The two clung to
each other. Saidee could feel how the girl's heart was beating, and how
the sobs rose in her throat, and were choked back.
Victoria watched the tower, that looked like a jagged black tear in the
star-strewn blue fabric of the sky. And she listened. It seemed as if
her very soul were listening.
The wild Touareg chant was louder now, but she hardly heard it, because
her ears strained for some sound which the singing might cover: the
sound of rubble crumbling under a foot that climbed and sought a
holding-place.
From far away came the barking of Kabyle dogs, in distant camps of
nomads. In stalls of the bordj, where the animals rested, a horse
stamped now and then, or a camel grunted. Each slightest noise made
Victoria start and tremble. She could be brave for herself, but it was
harder to be brave for one she loved, in great danger.
"They'll be here in ten minutes," shouted Nevill. "Legs, where are you?"
There was no answer; but Victoria thought she heard the patter of
falling sand. At least, the ruin stood firm so far. By this time Stephen
might have nearly reached the top. He had told her not to leave the
dining-room, and she had not meant to disobey; but she had made no
promise, and she could bear her suspense no longer. Where she stood, she
could not see into the shell of the broken tower. She must see!
Running out, she darted across the courtyard, pausing near the
Frenchman, Pierre Rostafel, who wandered unsteadily up and down the
quadrangle, his torch of alfa grass ready in his hand.
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