"Take me away from here," she said. "From this heat and noise. Take me
to some place where it is wild and desolate. I want to be in starlight,
with people who know nothing of me, and my trumpery talent. O God,
Desmond, you don't know how a woman can get to hate being famous! I
should like to act to-night to a circle of savages who had never heard
of me and of my glory."
"Curtain's up!" sang a shrill voice outside.
Claire picked up the dagger.
"Well?" she said. "Shall it be--?"
"Ah, yes--yes!" Renfrew answered in a choked voice.
She smiled and glided out, like a white snake, he thought.
And now--yes, those were really jackals whining, and Claire slept,
surrounded by a circle of Moors under the stars of Morocco.
Renfrew trembled at the astounding surprises of life. Now the devil of
the night--thought--had filled his veins with fever. He got up softly,
drew on his clothes, unfastened the canvas flap, and emerged, like a
shadow, from the mouth of the tent. The night was dewy and cool. All the
heaven was full of eyes. The line of tethered mules looked like a black
hedge in whose shelter the group of tents was pitched. A low fire, held
in a cup of earth, was dying down in the distance, and as Renfrew came
out a lanky dog slunk off among the bushes that clothed the low hills on
every side.
Renfrew stood quite still. He was bare-headed, and the breeze caught at
his thick brown hair, and seemed to tug it like a rough child at play
with a kindly elder. His eyes were turned towards the tiny peaked tent
which shrouded Claire. A small moon half way up the sky sent out a beam
which faintly illuminated this home of a wanderer, and Renfrew thought
the beam was like a silver finger pointing at this wonderful creature
whom glory had so long attended. Such beings must walk in light. Nature
herself protests against their endeavours to shroud themselves even for
a moment in darkness. He drew close to the tent, and listened for
Claire's low breathing. But he could not hear it. Perhaps she was awake
then.
"Claire!" he called, in a low voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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