CHAPTER XXV
CORPORAL ST. GEORGE, DESERTER
"Is anything the matter?" he asked. A wild hope was in his heart thatshe might wish to tell him she had changed her mind. The joy of thathope snatched his breath away. But her first words put it to flight.
"No, nothing is the matter, except that I've been thinking about you. Icould hardly wait to ask you some things. But I _had_ to wait tillmorning. It is morning now that Richard is up and has gone, even thoughit isn't quite light. And it's better to talk before he comes back.There'll be--so much happening then---- You're all dressed! You didn'tgo to bed."
"No, I didn't want to sleep," said Max.
"I haven't slept, either. I didn't try to sleep! I'm so happy formyself, but I'm not _all_ happy. I'm anxious about you. I see that I'vebeen horribly, hatefully selfish--a beast!"
"Don't! I won't hear you say such things."
"You mustn't try and put me off. Will you promise by--by your love formy father--and your friendship for me, to answer truly the questions Iask?"
"All I can answer."
"If you don't answer, I shall know what your silence means. _Mon ami_,you made a great sacrifice for me. You gave up your march to take mesafely to Bel-Abbes. You had only eight days' leave to do it in. I know,because my father said so in his letter. But I, thinking always ofmyself, gave no thought to that. You lost time coming back from Djazertato the _douar_. Now I've kept you another night. Is there a trainto-morrow going out of Touggourt?"
"I think so," said Max warily, beginning to guess the trend of herquestions.
"What time does it start?"
"I don't know precisely."
"In the morning or at night?"
"I really can't tell."
"You mean you won't. But that _does_ tell me, all the same. It goes inthe morning. Soldier, I've made you late. I see now you've been veryanxious all the time about overstaying your leave, but you wouldn'tspeak because it was for my sake."
"I've written to the officer in command at Sidi-bel-Abbes, explaining.It will be all right."
"It won't! You're keeping the truth from me. I see by your face. You'veoverstayed your leave already. I calculated it out last night. Even asit is, you are a day late."
"What of it? There's nothing to worry about."
"Do you suppose I can be a soldier's daughter and not have learnedanything about army life? Soldier, much as I'd want you to stand by meif it could be right for you, it isn't right, and you must go! Go now,and be in time for that train this morning. One day late won't be sobad. But there won't be another train till Monday. By _diligence_, it'stwo days to Biskra. That means--oh! go, my friend! Go, and forgive me!Let us say good-bye now!"
"Not for the world," Max answered. "Not if they'd have me shot atBel-Abbes, instead of putting me into _cellule_ for a few days at worst.Nothing would induce me to leave you until"--he choked a little on thewords--"until you're married."
"_Cellule_" she echoed. "You, in _cellule_! And your corporal's stripe?You'll lose it!"
"What if I do? I value it more for--for something Colonel DeLisle saidthan for itself."
"I know you were an officer in your American army at home. To be acorporal must seem laughable to you. And yet, the stripe is more thanjust a mere stripe. It's an emblem."
"I didn't mean you to think that I don't value it! I do! But I valueother things more."
Day was quickening to life; Sanda's wedding day. In the wan light thatbleached the desert they looked at each other, their faces pale. Maxcould not take his eyes from hers. She held them, and he felt herdrawing from them the truth his lips refused to speak.
"You are like a man going to his death," she sobbed. "Oh, what have Idone? It will be something worse, a thousand times worse, than_cellule_. _Mon Dieu!_ I know what they do to men of the Legion whenthey've deserted--even if they come back. I implore you to go away now.Do you want me to beg you on my knees?"
"For God's sake, Mademoiselle DeLisle!"
"Then will you go?"
"No! I told you nothing could make me leave you till--after it's over.What would be the use anyhow, even if I would go? If they're going tocall me a deserter, I'm that already."
"Ah!" she hid her face in her hands, shivering with sobs. "_I've_ madeyou a deserter. I've ruined you! Your career my father hoped for! If hewere at Bel-Abbes he'd save you. But he's far away in the desert." Thegirl lifted her face and brushed away the tears. "Soldier, _if you don'tgo now, don't go at all_! Don't offer yourself up to punishment for whatis not your fault, but mine, the fault of your colonel's daughter. Staywith me--stay with us! Keep the trust my father gave you, watching overme. Will you do that? _Will_ you, instead of going back straight toprison and spoiling your life? Join us and help us to find the LostOasis."
The young man's blood rushed to his head. He could not speak. He couldonly look at her.
"You say that already you've made yourself a deserter," she went on."Then desert to us, I wanted you to join the Legion, and you did join;so I've called you '_my soldier_.' Now I want you not to go back to theLegion. It would be a horrible injustice for you to be punished as youwould be. I couldn't be happy even with Richard, thinking of you inprison."
"The world is a prison, if it comes to that!" laughed Max.
"For some people. Not for a man like you! Besides, some of the cells inthe world's prison are so much more terrible than others. Come with us,and by and by, if we live, we shall reach Egypt. There you'll be free,as Manoeel Valdez will be free outside Algeria and France."
"My colonel's daughter asks me to do this?" Max muttered, half under hisbreath.
"Yes, _because_ I am his daughter as well as your friend. Do you thinkhe'd like you to go back to Sidi-bel-Abbes under a cloud, with him faraway, not able to speak for you? I know as well as if you'd told methat, if they tried you by court-martial at Oran, you wouldn't defendyourself as you would if my father had _ordered_ you to give up themarch, instead of _asking_ you to go on a private errand for him withyour friend. Because he did an irregular thing and trouble has come ofit, don't I know you'd suffer rather than let details be dragged fromyou which might injure my father's record as an officer?"
"His record is far above being injured."
"Is any officer's? From things I've heard, I'm afraid not! Once I toldyou that you were one of those men who think too little of themselvesand sacrifice themselves for others. I only felt it then. I know it now.I'm so much better acquainted with you, my Soldier! You promised, if youanswered my questions, to answer them truly. Would you explain in acourt-martial that my father took you off duty, and told you, whateverhappened, to look after me?"
"I have already explained in a letter to the deputy commanding officer.Probably the colonel has explained, too--more or less, as much asnecessary."
"I don't believe father would have thought it necessary to say muchabout me. He's old fashioned in his ideas of women and girls. And, yousee, he had no reason to dream that anything could go wrong. He supposedthat you would arrive on time. How much did you explain in yourletter?"
"I said I had been unavoidably delayed in finishing my official errand."
"What would you say if you were court-martialled for losing Manoeel andbeing five days late yourself?"
"I don't know. It would depend on the questions."
"Would you answer in any way that might do harm to my father, or wouldyou sacrifice yourself again for him and for me?"
"It wouldn't be a sacrifice."
"Do you think you could save yourself from prison?"
"Perhaps not, but I shouldn't care."
"_I'd_ care. It would break my happiness. Father couldn't tell you, as Ido, to join us, but I know enough about his interest in you to be surethat in his heart he would wish it, rather than come back toSidi-bel-Abbes and find you in the _Bat d'Aff_. I've heard all aboutthat, you see."
Max was silent for a moment, thinking, and Sanda watched his face in thegrowing light. It was haggard and set for a face so young, but there wa
sstill in the eyes, which stared unseeingly across the desert, the warm,generous light that had once convinced her of the man's heroic capacityfor self-sacrifice. "He is one who always gives," she thought. Andsomething within her said that Stanton was not of those. He was one bornnot to give, but to take. Yet how glad every one must be, as she was, togive to him!
Max was greatly surprised and deeply touched by Sanda's care for him atsuch a time. And he was almost bewildered by the strange answer thathad come to his self-questioning. He had felt a passionate reluctance toleave her with Stanton, not only because he himself loved and wantedher, but because her marriage was to be only half a marriage, andbecause Stanton was what he was. If the man tired of her, if he foundher too delicate for the trials she would have to endure, the girl'slife in the desert would be terribly hard. Max dared not think what itmight be. He had felt that it would tear his heart out to see her goingunprotected except by that fanatic, to be swallowed up by the mercilessmystery of the desert. But because she had decided to go, and becauseshe thought she had need of no one in the world except Stanton, Max hadmade up his mind that he must stand by and let her go. Now, suddenly, itwas different. She wanted him as well as Stanton. True, it was onlybecause she wished to save him, but she would be grieved if he refused.What if he should accept--that is, if Stanton were of the same mind asSanda--and let them both suppose that his motive in joining them was tokeep out of prison? He knew that his true reason would be other thanthat if he went. But searching his soul, he saw there no wrong toStanton's wife. He would not go with that pair of lovers for his ownpleasure, and no suffering he could endure, even in the _Bat d'Aff_,would be equal to seeing Sanda day after day, night after night, whenshe had given herself to Stanton. All he wanted was to be near her if hewere needed. He could never justify himself to Colonel DeLisle or to anyone else in the world by telling the truth; but because it was thetruth, in his own eyes perhaps he might be justified.
"Have you thought long enough?" Sanda asked. "Can't you decide, and savemy happiness?"
Save her happiness!...
"I have decided," Max said. "If Mr. Stanton will let a deserter join hiscaravan I will go."
A Soldier of the Legion Page 26
