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He took a most affectionate leave of his many dear friends, assuring them that nothing but sickness or death should prevent his being with them in the following summer; for his heart was in Zahara, and to his eyes its parched sands were fresher than all the verdure of the Elysian fields.
Zahara liked his eyes, which were dark and very bold looking. "M. Agapoulos is engaged," she said, speaking in French. "What is it you wish to know?" The man regarded her fixedly, and: "Senorita," he replied, "I will be frank with you." Save for his use of the word "senorita" he also spoke in French. Zahara drew her robe more closely about her and adopted her most stately manner.
"Hallo!" he said, smiling, "I didn't hear you come in." "I walk very soft," explained Zahara, "because I am not supposed to be here." She looked at him quizzically. "I don't see you for a long time," she added, and in the tone of her voice there was a caress. "I saw you more often in Port Said than here." "No," replied Grantham, "I have been giving Agapoulos a rest.
Zahara admired the French for being brave, and thought it very sensible that they should be mercenary. Because others did not seem to share this philosophy she often wondered if she could be unusual. She had come to the conclusion that she was ignorant. If only Harry Grantham would talk to her she felt sure he could teach her so much. There were so many things that puzzled her.
In the cradle which Agnes had formerly occupied reposed a remarkably plump and dimpled representative of the Colonel. When respectfully addressed he was called Jim, but he was more familiarly known as Baby. A small negress from beyond the Zahara, and blacker than any coal, rocked Jim violently.
In short, the world beheld in Carriazo a virtuous, honourable, well-bred, rogue, of more than common ability. He passed through all the degrees of roguery till he graduated as a master in the tunny fisheries of Zahara, the chief school of the art.
We think she will go back." Zahara experienced a swift change of sentiment. She seemed to be compounded of two separate persons, one of whom laughed cruelly at the folly of the other. "What is the name of this man you think your friend has recognized?" she asked. The big stick was rapping furiously during this colloquy. "We are both sure, Senorita. His name is Major Spalding."
There was more confused movement and a buzz of excited voices meaningless, chaotic. Zahara could feel the draught from the newly opened door. A thin stream of blood was stealing across the carpet. It had almost reached the fallen rose petals, which it strangely resembled in colour under the light of the lanterns.
How many had come and gone since that Egyptian winter, but now, although admiration was fatally easy to win how few were so sincere as that fresh-faced boy from beyond the Atlantic. Zahara, staring into the mirror, observed that there was not a wrinkle upon her face, not a flaw upon her perfect skin. Nor in this was she blinded by vanity.
The only ascent to this cragged fortress was by roads cut in the rock, so rugged in many places as to resemble broken stairs. In a word, the impregnable security of Zahara had become so proverbial throughout Spain that a woman of forbidding and inaccessible virtue was called a Zaharena.
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