Kareen looked Spanish, with her silky black hair and black eyes. Her body was slim, yet perfectly rounded in all the right places. John had looked forward to this evening, but now he had to call it off. He hoped Kareen would understand.

John knocked on the door to Major Hendricks's modest apartment. After a few moments, it opened to reveal a young girl smiling cheerfully at him. John was shocked, for this girl looked only sixteen or seventeen, and yet. . ..

"Kareen?"

The young girl laughed at John's confusion.

"It happens all the time, Lieutenant. I'm Kareen's sister, Estelle. Won't you come in?"

"I didn't know she had a sister," John said as he stepped into the hallway. "You look so much alike."

"I know—like twins. But Kareen is five years older than I am. My father always says that Kareen and I are the exact images of our mother when she was young. Our mother is still a beautiful woman, so it's nice knowing what we will look like in the future." She laughed sweetly, giving John a beguiling smile. "Forgive me. Everybody says I talk too much. Did you wish to see Kareen, Lieutenant—?"

"John Wakefield," he volunteered with a short bow. "And yes, I would like to speak with her if it's possible."

"I think it could be arranged. She's in her room resting. It's this hot weather. We're not used to it yet—it certainly can wear a body out. So you're John Wakefield," she said, looking him over from head to foot. "Kareen sure has talked a lot about you, and I can see that she wasn't exaggerating, either."

"You certainly are outspoken, Miss Estelle."

"Well, I believe a body ought to say what they think."

"That can get you into trouble sometimes," John said lightly.

"Yes, I know. But I like to shock people. I can't say I shocked you, though. You must be used to compliments from the ladies," she went on mischievously.

"Not exactly. I'm used to giving them—not receiving them." John laughed.

"Spoken like a true gentleman. But you've let me ramble on again. If you will wait in the drawing room, I'll go and tell Kareen you're here."

"Thank you, and it has been a delight meeting you, Miss Estelle."

"I can definitely say the same about you, Lieutenant Wakefield. But we'll meet again, I'm sure," she added, and disappeared down the hallway.

After a few minutes, Kareen appeared in the doorway looking as beautiful as he last remembered.

"I thought my sister was playing a joke on me when she said you were here," she said. "She does that occasionally. But why are you here so early, Lieutenant Wakefield?"

"Kareen—I know this is only our second meeting, but won't you please call me John?" he asked, putting all his boyish charm into his request.

"All right, John," she smiled. "But what brings you here?"

"I don't exactly know how to tell you this," John said, turning away from her inquiring eyes. He walked over to the open window and stood looking out, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've been here only a month, Kareen, but you know about my sister's disappearance?"

"Yes, my uncle told me about it when I mentioned I'd met you," she replied.

"Christina was kidnapped right from her room the very first night we were in Cairo. Christina and I were very close. I searched everywhere for her and practically went out of my mind with worry. But she was returned to me today—this morning."

"John—that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. Is she all right?"

He turned to face her, and could see that she was really pleased for him.

"She's fine, but I haven't had a chance to talk with her yet. She rode for nearly a week and is sleeping now. I wanted to tell you first so you'd understand why I can't escort you to the opera tonight. I have to be there when Crissy wakes up."

"Of course I understand, and I thank you for explaining it to me. Can I do anything to help?"

"It's kind of you to ask, Kareen. Perhaps in a few days you could call on her. I don't know how easily she will adjust to being home again. I only pray that she will be able to forget her terrible experiences."

"I'm sure she will be all right in time, John," Kareen replied.

"I hope so."

* * *

Christina had been asleep for twelve hours. It was nearly midnight, and John continued to pace the drawing room impatiently. There were so many things he had to know. He didn't want to pounce on her the minute she awoke, but he had to have some answers. Would Crissy be the same person, or had these last four months changed her?

John went to her door and opened it quietly. But Crissy was still curled on her side, her head resting on one hand. He walked into the room slowly and stood beside the bed gazing down at her as he had done so many times this evening.

She hadn't lost any weight and looked healthy, though dirty. She wore a skirt and blouse in the style of the desert people. But it was made of fine green velvet with spangled lace adorning the edges. She looked like an Arab princess.

She had said in her letter that she wanted for nothing. The man must have taken good care of her. And that just made it more puzzling, because John wondered how any man, once having her, could let her go. Christina had such unusual beauty. Something about her was different—stunning and yet indescribable—something that set her apart from all other women who were called beautiful.

Suddenly Christina opened her eyes and blinked a few times, obviously wondering where she was.

"It's all right, Crissy," John said.' He sat down on the side of the bed. "You are home now."

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, and the next moment she was clinging to Mm as if her lif e depended on it.

"John! Oh, Johnny—hold me. Tell me it was just a dream —that it never happened," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, Crissy, but I can't tell you that—I wish I could," he said, holding her tightly against him. "But it will be all right—you'll see."

He let her cry herself out without saying more. When she was finished, he held her away from him and pushed back her hair from her wet cheeks.

"Feel better now?"

"Not really." She smiled weakly.

"Why don't you wash your face while I get you something to eat, and then we can talk."

"What I'd really like is to soak in a hot bath for hours. I've had nothing but cold baths for the last four months."

"That will have to wait until later. We've got to talk first."

"Oh, John, I don't want to talk about it—I just want to forget."

"I understand that, Crissy. But there are things I have to know. It would be better if we talked now, and then we can both forget it."

"Very well, I suppose you're right." She got off the bed and looked about the room. "Give me a minute to—"

She stopped abruptly when she saw the crumpled piece of paper that John had thrown on the table earlier.

"How did that get here?" Her voice held a note of anger.

"What's the matter with you, Crissy? I took it out of your hand before putting you to bed."

"But I thought I had thrown—" She turned quickly to face him, frowning. "Did you read it?"

"No. Why are you so upset?"

"It's my dismissal, you might say," she said lightly, only her eyes were stormy. "But it doesn't matter. How about that food?"

After supper, John poured two glasses of sherry and brought one to Christina in the dining room. He sat across from her with his legs sprawled beneath the table, and studied her face.

"Do you still love him?" John asked.

"No—I hate him nowl" she said quickly, staring down at the glass she held before her.

"But only a month ago—"

She looked up at him, her eyes flashing dangerously. "That was before I found out what a cruel and selfish man he is."

"Is that why you left him?"

"Left him? He sent me awayl He left me that note saying that he no longer desired me and he wanted me gone before he returned. He couldn't even tell me in person."

"Is that why you hate him now—because he sent you away?"

"Yes! He cared nothing for me or for my feelings. I thought I loved him, and hoped he would come to love me. But now I know how foolish I was. He didn't even care that I might be carrying his child!"

"Oh, God, Crissy—then he raped you!"

"Raped? No—he never actually raped me. I was sure I made it clear to you, John, in the letter I sent you. I thought you would understand that I gave myself to him. That's why I asked your forgiveness."

"I guess I haven't been able to accept it. I didn't want to believe it. But Crissy, if he didn't rape you—you can't mean that you gave in to him from the beginning?"

"I fought him!" she cried indignantly, trying to defend herself. "I fought him with all the strength I had."

"Then he did rape you?"

Christina hung her head in shame. "No, John, he never had to rape me. He had patience—he took his time and slowly brought my body to life. Please understand this, John—I hated him, but at the same time I wanted him. He stirred fires in me that I never knew existed. He made me a woman."

She started crying again. John felt miserable for blaming her for something that she couldn't help. But why did she defend the bastard?

John leaned across the table and lifted her face to look into her soft blue eyes.

"It's all right. It wasn't your fault. It was the same thing as if he'd raped you."

"I fought him, but it was the same way every time. I tried to escape, but he threatened to find me and beat me if I did it again. I was deathly afraid of him at first, but as time passed, I feared htm less. I even stabbed him once, and yet he did nothing. And then another tribe stole me, and he almost died getting me back. I realized then that I was in love with him. I didn't fight him after that, John. I couldn't fight the man I loved. If you can't forgive me for that, I'm sorry."