Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara. Le Queux William

words were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the big negro who had guarded the door of the harem. He rushed in with a look of abject terror upon his dark, brutal countenance, whispering some hasty words into his mistress’s ear that caused her to become agitated and deathly pale.

      “Quick! Hasten, or I am lost!” she cried, turning to me.

      “What danger threateneth?” I inquired in surprise.

      “Leave me! Leave me! Thou must not be discovered!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Take this, the Crescent, and turn thy face towards the Desert to-morrow. Remember the instructions I have given thee; and, above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez.”

      “I promise,” I replied, as for a second I held her in my arms and our lips met in passionate farewell.

      “Quick! The Roumi! In Allah’s name, save him!” she cried, turning to the gorgeously-attired Soudanese who stood near, like a gigantic statue.

      “Follow,” he commanded; and, crossing the room, drew aside some silken hangings, disclosing another small door, of the existence of which I had been unaware.

      I turned. Zoraida had flung herself with languorous abandon upon her divan, with her hand pressed to her bejewelled forehead. Her wistful eyes followed me, and as I waved her a last farewell, she said —

      “Go, my Amîn! May Allah give thee perfect peace!” Through the open door we passed, and the negro, closing it, bolted it from the outside, leaving us in total darkness.

      “Keep silence. Grasp my arm, and I will lead thee,” said the man, but ere he had uttered the words, there came from the harem a loud, piercing shriek – the cry of a woman!

      It was Zoraida’s voice!

      “Hark!” I gasped, with bated breath. “Listen! That voice was hers! Let us return.”

      “No,” he replied gruffly. “That is impossible.”

      “But the cry was one of terrible agony!”

      “Slaves of the harem never interfere without orders. Death is the penalty of the Infidel found within the precincts sacred to the women,” he answered coldly.

      I turned to unbolt the door, but his sinewy hand grasped me by the neck, and without any further explanation I was half dragged through several dark, close-smelling passages, and down a flight of broken stone steps, until we came to a heavy door.

      “At least thou canst tell me who is the owner of this place,” I said, slipping a couple of gold coins into his ready palm.

      “I cannot. My mistress hath commanded my silence,” he answered, pocketing the bribe, nevertheless.

      “May I learn nothing, then?” I asked.

      “No. Our Queen of the Desert hath taken every precaution that thou shalt obtain no knowledge of certain facts. For her own sake secrecy is imperative, therefore, if thou holdest her in respect, seek not to loosen my tongue with thy gold.”

      Then he pushed me gently but firmly outside, and with a parting word closed the iron-studded door again. The key grated in the lock as it was secured, and, gazing round, I found myself in the narrow crooked street.

      For a few moments I hesitated. The moon shone brightly, and all was quiet, for it was long past midnight.

      After a final look at the gloomy, mysterious house, I plunged into the labyrinth of Arab thoroughfares, and, half dazed by the strange, dreamy experience, I walked on, descending the steep, intricate streets, trusting to chance to bring me into the Place du Gouvernement, in the European quarter, wherein was situated my hotel.