Yet he still loved her, and jealousy seared his soul as he recalled
the sight of her in the arms of the dapper young Englishman. What
were his intentions toward her? Did he really love her? How could
one not love her? And she loved him, of that Korak had had ample
proof. Had she not loved him she would not have accepted his kisses.
His Meriem loved another! For a long time he let that awful truth
sink deep, and from it he tried to reason out his future plan
of action. In his heart was a great desire to follow the man and
slay him; but ever there rose in his consciousness the thought:
She loves him. Could he slay the creature Meriem loved? Sadly he
shook his head. No, he could not. Then came a partial decision
to follow Meriem and speak with her. He half started, and then
glanced down at his nakedness and was ashamed. He, the son of
a British peer, had thus thrown away his life, had thus degraded
himself to the level of a beast that he was ashamed to go to the
woman he loved and lay his love at her feet. He was ashamed to go
to the little Arab maid who had been his jungle playmate, for what
had he to offer her?
For years circumstances had prevented a return to his father and
mother, and at last pride had stepped in and expunged from his mind
the last vestige of any intention to return.
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