Chapter 11

Mrs Boynton was here, at Petra!

Sarah answered mechanically questions that were addressed to her. Would she have dinnerstraight away—it was ready—or would she like to wash first? Would she prefer to sleep in a tentor a cave?

Her answer to that came quickly. A tent. She flinched¹ at the thought of a cave, the vision of thatmonstrous squatting² figure recurred³ to her. (Why was it that something about the woman seemedhardly human?)

Finally she followed one of the native servants. He wore khaki breeches, much patched, anduntidy puttees and a ragged⁴ coat very much the worse for wear. On his head the native headdress,the cheffiyah, its long folds protecting the neck and secured in place with a black silk twist fittingtightly to the crown of his head. Sarah admired the easy swing with which he walked—thecareless proud carriage of his head. Only the European part of his costume seemed tawdry andwrong. She thought: ‘Civilization is all wrong—all wrong! But for civilization there wouldn’t be aMrs Boynton! In savage⁵ tribes they’d probably have killed and eaten her years ago!’

She realized, half-humorously, that she was over-tired and on edge. A wash in hot water and adusting of powder over her face and she felt herself again—cool, poised⁶, and ashamed of herrecent panic.

She passed a comb through her thick black hair, squinting⁷ sideways at her reflection in thewavering light of a small oil-lamp in a very inadequate⁸ glass.

Then she pushed aside the tent-flap and came out into the night prepared to descend⁹ to the bigmarquee below.

‘You—here?’

It was a low cry—dazed, incredulous.

She turned to look straight into Raymond Boynton’s eyes. So amazed they were! Andsomething in them held her silent and almost afraid. Such an unbelievable joy…It was as thoughhe had seen a vision of Paradise—wondering, dazed, thankful, humble¹⁰! Never, in all her life, wasSarah to forget that look. So might the damned look up and see Paradise…He said again: ‘You…’

It did something to her—that low, vibrant¹¹ tone. It made her heart turn over in her breast. It madeher feel shy, afraid, humble and yet suddenly arrogantly¹² glad. She said quite simply: ‘Yes.’

He came nearer—still dazed—still only half believing.

Then suddenly he took her hand.

‘It is you,’ he said. ‘You’re real. I thought at first you were a ghost—because I’d been thinkingabout you so much.’ He paused and then said, ‘I love you, you know…I have from the moment Isaw you in the train. I know that now. And I want you to know it so that—so that you’ll know itisn’t me—the real me—who—who behaves so caddishly. You see I can’t answer for myself evennow. I might do–anything! I might pass you by or cut you, but I do want you to know that it isn’tme—the real me—who is responsible for that. It’s my nerves. I can’t depend on them…When shetells me to do things—I do them! My nerves make me! You will understand, won’t you? Despiseme if you have to—’

She interrupted him. Her voice was low and unexpectedly sweet. ‘I won’t despise you.’

‘All the same, I’m pretty despicable! I ought to—to be able to behave like a man.’

It was partly an echo of Gerard’s advice, but more out of her own knowledge and hope thatSarah answered — and behind the sweetness of her voice there was a ring of certainty andconscious authority.

‘You will now.’

‘Shall I?’ His voice was wistful. ‘Perhaps…’

‘You’ll have courage now. I’m sure of it.’

He drew himself up—flung back his head.

‘Courage? Yes, that’s all that’s needed. Courage!’

Suddenly he bent¹³ his head, touched her hand with his lips. A minute later he had left her.

 

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