It was not quite heaven, but it was almost paradise to
have her near him, though they had a chance for only a few words
occasionally, within earshot of Saidee, or De Vigne, or the twins, who
watched over Nevill like two well-trained nurses. She loved him, since a
word from her meant more than vows from other women. Nothing had
happened yet to disturb her love, so these few days belonged to Stephen.
He could not feel that he had stolen them. At Touggourt he would find a
time and place to speak, and then it would be over forever. But one joy
he had, which never could have come to him, if it had not been for the
peril at Toudja. They knew each other's hearts. Nothing could change
that. One day, no doubt, she would learn to care for some other man, but
perhaps never quite in the same way she had cared for him, because
Stephen was sure that this was her first love. And though she might be
happy in another love--he tried to hope it, but did not succeed
sincerely--he would always have it to remember, until the day of his
death, that once she had loved him.
As far out from Touggourt as Temacin, Lady MacGregor came to meet them,
in a ramshackle carriage, filled with rugs and pillows in case Nevill
wished to change. But he was not in a state to wish for anything, and De
Vigne decided for him. He was to go on in the bassour, to the villa
which had been let to Lady MacGregor by an officer of the garrison. It
was there the little Mohammed was to have been kept and guarded by the
Highlanders, if the great scheme had not been suddenly changed in some
of its details.
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