And
through it all, from first to last, no man has so much as kissed my
finger-tips!
"At a word, at a sign, I have been compelled to go from Monte Carlo to
Buenos Ayres; at another sign from there to Tokio! Chunda Lal has
guarded me as only the women of the East are guarded. Yet, in his
fierce way, he has always tried to befriend me, he has always been
faithful. But ah! I shrink from him many times, in horror, because I
know _what_ he is! But I may not tell you. Look! Chunda Lal has never
been out of sound of this whistle"--she drew a little silver whistle
from her dress--"for a moment since that day when he came into the
house of the slave-dealer in Mecca, except----"
And now, suddenly, a wave of glorious colour flooded her beautiful
face and swiftly she lowered her eyes, replacing the little whistle.
Stuart's rebellious heart leapt madly, for whatever he might think
of her almost incredible story, that sweet blush was no subterfuge,
no product of acting.
"You almost drive me mad," he said in low voice, resembling the tones
of repressed savagery. "You tell me so much, but withhold so much
that I am more bewildered than ever. I can understand your
helplessness in an Eastern household, but why should you obey the
behests of this veiled monster in London, in New York, in Paris?"
She did not raise her eyes.
"I dare not tell you. But I dare not disobey him."
"Who is he!"
"No one knows, because no one has ever seen his face! Ah! you are
laughing! But I swear before heaven I speak the truth! Indoors he
wears a Chinese dress and a green veil.
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