Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara
TextChapter Forty Seven.
Conclusion
The events that followed, although startling, may be briefly related.
On arrival in London, I saw by the newspapers that a most profound sensation had been caused throughout Algeria by Zoraida’s escape. In explaining the flight of the beautiful leader of the Ennitra, the published dispatches hinted vaguely at the possibility of a “prominent colonial official” being seriously compromised.
It was apparent that the secret was out!
Breathlessly I opened the papers each morning, and read eagerly of the trial, condemnation, and eventually of the execution of Hadj Absalam and Labakan. But a telegram contained in the Standard on the very morning that Zoraida and I were quietly married at St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, was the most sensational of all. It reported that on the previous afternoon Monsieur de Largentière, the Governor-General of Algeria, had been found in his private room shot through the temple by his own hand! A revolver was found beside him, and upon his writing-table there lay a letter begging forgiveness of his wife, and – in the words of the correspondent – “the communication contained a very extraordinary statement,” the truth of which was being investigated.
Its purport I easily guessed.
The reason which prompted him to take his life was made plain by Octave Uzanne, who, two months later, called upon me and explained in confidence how, on the day previous to the terrible dénouement, he sought an interview with the assassin of Jack Fothergill, asserting that he intended to return to France, and that if he were arrested upon the warrant still out against him, he should denounce him as the murderer. Octave likewise told him of the existence of the victim’s letter, by which he meant to prove an alibi, and to which I had already referred. This, combined with the revelation made by one of the boatmen he had employed, that he was implicated in Zoraida’s escape, apparently caused him to take his life rather than face the terrible charges against him.
Six months afterwards, Octave and Madame de Largentière were married in Paris, where they still live, in a pretty house in the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Frequently they are our guests at our Kensington flat; – although Madame Uzanne has never recognised me as the Governor-General’s visitor, and is still ignorant of the guilt of her late husband, for she regards his suicide as having been committed during a sudden fit of insanity, brought on by the heavy responsibilities of his office.
As for the Treasure of Askiá, the whole of it has been recovered and sold by a syndicate formed in the City for that purpose. The jewels, the major portion of which, of course, fell to my share, were found to be of enormous value, their size astonishing the dealers, who, in many cases, were at first inclined to reject them as spurious imitations. In Amsterdam and Paris they created a great sensation, and sold for fabulous sums, several of the gems having now been added to the regalia of Queen Victoria and the Sultan of Turkey.
Zoraida, who is now beginning to chatter English fluently, no longer looks askance at our insular manners. Though she has exchanged her serroual and zouave for a tailor-made gown, and her little pearl-embroidered skull-cap for a milliner’s confection of feathers and flowers, yet, happily, our civilisation does not civilise her to feminine foibles. Still an Oriental, she views many of our customs with a horror that oft-times causes me considerable amusement, but she is never so happy as when at evening, in the fitful light thrown by my study fire, she comes to gossip over the teacups in her native Arabic. Seldom, however, she recalls the horrors of those bygone days when she was Queen of the Sahara, and never without a shudder. She is supremely content in her new world, and has left for ever the parched glaring wilderness that once was her home.
In Society she has become popular, and her “at homes” are always crowded. Sometimes, when visiting, she will sing an Arab song, and entertain a small circle of her closest friends by giving them selections of music upon Arab instruments. The intricacies of piano-strumming she has never mastered. On every hand, indeed, my graceful desert-bride receives boundless admiration. There are many beautiful women in London, but it is agreed, I believe, that the countenance of none is more perfect in its symmetry and more pleasing in its expression than that of the Daughter of the Sun.
The Omen of the Camel’s Hoof has not, after all, been finally fulfilled, for we live an almost idyllic life of peaceful bliss. My wife’s diamonds, which are so often commented upon by the papers, are the same that for a thousand years constituted the magnificence of the Great White Diadem. The little wooden tablet, upon which is inscribed the key to the extraordinary enigma, is preserved in my study; the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, with its mystic geometrical device, is a conspicuous object upon the wall, and over it, suspended by its original thongs of camel’s hide, there hangs the worn and battered Drum of Nâr.
They formed my wife’s dowry, and, besides demonstrating a remarkable scientific fact, they have brought us sufficient of this world’s riches to secure us ease and luxury.
Truly, my lot has fallen in a fair place. At last, in the bright sunshine of Zoraida’s affection, the most perfect happiness is mine.