she did not move.

"I'll go--I'll go!" he muttered.

And he stepped forward. Then Domini spoke.

"Boris!" she said.

He stopped.

"What is it?" he murmured hoarsely.

"Boris, now at last you--you can pray."

He looked at her as if awe-stricken.

"Pray!" he whispered. "You tell me I can pray--now!"

"Now at last."

She went into the tent and left him alone. He stood where he was for a
moment. He knew that, in the tent, she was praying. He stood, trying
to listen to her prayer. Then, with an uncertain hand, he felt in his
breast. He drew out the wooden crucifix. He bent down his head, touched
it with his lips, and fell upon his knees in the desert.

The music had ceased in the city. There was a great silence.

BOOK VI. THE JOURNEY BACK

CHAPTER XXVII

The good priest of Amara, strolling by chance at the dinner-hour of
the following day towards the camp of the hospitable strangers, was
surprised and saddened to find only the sand-hill strewn with debris.
The tents, the camels, the mules, the horses--all were gone. No servants
greeted him. No cook was busy. No kind hostess bade him come in and stay
to dine. Forlornly he glanced around and made inquiry. An Arab told him
that in the morning the camp had been struck and ere noon was far on
its way towards the north. The priest had been on horseback to an
neighbouring oasis, so had heard nothing of this flitting. He asked its
explanation, and was told a hundred lies. The one most often repeated
was to the effect that Monsieur, the husband of Madame, was overcome by
the heat, and that for this reason the travellers were making their way
towards the cooler climate that lay beyond the desert.

As he heard this a sensation of loneliness came to the priest. His
usually cheerful countenance was overcast with gloom. For a moment
he loathed his fate in the sands and sighed for the fleshpots of
civilisation. With his white umbrella spread above his helmet he stood
still and gazed towards the north across the vast spaces that were
lemon-yellow in the sunset. He fancied that on the horizon he saw
faintly a cloud of sand grains whirling, and imagined it stirred up by
the strangers' caravan. Then he thought of the rich lands of the Tell,
of the olive groves of Tunis, of the blue Mediterranean, of France, his
country which he had not seen for many years. He sighed profoundly.

"Happy people," he thought to himself. "Rich, free, able to do as they
like, to go w