istened--listened, with bowed head, and eyes in which tears were
gathering, from which tears were falling upon her clasped hands--she
knew that it was true, she knew that God meant her to put away her
selfishness, to rise above it. Those eagle's wings of which she had
thought--she must spread them. She must soar towards the place of the
angels, whither good women soar in the great moments of their
love, borne up by the winds of God. On the minaret of the mosque of
Sidi-Zerzour, while Androvsky remained in the dark shadow with a curse,
she had mounted, with prayer, surely a little way towards God. And now
God said to her, "Mount higher, come nearer to me, bring another with
you. That was my purpose in leading you to Beni-Mora, in leading you far
out into the desert, in leading you into the heart of the desert."

She had been led to Africa for a definite end, and now she knew what
that end was. On the mosque of the minaret of Sidi-Zerzour she had
surely seen prayer travelling, the soul of prayer travelling. And
she had asked herself--"Whither?" She had asked herself where was the
halting-place, with at last the pitched tent, the camp fires, and the
long, the long repose? And when she came down into the court of the
mosque and found Androvsky watching the old Arab who struck against the
mosque and cursed, she had wished that Androvsky had mounted with her a
little way towards God.

He should mount with her. Always she had longed to see him above her.
Could she leave him below? She knew she could not. She understood that
God did not mean her to. She understood perfectly. And tears streamed
from her eyes. For now there came upon her a full comprehension of her
love for Androvsky. His revelation had not killed it, as, for a moment,
in her passionate personal anger, she had been inclined to think. Indeed
it seemed to her now that, till this hour of silence, she had never
really loved him, never known how to love. Even in the tent at Arba she
had not fully loved him, perfectly loved him. For the thought of self,
the desires of self, the passion of self, had entered into and been
mingled with her love. But now she loved him perfectly, because she
loved as God intended her to love. She loved him as God's envoy sent to
him.

She was still weeping, but she began to feel calm, as if the stillness
of this hour before the dawn entered into her soul. She thought of
herself now only as a vessel into which God was pouring His purpose a