dear Prince Kāra:—I am not going to risk another unpleasant interview, because I am anxious we should remain in the future, as in the past, good friends and comrades. But please do not again ask me to marry you, for such a thing is utterly impossible. While I am glad to enjoy your friendship, I can never return the love you profess to bear me, and without love a true woman will not marry. So I beg you will forget that such a thing has ever been discussed between us, and forbear to refer to it again.
Your friend,
Aneth Consinor.
As he read the note Kāra’s face grew set and stern and his dark eyes flashed ominously. He read it a second time, with more care, trying to find some word of hope or compromise in the frankly written epistle. But there was none.
He experienced a sensation of disappointment and chagrin, tinged with considerable astonishment. Strange as it may seem, he had never for a moment anticipated such a positive refusal. But his nature was impetuous and capricious, and presently anger drove all other feelings from his heart; and the anger grew and expanded until it was hot and furious and took full possession of him.
Perhaps it was the blow to his self-esteem that was most effective in destroying the passion he had mistaken for love. Anyway, the love dissolved with startling rapidity, and in a half hour there was little tenderness remaining for the English girl who had repulsed him. He accepted her answer as conclusive, and began at once to revive his former plans of vengeance. One transport was liable to prove as sweet and exciting as another to him, and he began to revel in the consciousness that he was the supreme master of the fate of all the Consinors. Hatatcha was right after all. These English were cold and faithless, and unworthy the consideration of one of his noble race. He had been incautious and weak for a time, but now he resolved to fulfil his oath to the dead woman to the very letter.
He tore the offending paper into fragments, and left the room with a resumption of his old inscrutable demeanor. It was the look that Tadros had learned to fear.
“Drive me to the Savoy,” he said to his chauffeur.
Lord Roane had reserved one small room on the first floor of the hotel as an office, and here he transacted such business matters as came under his jurisdiction. Kāra found him unoccupied, and Roane, who knew his visitor but slightly, greeted the man with cordial politeness.
“Pray be seated, Prince,” said he, offering a chair; “I am entirely at your service.”
The other bowed coldly.
“I fear my mission may prove somewhat disagreeable to you, my lord,” he began, in quiet, even tones.
Roane gave him a shrewd glance.
“Ah, I hear that my son is largely indebted to you for losses in gambling,” he returned, thinking that he understood Kāra’s errand. “So far, it is merely a rumor that has reached me; but if you come to me to plead that case, I beg to assure you that I am in no way responsible for Consinor’s debts of honor.”
The Egyptian shrugged his shoulders as a Frenchman might have done.
“That is another matter, sir, which I do not care to discuss at this time,” he answered. “My present business is to obtain your consent to marry your granddaughter.”
Roane was startled with amazement.
“Aneth! You wish to marry Aneth?” he asked, as if he could not have heard aright.
“Yes, my lord.”
So confident was the prince’s tone that Lord Roane, although much unnerved by its suddenness, began involuntarily to consider the proposition. The fellow was handsome and dignified and reputed to be as rich as Crœsus; but the Englishman had a natural antipathy to foreigners, especially the dark-skinned ones. The idea of giving Aneth to an Egyptian was revolting.
“Ahem! This is indeed a surprise, Prince,” he said, haltingly. “The child is hardly old enough yet to think of marriage.”
Kāra did not reply to this observation.
“Have you—ah—approached her with this proposal as yet?” inquired Roane, after a few moments’ reflection.
“I have, sir.”
“And what did she say?”
“She refused to marry me, giving as her reason the fact that she does not love me,” was the calm reply.
Roane stared at him.
“Then why the devil do you come to me?” he demanded, angrily.
“Because the girl must not be allowed to choose for herself,” said Kāra.
“Must not, sir?”
“Decidedly not, Lord Roane. Too much depends upon her refusal. At present your granddaughter stands disgraced in the eyes of all the world, because of that dishonest father, who, as you remarked a moment ago, owes me ten thousand pounds.”
“Aneth disgraced!” cried Roane, indignantly; “by no means, sir! Even your vile insinuations cannot injure that pure and innocent girl. But Consinor has gone away, and his daughter is now under my personal protection. I will see that she is accorded the respect and consideration to which she is entitled, despite her father’s misdeeds.”
“Such an assertion, my lord, is, under the circumstances, ridiculous,” replied Kāra, with a composure equal to the other’s irritation. “In the near future, when you are yourself disgraced and imprisoned, who will then be left to protect your granddaughter’s good name?”
Roane uttered a roar of exasperation.
“You infernal scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “how dare you come here to browbeat and insult me! Leave my presence, sir!”
“I think you will be glad to hear more,” remarked Kāra, without changing his position. “Perhaps you are not aware that your robbery of the Government through the contractor, McFarland, is fully known to me.”
Roane fell back in his chair, white and trembling.
“It’s a lie!” he muttered.
“It is not a lie,” said the imperturbable Egyptian. “The proofs are all in my hands. I hold your receipt to McFarland for the stolen money.”
Roane glared at him, but had not a word to reply. He felt like a rat in a trap. From the most unexpected source this blow had fallen upon him when least expected, and already he bitterly regretted his lapse from honesty.
“The Egyptian Government, when it learns the facts,” continued Kāra, “will show you no mercy. Even Lord Cromer will insist upon your punishment, for he will resent any embezzlement in office that would bring the English colony here into disrepute. You must be aware of your danger without the necessity of my calling your attention to the fact; so that you have, absolutely, no hope of escape except through my clemency.”
“What do you mean?” asked the old nobleman, hoarsely.
“That at present the secret is in my sole possession. It need never be disclosed. Give me Aneth in marriage, and you will not only secure your safety, but I will see that you want for nothing in the future. I am wealthy enough to promise this.”
“The girl has refused you.”
“Never mind. You will force her to accept me.”
“No, by God, I will not!” cried Roane, springing to his feet. “Hell and all its imps shall not induce me to drag that innocent child to my own level. I am a felon because I am an ass, and an ass because I have no moral stamina; but even then, my heart is not as black as yours, Prince Kāra!”
The Egyptian listened unmoved.
“The matter deserves more careful consideration,” said he. “Sentiment is very pretty when it does not conflict with personal safety. An examination of your case reveals comfort and prosperity on the one hand, disgrace and prison on the other.”
“They weigh nothing against Aneth’s happiness,” returned the old man, promptly. “Expose me as soon as you like, sir, for nothing will ever induce me to save myself from the fruits of my folly at the expense of that poor girl. And now, go!”
Kāra smiled with quiet scorn.
“It is quite refreshing to witness your indignation,” said he. “If it were equaled by your honesty, you would have no reason to fear me.”
“Nor do I fear you now,” retorted Lord Roane, defiantly. “Do your worst, you infamous nigger, for you cannot bribe me in any way to abet your shameful proposals.”
Kāra reddened at the epithet, but did not reply until he had risen and started to move toward the door. Then he half turned and said:
“It will enable you to appreciate your danger better, Lord Roane, if I tell you that I am but the instrument of an Egyptian woman named Hatatcha, whose life and happiness you once carelessly ruined. She did not forget, and her vengeance against you and yours will be terrible, believe me, unless you engage me to defeat it instead of accomplishing it. My personal interest induces me to bargain with you. What do you say, my lord? Shall we discuss this subject more fully, or do you wish me to go?”
Roane was staring at him with affrighted eyes. A thousand recollections flashed through his mind at the mention of Hatatcha’s name, attended by a thousand terrors as he remembered his treatment of her. So lost was he in fear and wonder that Kāra had to speak again.
“Shall I go, my lord?”
“Yes,” was the answer. It seemed to be wrenched from the old man’s throbbing breast by a generosity that conquered his cowardice.
Kāra frowned. He was disappointed. But further argument was useless, and he went away, leaving Roane fairly stunned by the disclosures of the interview.
Kāra went straight to Aneth’s apartments, insisting that he must see her.
The girl was much distressed by this sudden visit, and, thinking that the Egyptian wished merely to renew his protestations and appeals, tried hard to evade the ordeal of an interview. Mrs. Everingham was with her at the time, and in her perplexity Aneth confided to her in a few brief words Kāra’s infatuation, and asked her advice how to act under such trying circumstances.
Mrs. Everingham was a woman of strong character and shrewd judgment. She was tall and admirably formed, with undoubted claims to beauty and a carriage queenly and dignified. The wife of a prominent engineer, she had lived much in the Orient and was accustomed to its unconventionalities as well as to its most representative social life. Although so much older than Aneth, the lady had manifested a fondness for the lonely girl from their first meeting, and had gladly taken her, as she expressed it, “under her wing,” as well as to her sympathetic heart; so that Aneth had come to rely upon her friend in many ways, and now turned to her in this emergency.
“I think it will be best for you to see him,” advised Mrs. Everingham, after a thoughtful consideration of the case. “If you evade the explanation he doubtless wishes to force upon you, he is the sort of man to annoy you persistently until you grant him an interview. Better have it over at once; and be positive with him, my dear, as well as gentle, so that you leave no hope alive to warrant his renewing his suit.”
“Won’t you stay with me, Lola?” begged Aneth.
“That would hardly be fair to Prince Kāra,” smiled Mrs. Everingham, “for my presence would embarrass and humiliate him unnecessarily. No; I will withdraw into the next room, where I shall be within call, but invisible. Be brave, Aneth dear. These disagreeable duties are often thrust upon women who, like yourself, have a faculty of unconsciously winning men’s hearts, and are exacted as inevitable penalties. I am sorry for the poor prince, but he is not of our race and had no business to fall in love with an English girl.”
Then she kissed her protégé and retired to the adjoining room, taking pains to leave the door ajar. Aneth sighed, and called her Arab to admit Kāra.
When the Egyptian entered, his manner in no way indicated the despair of a rejected lover, or even the eagerness of one who hoped to successfully appeal his case. Instead, he bowed coldly, but with profound deference, and said:
“You must pardon me, Miss Aneth, for forcing this interview upon you; but it was necessary.”
“Forgive me, also, Prince Kāra,” faltered the girl. “I am sorry you came, for my answer was final. I can never—”
He waved his hand with a gesture of insolent indifference that arrested her words.
“You will not be called upon to repeat the dismissal conveyed in your letter,” said he. “I may ask you to reverse your decision, but it will be a matter of business between us, in which inclination will have no part.”
“Sir,” she replied, shrinking back before his stern look, “I—I fear I do not understand you!”
“Be seated,” he requested, “and I will explain.”
She obeyed silently, with a partial recovery of her self-control. Strange as the Egyptian’s words proved, they were, after all, more bearable than his endearing protestations would have been, and in her ignorance she welcomed any topic but love.
Kāra spoke with brutal frankness.
“The scandal caused by your father’s dishonesty is too recent for you to have yet escaped its contamination,” he began. “Lord Consinor has left Cairo owing me money, a matter of some ten thousand pounds. That you may have no cause to doubt my word, please to examine this note of hand. It is witnessed by two respectable gentlemen residing in this city.”
He handed her the paper and she took it mechanically, wondering what it meant.
“According to our laws,” he resumed, “I can bring an action to recover this money against any member of Consinor’s family. I am assured such an action would ruin Lord Roane completely.”
She was afraid of him now, but drew herself up proudly.
“That will not matter in the least, sir,” she replied. “Lord Roane will gladly meet any just obligation, even though it may leave him penniless to do so.”
“My lord does not express himself quite so honorably as that,” replied Kāra, with an open sneer. “But this note of hand is really unimportant. I merely mentioned it to emphasize the debt that you and your grandfather already owe me. Your father has cleverly escaped the result of his misdeeds by absconding. Unfortunately, Lord Roane is unable to do the same thing.”
“No one will blame Lord Roane for his son’s faults,” she protested, greatly distressed by the cruelty of Kāra’s remarks.
“That is not my meaning,” he replied. “Roane’s own misdeeds are so much more serious than those of his son that, when they are discovered, he cannot escape a prison cell.”
Aneth gasped in horror. The accusation was at first beyond belief; but Kāra’s tone was positive and a sudden recollection of her grandfather’s doubtful life flashed over her and made her dread to question further.
It was not needful. The man continued calmly to enlighten her concerning McFarland’s crime and her grandfather’s participation in it, while the girl sat with wide-open eyes and a look of despair upon her white face.
Finally Kāra produced a second paper.
“This, Miss Aneth,” he said, more gently, “is the receipt signed by Lord Roane for his share of the stolen money. It is proof positive against him, and you will, of course, recognize his signature. Besides, I can produce two witnesses to the crime—a crime for which the penalty is, as I have hinted, a long term of imprisonment as well as dishonor through all the ages to come. But this is only for discovery. There is no penalty exacted for an undiscovered crime. Personally, I do not wish to see Lord Roane disgraced and sent to prison, or your invalid mother impoverished, and you, yourself, left to the mercies of a reproachful world; so I have come here to-day to save you all from these consequences of Roane’s folly, if you will let me.”
Aneth tried to control her bewilderment. She wanted to think calmly. So vividly had Kāra described Lord Roane’s offense, that she saw it all before her as in a dream, and knew that the old man’s feet were stumbling at the edge of a bottomless pit. But the last words of the Egyptian, if she heard them aright, seemed to promise a chance of her awakening and exorcising the nightmare.
“How can you save us?” she asked, wearily.
“By making you my wife,” he answered. “It all rests with you, Miss Aneth. I alone can protect Lord Roane from any possibility of discovery, and I will do so if you now promise to marry me. More than that, I will pay off all the mortgages on your grandfather’s estates, so that he may live in comfort during the remainder of his life, honored and respected by all. And you shall have your father’s note of hand for the ten thousand pounds as soon as I receive your promise, as an earnest of my good faith.”
“And if I refuse?” she suggested, trembling.
“Then you render me powerless to aid, and plunge your aged grandfather into prison, disgraced and humiliated beyond any hope of redemption.”
“No, no! I cannot do that,” she wailed, miserably. “He has been so good to me and loved me so fondly that I dare not—I will not—sacrifice him to secure my own happiness!”
“It is as I hoped,” said Kāra, a note of triumph in his voice. “Do you promise, sacredly and on your honor, that you will marry me in return for my shielding your grandfather from the consequences of his crime?”
“Yes,” she answered, clasping her hands with a shudder.
“And you will come to me any day and hour that I may appoint?”
“Yes.”
“Aneth! Aneth! what have you said? What have you done?” cried Mrs. Everingham, running from her hiding-place to clasp the terrified girl in her arms.
“What have I done?” repeated Aneth, vacantly. “Why, Lola, I have saved my dear grandfather from disgrace and ruin.”
“You shall not keep that promise!” declared the woman, turning fiercely to confront Kāra. “It was wrung from you by threats—by blackmail—and this scoundrel is playing upon your generous and loving heart. You shall never keep so absurd a promise.”
“Yes,” returned Aneth, bravely; “I have given my word, and I shall keep it.”
Kāra laid a paper upon the table.
“There is your father’s note, Miss Aneth. You may destroy it.” He hesitated an instant, and then added the second paper. “And here is your grandfather’s receipt for the stolen money. So fully do I trust to your good faith that I leave the incriminating evidence all in your own hands. Good afternoon, Miss Aneth.”
With a bow, grave and courteous, he passed from the room, and Mrs. Everingham lifted the girl in her strong arms and carried her into the adjoining chamber to lay her tenderly upon her bed. The strain had been severe, and Aneth had fainted.
Gerald Winston endured several miserable, uneasy days following that of Lord Consinor’s public disgrace. He longed to call upon Aneth, but dared not intrude, and so compromised by sending her a daily gift of flowers. At last, however, he decided to see Mrs. Everingham and endeavor to ascertain Aneth’s condition, and whether her father’s fault was making her as sorrowful as he feared.
He found Mrs. Everingham at her rooms in the Savoy, and was admitted at once.
“I want to ask you about Miss Consinor,” he said, after he had been warmly greeted, for they were good friends and she was glad he had come.
“Aneth is very unhappy,” was the sober reply.
“I can understand her humiliation, of course,” he continued, with a sigh; “although I hoped she would be brave, and not take the unfortunate circumstance too much to heart.”
“She is young,” answered Mrs. Everingham, evasively, “and cannot view these things as composedly as we do. Moreover, you must remember that Lord Consinor’s trouble touches her more deeply than anyone else.”
“Unless it is the viscountess,” he suggested.
“Oh, the poor viscountess knows nothing of it! She passes her time in an exclusive consideration of her own ailments, and will scarcely see her own daughter at all. Do you know, Gerald, I sometimes wonder how the child can be so sweet and womanly when her surroundings are so dreadful.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Consinor has always borne a doubtful reputation at home, and in past years Roane’s life has also been more or less disgraceful. But the old fellow seems to be conducting himself very properly since he came to Egypt, and it is possible he has reformed his ways.”
She did not reply at once, but sat musing until she asked, with startling abruptness:
“Gerald, do you love Aneth?”
He flushed and stammered in his endeavor to find words to reply. Since his interview with Kāra he had confessed to himself that he did love Aneth; but that another should discover his secret filled the big fellow with confusion.
“Why do you ask?” he faltered, to gain time.
“Because the girl needs true and loving friends more at this moment than in all her life to come,” said she, earnestly.
“I will be her true friend in any event,” he returned.
“But I must know more than that,” persisted Mrs. Everingham. “Tell me frankly, Gerald, do you love her?”
“Yes.”
“Well enough to wish to make her your wife, in spite of her family’s shady history?”
“Yes,” he said again, looking at her inquiringly.
“Then I shall confide to you a great secret; for it is right that you should be apprised of what is going on; and only you—with my assistance, to be sure—can hope to defeat the cunning plot that threatens to separate Aneth from you forever.”
Thereupon she related to him the details of the interview she had overheard between Kāra and the girl, and told of the promise Aneth had made to save her grandfather from disgrace by marrying the Egyptian.
“But this is nonsense!” he exclaimed, angrily. “The man is a fool to wish to force any woman to marry him, and a scoundrel to use such means to accomplish his purpose.”
“I know; I have discussed this matter with Aneth long and earnestly, but all in vain. She is determined to sacrifice herself to save Lord Roane from this disgrace; and Prince Kāra is inflexible. For some unknown reason he has determined to make this girl his wife, although he did not talk like a lover, and she told him frankly she could never love or even esteem him. Really, it seems incomprehensible.”
“I know his reason well enough,” answered Winston, moodily. “He is acting under the influence of the strongest and most evil human passion—revenge. If you will kindly listen, my friend, I will relate a bit of romance that should enable you to understand the Egyptian’s purpose.”
He proceeded to recount the story of Hatatcha and Lord Roane, adding his grounds for believing that Kāra had from the first contemplated the ruin of the entire Consinor family.
“This is horrible!” cried Mrs. Everingham, indignantly. “If what you say is true, this native prince is himself a grandson of Roane, and therefore Aneth’s cousin.”
“I have called his attention to that fact, and he declares it is no bar to his marrying her. I imagine his real meaning is that the relationship is no bar to his prosecuting his nefarious plans. Does Lord Roane know of this proposed sacrifice of his granddaughter for his sake?”
“No; and Aneth has made me promise to keep the secret from him. I cannot see that he would be able to assist us in any way, if he knew all that we know.”
“Perhaps not. Is the story true? Has Roane actually embezzled this money?”
“I do not know.”
“It seems to me,” said the young man, thoughtfully, “that our first action should be to discover the truth of Kāra’s assertion. He may have trumped up the charge to work upon Aneth’s feelings, and lead her to consent to marry him against her will.”
“That is true,” she said. “How can we investigate the matter?”
“Very easily. I will go to-morrow to the Rosetta Barrage and examine the embankment. Afterward I can look up the records and discover what sort of contract this man McFarland had, and how much money he collected for its execution. That will give us the truth of the matter, and I can accomplish it all in two days’ time.”
“Then go; but make haste, for every day is precious. We do not know when the prince may call upon Aneth to fulfil her promise.”
They discussed the situation a while longer, and then Winston withdrew to prepare for taking the early morning train.
The second evening after, he again called upon Mrs. Everingham.
“Well,” she inquired, eagerly, “what did you discover?”
“It is all true,” he answered, despondently. “The swindle has been cleverly consummated, and in just the way Kāra explained it to Aneth. There is no doubt of Lord Roane’s guilt; neither can we doubt that Kāra has both the power and the will to expose and imprison him if it suits his purpose to do so.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Everingham, firmly, “we must find another way to save Aneth. The poor child is heart-broken, and moans every moment that she is left alone with her misery. Lord Roane tries earnestly to comfort her, for I am sure he loves her as well as one of his character is capable of loving. But he imagines she grieves over her father, and does not suspect the truth.”
“Is she still resolved upon keeping her promise?” he inquired.
“Yes; and that in spite of all I can say to move her. The girl has a gentle and loving nature, but underneath it is a will of iron and a stubbornness such as the early martyrs must have possessed. She holds her own happiness as nothing when compared with her grandfather’s safety.”
“Then what can we do?” he asked, pacing the floor nervously.
“We must resort to a cunning equal to Kāra’s in order to induce Aneth to break her foolish promise,” responded Mrs. Everingham, promptly.
“I fear I do not quite understand,” he said, stopping before her to read her countenance for the clue.
“I think—nay, Gerald, I am certain—the girl loves you; for I have questioned her skilfully during your absence and led her to speak of you, watching her tell-tale eyes as she did so. In my opinion it is this secret love for another that makes her sacrifice so grievous, and will end in breaking her heart.”
He blushed like a girl at hearing this, but was evidently reassured and delighted.
“Yet I do not understand even now, Mrs. Everingham,” he said.
“It is not so much that you are stupid as that you are a man,” she answered, smiling. “You must become the instrument to save Aneth from herself. In a few moments I shall take you to see her. Her rooms are just across the hall, and doubtless she is at this moment alone, Lord Roane having left the hotel an hour ago. This evening I will give you countenance, but thereafter you must play your own game, and do your utmost to draw from Aneth a confession that she loves you. When you have done that, our case is won.”
“Why so?”
“Can’t you see, Gerald? No right-minded girl would ruin the life of the man she loves to save her grandfather from the consequences of his own errors. If she is in the mood to sacrifice, we will let her sacrifice Lord Roane instead of herself or you.”
“Oh!” he said, blankly. “I can’t do that, you know, Mrs. Everingham.”
“Why not?”
“It would not be honest or fair. And it would be selfish in me, and—and unmanly.”
“But I am not thinking of you at all, sir, except as the instrument. I am thinking of Aneth and her life’s happiness. Are you willing, on your part, to sacrifice her to such a man as Kāra, that he may crush her to gratify his revenge?”
“No; but—”
“Will you permit her, in her blindness and folly, to break her own heart and ruin her own life, when you know that you can save her?”
“The struggle is between you and Kāra. Lord Roane is a felon, and to save him from the penalty due his acts will be to merely postpone the day when another of his criminal misdeeds will be discovered. There is little possible redemption for a man who has attained his sinful years; but if the possibility did exist, the price would be too high. Opposed to the desirability of shielding this reprobate nobleman and giving Kāra his way—which simply means Aneth’s ruin—we must consider your mutual love and the prospect of a long life of happiness for you both. Do you dare to hesitate, Gerald Winston?”
“I will do exactly as you say, Mrs. Everingham,” he replied, impetuously. “I can’t let her go to this fiend—to the terrible fate that awaits her. Tell me what to do, and I will obey!”
“Your first duty will be to come with me to her room. And drop that long face, sir! Be cheery and lighthearted, and woo Aneth as tenderly as if you were wholly ignorant of the dreadful position she is in. Arrange to call again to-morrow, and in the future do not leave her alone for a single evening, and haunt her at all hours of the day. Remember that time is precious, and the situation demands all your skill and diplomacy. It cannot be a long siege; you must determine to capture her by attack.”
“I—I’ll try,” he said, nervously.
And so he met Aneth again, for the first time since her trouble had come upon her, and he performed his part so creditably that Mrs. Everingham had but little fault to find with her coadjutor. The sight of the girl’s swollen eyelids and her sad and resigned expression of countenance so aroused his loving pity and indignation at the cruel plot that had enmeshed her, that he could scarcely restrain the impulse to declare at once his love and entreat her to give him an immediate right to protect her.
Perhaps Aneth read something of his love for her in his eager face, for she joined with Mrs. Everingham in sustaining the flow of small talk that was likely to prove her best safeguard, and in this way was led to forget for the moment her cares and fears. She hesitated a moment when Gerald proposed to bring her a new book next afternoon, but finally consented. Therefore, he left her feeling more buoyant and hopeful than he had thought could be possible a few short hours before.
From that evening his former shyness disappeared, and he pushed his suit with as much ardor as he dared, utterly ignoring Aneth’s evident desire to restrain him from speaking too plainly. But sometimes she, too, forgot her impending fate, and gave way to the delight of these happy moments. Already she knew that Gerald loved her, for her woman’s instinct was alert, and at night she lay upon her bed and wailed miserably because the gates of paradise had suddenly opened before her, and her willing feet were so bound that she might not enter.
During these days Lord Roane devoted much of his time to his grandchild, treating her with almost reverential tenderness and striving in every possible way to cheer her spirits. The old man realized that his probation might be short. At any moment Kāra was liable to fulfil his threat and expose him to the authorities, and involuntarily he caught himself listening at all times for the footfall of the official coming to arrest him. He even wondered why he had escaped so long, knowing nothing of the manner in which Aneth had saved him.
And the girl, noting his loving care for her and marking the trouble that often clouded his handsome face, was encouraged in her resolve to carry out her compact with Kāra rather than see her aged grandfather thrust into prison, humiliated and disgraced.
Between her awakening love for Gerald Winston and her desire to save the family honor, the girl was indeed in pitiable straits. Yet never for a moment did she hesitate as to which way the path of duty led.
She felt that every day she remained unmolested by the Egyptian was a precious boon to be grateful for, yet always she dreaded Kāra’s summons. However, he was in no hurry, realizing the bitterness to her of these days of waiting, and enjoying the prolongation of her sufferings. All the love that Kāra had formerly borne the girl seemed to have dissolved as if by magic, and in its place had grown up schemes for so horrible a vengeance that he often wondered whether Hatatcha herself might not have hesitated to accomplish it.
But Kāra did not hesitate. The very diablerie of the thing fascinated and delighted him, and he anticipated the event with eager joy.
Tadros spent much of his time at the hotel, in charge of Kāra’s elaborate system of espionage. His functions as dragoman gained for him special privileges, and the hall porter allowed him free access to the lobby; yet he was only able to enter the upper halls when he could plead some definite errand. This excuse was provided by a guest of the hotel, an agreeable Frenchman who was in Kāra’s employ and maintained a surveillance over the interior of the establishment, while a half-dozen Arabs and Copts watched carefully the exterior. Thus Tadros was enabled to keep in close touch with the movements of Lord Roane and Aneth, as well as to spy upon those who might visit them, and his orders were to report promptly to Kāra any suspicious circumstances which might indicate that his victims were planning their escape.
But, from the dragoman’s reports, all seemed well, and his prospective prey apparently made no effort to evade their fate.
Kāra depended much upon Aneth’s delicate sense of honor and her strength of character, and read her so truly that there was little chance of her disappointing him. Roane, however, caused him a little uneasiness, and the Egyptian’s spies shadowed him wherever he went. But Kāra misjudged the old gentleman if he supposed that Roane would tamely submit to Aneth’s sacrifice had he known her secret. The girl understood him better, and although she did not know of his indignant rejection of Kāra’s offer to shield him at the expense of his granddaughter’s happiness, Aneth knew that if Roane learned the truth he would at once give himself up to justice in order to save her; and here was a danger the clever Egyptian had not even suspected.
In many of his dealings Roane was doubtless an unprincipled knave; but certain points of character were so impressed upon his nature, through inheritance from generations of more noble Consinors, that in matters of chivalry his honor could not be successfully challenged.
The dragoman said nothing to Kāra about Winston’s frequent visits to Aneth. During his hours of watching Tadros indulged in reflection, and these musings encouraged a growing resentment toward his master that destroyed much of his value as a confidential servant. Aside from the resentment, Tadros was afraid of Kāra, and also uneasy as to his financial condition. The prince, who was accustomed to scatter money with a liberal hand, had of late refrained from exhibiting a single piastre. Tadros wondered, and grew suspicious. One evening, as he reported to Kāra, he said:
“The tradesmen are clamoring for their money. They say you are not paying them as promptly as you did heretofore.”
Kāra looked up with surprise.
“Is not my credit good?” he inquired.
“For the present, yes,” replied the dragoman; “but it will not remain good unless you begin to pay for all the magnificence you are putting into this villa.”
“I see,” said Kāra, nodding thoughtfully. “They are fools, my Tadros, but they might become troublesome. Keep them satisfied with promises for a time longer. That should not be a difficult task.”
Tadros looked at him distrustfully.
“Tell me, my prince; have you spent all your treasure?” he asked.
The Egyptian smiled.
“If I should live a thousand years, my Tadros,” he returned, “I could not spend the half of it.”
“Then why do you not pay these merchants?”
“Because I have at this time no more money in the bank, and it is not convenient for me to leave Cairo just now to secure a further supply.”
“Oh, I see!” remarked the dragoman, heaving a sigh of relief. “You must make another trip to Fedah.”
Kāra gave him one of those intent, thoughtful looks that always made Tadros uneasy; but when he spoke his voice sounded soft and pleasant.
“What causes you to think my treasure is at Fedah, my good friend?” he asked.
The tone reassured the dragoman.
“It stands to reason, my prince, that it is there,” he answered, with frank indifference. “Do I not well remember first seeing the papyri in your house, and afterward carrying away from there the heavy traveling case that was filled with precious gems?”
“Ah! was it?”
“Of course, Kāra. How else could you give so many ancient gems to the Van der Veens to recut, or turn so many more into money by selling them to Andalaft, the jeweler?”
“You have been observant, my Tadros.”
“It is natural. I am no fool. But if, as you say, there is more treasure at Fedah, I will undertake to keep the rascally tradesmen quiet until you can make another deposit in the bank.”
Kāra was still reading the countenance of his dragoman.
“It is quite evident that you are no fool, my Tadros,” he said, softly; “yet I had not imagined you capable of so much shrewdness and wisdom. Look you! Fedah consists of a rock and a few stone houses cemented with Nile mud. It is familiar to you, being your birthplace as well as my own. Now where do you suppose, within the limits of that simple village, a treasure could have been discovered?”
“It has puzzled me,” acknowledged Tadros; “but I suppose you do not wish me to know the exact location. Nevertheless, it is evident that the treasure is a very ancient one, and therefore it must have been hidden by your forefathers in the mountain itself, or perhaps on the desert that adjoins the village.”
“A long-buried and forgotten temple; eh, Tadros?”
“Oh, no; a tomb, of course! They did not keep pearls and rubies in the temples. Only in tombs could such trinkets be found. That is why I believe your statement that you are the last descendant of the great kings of Egypt; for this tomb was not discovered by accident, I know. The secret of its existence must have been handed down through the generations. Hatatcha knew, and told you of it before she died; so it is your personal property, and its possession proves your noble blood. I am glad the treasure is ample; for at the rate you are squandering money, it would otherwise be soon exhausted.”
“Very wisely argued, indeed,” said Kāra. “I wonder how much of my inheritance has already found its way into your own pockets.”
“Not too much, you may be sure,” answered the dragoman, gravely. “I am very honest, and take only my rightful perquisites. It is better that these trifles should go to me than to strangers, for I am your own kinsman and almost as pure an Egyptian as yourself.”
“True. I do not complain, my Tadros. But in acquiring my money you should take care not to acquire too much knowledge of my affairs with it, for such knowledge is liable to prove extremely dangerous. Consider the pearls of wisdom that have even now dropped from your lips. Must they not be repaid? And already I am greatly in your debt.”
“You are talking riddles,” growled the dragoman, uneasily. “Tell me what you mean in plain words.”
“Do you remember the day that Nephthys broke her water-jar?”
“Yes.”
“You struck me, your prince, and knocked me down.”
“Well, you choked me afterward. That should even the score.”
“Not quite. I choked you for spying upon me. That was another offense. The blow has not yet been accounted for.”
Tadros frowned.
“I do not bear grudges myself,” he muttered.
“There are a few other matters scored against your account,” continued Kāra. “Still, so long as you serve me faithfully, and I have need of you, I shall not exact a reckoning; but they stand on record, my Tadros, and some day the account must be balanced. Do not forget that. For these reasons, and remembering that you have declared yourself no fool, I am certain that you will admit you were wrong about the location of my treasure. When you think it over, you will conclude that it lies in Luxor, or Abydos, or perhaps is a myth altogether, and never has existed. And, when you chatter to others, no mention of a hidden tomb or temple will be permitted to pass your lips. I am quite sure you will be circumspect, and I trust you to keep to yourself the secret of my affairs. If I thought you would betray me, I would kill you now, instead of waiting. But you will not do that; you are too fond of living and of the money you are saving to hazard losing both.”
Tadros returned to his duties in a very thoughtful mood. In playing upon his fears, Kāra had overreached himself, and made the dragoman so much afraid that he believed his life hung by a thread. Therefore, he sought most earnestly for a way of escape from the thrall of his terrible countryman.
The following morning Gerald Winston, on leaving Mrs. Everingham after a conference concerning their plans, met Tadros face to face in the corridor of the hotel. He recognized the man at once as Kāra’s dragoman and confidential servant. Moreover, he suspected that the fellow had just come from the Consinor apartments; so he had no hesitation in accosting him.
“May I speak with you a moment in private?” he asked.
“Most certainly, sir.”
Winston led the way into Mrs. Everingham’s drawing-room, where the lady greeted his return with surprise, but a quick appreciation of the importance of securing an interview with Kāra’s confidant.
“You are Prince Kāra’s dragoman, I believe?” began the Englishman.
“Yes, Winston Bey.”
“And devoted to him personally, of course?”
“To an extent, naturally,” returned Tadros, hesitating what to say. “You see, he pays me liberally.”
Winston and Mrs. Everingham exchanged glances. Then the lady took up the conversation.
“Prince Kāra,” she said, in a stern tone, “is a scoundrel, being even now engaged in perfecting one of the most diabolical plots the mind of man has ever conceived.”
Tadros did not reply. It was not his business to deny the charge.
“Our desire and intention to defeat this plot,” she continued, “lead us to speak to you frankly. We must save Miss Consinor from an ignoble alliance with your master.”
Tadros listened carefully.
“To accomplish our purpose, we are willing to expend a great deal of money—enough to make some faithful ally comfortable for the remainder of his life.”
A pause followed this significant statement. Tadros felt the effect of their scrutinizing glances, and cleared his throat while he looked swiftly around to make sure they could not be overheard. Then, reassured, he answered with his native bluntness of speech.
“I am willing to earn this money,” said he, “if you will show me how to do it with safety. Kāra is a fiend. He would not hesitate to kill all three of us if he had reason to suspect we were plotting against him.”
“I will give you a thousand pounds,” said Winston, “if you will tell us what you know of Kāra’s plans. I will give you two thousand pounds additional if we succeed in saving Miss Consinor.”
Tadros was pleased. He had intended to break with Kāra anyway. To be well paid for doing this was a stroke of good fortune.
“I accept your offer,” he replied. “But I must inform you that there is no time to be lost. I have just taken a message to Miss Consinor, telling her to be ready to go to Kāra at nine o’clock this evening.”
“This evening!” exclaimed Winston, alarmed. “And what was her reply?”
“She assured me that she would keep her compact with the prince and be ready to accompany me at the hour named. I am to call for her and take her in a closed carriage to Kāra’s villa.”
“And then?” asked Mrs. Everingham, eagerly.
“Then there is to be a mock ceremony of marriage, which is intended to entrap the young lady so that she will think everything is regular, and will make no disturbance,” answered Tadros, calmly. “A Copt, named Mykel, who is one of Kāra’s servants, is to be dressed as a priest and perform the Coptic marriage service, which is a Christian function not unlike your own. But the man is not a priest, and the marriage will be illegal. The intention is to destroy the young lady’s good name, after which Kāra will drive her away. Then he intends to deliver her grandfather, Lord Roane, over to justice.”
“What a dreadful crime!” exclaimed Mrs. Everingham, indignantly. “And Aneth is sacrificing herself because she believes the act will save her grandfather.”
“That is Kāra’s promise,” returned the dragoman. “But he has no intention of keeping it. Did he not give her a forged copy of Roane’s receipt? For some reason my prince aims at the ruin of the entire Consinor family. The young lady’s father he has already disgraced and driven from Cairo.”
“I understand his motive,” said Winston, “and believe you are right in claiming that Kāra will not spare Lord Roane once Aneth is in his power. The danger is terrible and imminent, for nothing will move Aneth to abandon her purpose. She imagines she is saving Roane, and has exacted from us a promise not to tell the old gentleman of her sacrifice. So our hands are tied.”
“It seems to me,” declared Mrs. Everingham, after a moment’s thought, “that we must use the self-same weapons in fighting Kāra that he is employing. With the dragoman’s assistance it ought to be easy to save Aneth, even against her will.”
“In what way?” inquired Gerald, earnestly.
She did not reply at once. Instead, she studied the dragoman’s countenance with steadfast eyes.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Tadros, madam.”
“Will you follow our instructions faithfully, and not betray us to Prince Kāra?”
“Yes. I hate Kāra. He will kill me for deserting him if he gets the chance; but then he intends to kill me anyway as soon as he can spare my services. If your plan includes the murder of Prince Kāra, I shall be very glad.”
“It does not; but we will protect you from any harm, rest assured. Your task is simple. When you call for Miss Consinor to-night you will drive her, not to the prince’s villa, but to the embankment, where you will place her on board Winston Bey’s dahabeah. It will lie opposite Roda, on the west bank. Cross the Gizireh bridge and drive as rapidly as possible to the boat, where we shall be waiting to receive you.”
“My dahabeah!” cried Winston, astonished.
“To be sure. You will have everything in readiness for a voyage up the Nile, with a prisoner aboard.”
“A prisoner?”
“Yes; Aneth. She will, of course, refuse to go willingly, having given Kāra her word. I will accompany the party as her keeper, and we must find some way to induce Lord Roane to join us also. Once afloat on the mysterious river, Kāra will have no means of knowing what has become of his victims, and before we return, my friend, we shall have perfected such arrangements as will render the prince’s intention to marry our Aneth impossible. That is why I desire Lord Roane to join the party. He also will be safe from Kāra for a time.”
“I understand you now,” said Winston; “and while I do not see quite to the end of the adventure, the plan will at least give us time to formulate our future action and enable us to thwart Kāra’s immediate schemes.”
“That is my idea,” she returned. “Something must be done at once; and by abducting Aneth, we not only gain time, but save her temporarily from the consequences of her own folly.”
Then she turned to Tadros.
“What do you think of my plan?” she asked.
“It is excellent,” said he, “except for one thing; there are several spies about this hotel, who would at once follow us and inform Kāra that we had boarded the dahabeah; but I think I can find a way to throw them off the scent. They are under my orders, and I will send them to other stations before nine o’clock. Aside from this, then, do I understand that my only duty is to deliver the young lady on board the dahabeah?”
“That is all we ask.”
“I will show three red lights,” said Winston, “so that you cannot mistake the exact location of the boat.”
“I know the boat,” replied the dragoman. “Abdallah, your engineer, is a friend of mine.”
“You will not fail us?” asked Mrs. Everingham, anxiously. “All depends upon you, Tadros!”
“I know, and I will not fail you,” he said.
“I believe you will earn the three thousand pounds,” remarked Winston, significantly.
“As for that, sir,” replied the dragoman, with dignity, “I hope you will give me credit for a little humanity as well as cupidity. Being an Egyptian, I love money; being a man, I am eager to assist a woman in distress. But, above all else, I shall have pleasure in defying Kāra, who hates me as heartily as I hate him. Thus, three passions vouch for my fidelity—love, pity and hatred. Can you doubt my devotion to the cause?”
After this he went away, leaving his fellow-conspirators to plan the details of the evening’s adventure.
Mrs. Everingham passed the afternoon in Aneth’s company. The girl was visibly nervous and excited, but made pitiful attempts to conceal her weakness. In no way did she allude to Kāra or to the fact that the hour had arrived when she was to consummate the sacrifice of her own happiness to maintain her grandfather’s integrity and the honor of her family’s name.
Her friend ventured one or two remarks about the folly of her promise and the absurdity of keeping it; but these so distressed Aneth, and had so little visible influence upon her decision, that Mrs. Everingham abandoned the topic and turned the conversation into more cheerful channels. When she mentioned Gerald Winston she noticed that Aneth’s cheeks flamed scarlet and then turned deathly white; so here was another subject to be avoided, if she did not wish to make the girl’s position unbearable. Indeed, those last days of association with Gerald had taught Aneth the full extent of her martyrdom, and now she began to realize that she was losing all that might have rendered her life’s happiness complete, had it not been for the advent of Kāra and his terrible threat to destroy the family honor and send her loving grandfather to prison.
Early in the evening Mrs. Everingham kissed her friend and returned to her own room across the corridor, there to complete her simple preparations for the proposed voyage.
Meantime Winston had been busy with Lord Roane. The young man was fortunately a prime favorite with Aneth’s grandsire, and he listened attentively to Gerald’s explanation of a plot to rescue his darling grandchild from the slough of despondency into which she had fallen.
“Mrs. Everingham is confident a Nile voyage would do much to cheer her up and keep her from dwelling upon her troubles,” he suggested. “What do you think of the idea, sir?”
“Capital,” said Roane—“if Aneth can be induced to consent. I asked her to run over to Helwan the other day, for a few weeks’ change of scene; but she declared she would not listen to such a proposal.”
“That is our difficulty,” acknowledged Winston, speaking in a confidential tone. “She has told Mrs. Everingham she would not leave Cairo, but we think her decision is based upon the fear that you would be unable to accompany her; so we have decided to engage in a little conspiracy, for the morbid condition into which she has fallen has made us all anxious. Is there any reason, my lord, why you should not leave Cairo for a month or so?”
“None whatever, if my going will benefit Aneth in any way.”
“Very good! Now, here is our plan. I have fitted my private dahabeah for a cruise. Mrs. Everingham will go along to chaperone your granddaughter, and you will join us to complete her happiness and keep her contented. Only one thing stands in our way—the young lady’s refusal to embark. That barrier will be surmounted by Mrs. Everingham, who is a woman of experience and who loves Aneth as well as if she were her own daughter. So this evening you and I will get aboard quietly, without declaring our intentions to anyone, and rely upon Mrs. Everingham’s promise to join us with Aneth at nine o’clock. Do not ask me, sir, how she will succeed in overcoming your granddaughter’s scruples against leaving Cairo. We will trust to woman’s wit. When the party is embarked, we go up the Nile, to find roses for your grandchild’s pale cheeks and have a jolly good time as well.”
Roane accepted the program with enthusiasm. He himself was in a dreadfully nervous state, expecting hourly to be accused of a crime the proof of which would separate him forever from Aneth. To get away from Cairo just now, without Kāra’s knowing where he had gone, would be to gain a few weeks’ respite. Eagerly he availed himself of the opportunity.
Winston knew there was no danger of the old man’s betraying their plans, but he could not divine what Kāra’s next move might be, and resolved to take no chances; so he clung fast to Roane until he had put him and his light luggage aboard the dahabeah, whereupon he sent a messenger to apprise Mrs. Everingham of his success.
So far, all had gone well; but Mrs. Everingham’s anxiety grew as the hour of nine approached. Lord Roane had sent word to Aneth that he would be out for dinner and might not return to the hotel until late that night; so the girl, glad of this fortunate chance, had her dinner served in her own room, and the Arab servant, being intercepted by Mrs. Everingham, declared that she ate little and wept continually, as if overcome by some hopeless sorrow.
All depended now upon the faithfulness of Tadros the dragoman, and Mrs. Everingham, finding nothing more for her woman’s ingenuity to devise, entered a carriage at half past-eight o’clock and was driven quietly to the embankment. Within sight of the three red lights Winston had displayed, she halted her vehicle to await the arrival of the dragoman.
Tadros, meantime, being fully instructed by Kāra as to the conduct of his mission, drove in the Egyptian’s private carriage to the hotel. The coachman had been instructed to obey the dragoman’s orders implicitly, so he suspected nothing when Tadros, having alighted at the Savoy, commanded him to drive to the citadel and remain in the shadow of the mosque until midnight.
The dragoman then hired another carriage that was driven by a sleepy and stupid-looking Arab, after which he immediately entered the hotel and went directly to Aneth’s room.
She opened the door in person, having dismissed all her attendants.
“It is nine o’clock, miss,” announced Tadros, as he entered.
The girl clasped her hands with a gesture and look of terror.
“Where is—is—Prince Kāra?” she asked, vaguely.
“At his villa, awaiting, with the bridal party, your arrival. You must understand that the wedding is to be very quietly conducted, yet strictly in accordance with the requirements of the Christian faith. My master desires me to say that every consideration and courtesy shall be shown you, his highest ambition in the future being to promote your happiness.”
She shuddered.
“Is that all he said?”
“Except that his promises to you shall be faithfully kept, and Lord Roane’s comfort and safety carefully provided for.”
“Let us go,” she said, hastily. “I am ready.”
“Any luggage, miss?” he asked.
She pointed to a small traveling-case that stood beside her, and Tadros stooped and picked it up.
With a frightened glance around her, she placed a note directed to Lord Roane upon the table and then hurriedly left the room, leaving the door unlocked.
The dragoman escorted her to the side entrance, reserved for ladies, and they were fortunate in finding it almost deserted at that moment. Aneth entered the carriage quickly, as if fearful of being interrupted in her escape, and Tadros closed the door and took his seat beside the driver.
“To the opera house,” he said, for the benefit of the few loungers who stood upon the pavement.
After driving a couple of blocks, he made the Arab driver stop in front of a tobacco shop, and sent him in to purchase some cigarettes. The moment the fellow disappeared, Tadros started the horse and applied the whip, and the carriage had whirled swiftly around the comer before the wondering Arab returned to the street, to find his equipage and his passengers missing.
Aneth, as soon as she had leaned back against the cushions, had fallen into a sort of stupor. Her weary brain refused to think or to speculate upon the doubtful fate to which she was rushing. She felt the carriage bumping over the crossings and saw vaguely the lights flash by; but she noted neither the direction in which they were proceeding nor the length of their journey. Across the Nile bridge the horses abated their speed; but then through the darker lanes of the west embankment they dashed along at a wild pace, that might have frightened the girl, had she been capable of realizing the actual conditions.
Suddenly, with a jolt that almost threw her into the opposite seat, the carriage halted. She looked out of the window and saw three dim red lights burning, and beyond these the glint of a stray moonbeam upon the river.
When Tadros came to assist her in alighting, she saw Mrs. Everingham standing behind him.
“Where am I?” asked the girl, wildly.
“Hush, dear,” said her friend, taking her in her arms to kiss her tenderly. “Am I not welcome at your wedding?”
“But why are we here?” asked Aneth, pleadingly. “Why are we at the river, and where is Prince Kāra?”
“Come and let me surprise you,” answered Mrs. Everingham, soothingly, leading the young girl, who was still half dazed and thoroughly mystified, aboard the dahabeah and into the brightly lighted little cabin. There sat Lord Roane and Gerald Winston.
Aneth stared, and then, looking wildly around, she gave a plaintive cry and threw herself into her grandfather’s arms.
“I don’t understand!” she wailed, sobbing hysterically. “What does it all mean? Why are you here, and where is Prince Kāra?”
Roane was puzzled by her speech, as well as distressed by her agitation.
“Prince Kāra!” he repeated. “Confound it, Aneth, you don’t want that rascally nigger, do you?”
“No, no!” she replied; “but he wants me, and I have promised; I must go to him. Why am I here? What have you done?”
By this time the dragoman had tied his horses to a palm and come aboard, just as Hassan drew in the gangplank and Abdallah started the wheezy engine. Tadros stood in the cabin doorway and listened intently to Aneth’s protests.
“See here, miss,” he exclaimed, with assumed sternness, “you are in my charge, for I am Prince Kāra’s dragoman, and you have promised to obey me. Is it not so?”
She turned to look at him.
“Are you obeying Prince Kāra’s orders?” she demanded.
“To be sure! He wished to surprise you. He says he merely intended to test your honesty, being interested in knowing whether an English girl would keep her promises. But he does not desire to make you unhappy. He is a prince, and generous; therefore, he releases you from your compact, and you are free from this time forth to do exactly as you please.”
She was white and trembling now.
“But my grandfather—” she began, eagerly.
Tadros cut her short.