"They certainly keep very much to themselves," I said.
Hamilton glanced at me quickly. "Naturally," he replied.
Not desiring to appear stupid, I did not ask him to elucidate this remark, although at the time it meant nothing to me. Of course I have learned since, as every one learns whose lines are cast among Orientals, that iron barriers divide the races. But at the time I knew nothing of this.
During breakfast on the following morning, I glanced several times at the mysterious quartet. They had been placed at a separate table and were served with different courses from the rest of the passengers. I was not the only member of the company who found them interesting; but the Anglo-Indians on board, to a man, left the native party severely alone. You know the icy aloofness of the Anglo-Indian?
My second day at sea wore on, uneventfully enough; the bugle had already announced the hour for dressing, and the deck outside my berth, where I had ordered my chair placed, was practically deserted, when something occurred to turn my thoughts from the four Indians.
It was a glorious evening, with the sun setting out across the Mediterranean in such a red blaze of glory that I sat watching it with fascination, my book lying unheeded on the deck beside me. Right and left of me men occupying the other deck cabins had lighted up, and were busily dressing. Right aft was a corner cabin, larger than the others, and suddenly I observed the door of this to open.
A slim figure glided out on the deck, and began to advance toward me. It proved to be that of a woman or girl dressed in clinging black silk, and wearing a yashmak! She had a richly embroidered shawl thrown over her head and shoulders, and in that coy half light she presented a dazzlingly beautiful picture.
It was my first sight of a yashmak, and, because it was worn by a marvelously pretty woman, the thousands seen since have never entirely lost their charms for me. I could detect the lines of an exquisitely chiseled nose, and the long, dark eyes of the apparition were entirely unforgettable. The hand with which she held her shawl about her was of ivory smoothness, and, like a little red lamp, a great ruby blazed upon the index finger.
With her high-heeled shoes tapping daintily upon the deck, she advanced; then, suddenly perceiving that the promenade was not entirely deserted, she turned, but not hastily or rudely, and glided back to her cabin.
I have endeavored to outline for your benefit the state of my mind at this period, hinting how keenly alive I was to romance of any sort, provided it wore the guise of the Orient; so it will be unnecessary for me to explain how strong an impression this episode made upon me.
The Indian party was forgotten, and as I hastily dressed and descended to dinner, I scarcely listened to Hamilton when he bent toward me and whispered something about the "strong room."
My look was roaming about the spacious saloon. Even in those days, I might have known better; I might have known that no Mohammedan woman would take her meals in a public saloon. But I was too dazzled by my memories to summon to my aid such fragments of knowledge respecting Eastern customs as were mine.
II. Like A Phantom.
WELL, some little time elapsed before I saw or heard anything further of the houri. I began to settle down to the routine of the trip, and--you know how news circulates through a ship--it was not long before I knew as much as any of the other passengers.
Hamilton was a sort of filter through which it all came to me, and, of course, it was not undiluted, but colored with his own views. The lady of the yashmak, he informed me, was a member of the household of a wealthy Moslem in the neighborhood of Damascus. She was traveling via Port Said, taking a khedivial boat from there to Beirut.
Hamilton was a perfect mine of information, but his real interest was centered all the time in the party of four Indians.
"They are emissaries of the Rajah of Bhotona," he informed me confidentially. "The mystery begins to clear up. You must have read about a month ago that Lola de l'Iris was selling some of her jewelry and devoting the proceeds to the founding of an orphanage or something of the kind; quite a unique advertisement. Well, the famous Indian diamond presented to her by one of the crowned heads of Europe was among the bunch which she sold; and after staying in the West for over fifty years, it is again on its way back to the East where it came from."
I began to recollect the circumstances now; the historic Indian diamond--I do not know Hindustani, but the name of the diamond translated means "Lure of Souls"--had been in the possession of the dancer for many years, and its sale for such a purpose had turned the limelight upon her most enviably. It was a new idea in advertising, and had proved an admirable success.
So the four reticent gentlemen were the guardians of the diamond. In normal circumstances this might have been interesting, but, as I have tried to make clear, another matter engrossed my attention. In fact, I was living in a dream world.
Of course, my opportunity came, in due course. One evening, as I mooned on the shadowy deck--which was quite deserted, because an extempore dance was taking place on the deck below-- she came gliding along toward me. I could see her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
At first I feared that she was going to turn back. She hesitated, in a wildly alluring manner, when first she saw me sitting there watching her. Then, turning her head aside, she came on, and passed me. I never took my eyes off that graceful figure for a moment.
Coming to the rail, she leaned and looked out toward the coast of Crete, where silver tracing in the blue marked the mountain peaks; then, shivering slightly, and wrapping her embroidered shawl more closely about her shoulders, she retraced her steps. Not a yard from where I sat, she dropped a little silk handkerchief on the deck!
How my heart leaped at that! The rest was a magical whirl; and ten seconds later I was chatting with her. She spoke fluent French, but little English.
She appealed to me in a way that was new, and almost irresistible; it was an appeal quite Oriental--sensuous, indescribable. Of course, I cannot hope to make you understand; but it was extraordinary. I felt that I was losing my head; the glances of those long, dark eyes were setting me on fire.
Suddenly, she terminated this, our first tete-atete. She raised her finger to her veiled lips, and glided away into the shadows like a phantom. A sentence died, unfinished, on my tongue. I turned, and looked over my shoulder.
Gad, I got a fright! A most hideous Oriental of some kind, having only one eye, but that afire with malignancy, was watching me from where he stood half concealed by a boat. My lily of Damascus was guarded!
Humming, with an assumption of unconcern, I strolled away and joined the dancers below.
III. A Guest Unrewarded.
THAT was the beginning, then. I hated to think how short a time was at my disposal; but since, the very next morning, I found myself enjoying a second delicious little stolen interview, I perceived that my company was not inacceptable.
What? Yes; I had lost my head entirely. I admit the fact.
It was an effort to speak of ordinary matters, topics of the ship; my impulse was to whisper delicious nonsense into those tiny ears.
However, I forced myself to talk about things in general, and told her that the famous diamond, Lure of Souls, was aboard. This was news to her, and she seemed to be tremendously interested.
Her interest was of such a childish sort, so naive, that a project grew up in my mind at that very moment. It was hardly a matter of so many words; there was nothing definite about the thing at all, and this, our second interview, was cut short in much the same manner as the first.
"Ssh! Mustapha!" she had whispered.
With those words, and a dazzling smile, this jewel of Damascus, who interested me so much more deeply than the rajah's diamond, departed hurriedly--and I turned to meet again the malignant gaze of the one-eyed guardian.