e me that. God will forgive me for being as I am. I'm not afraid.
I believe--I dare to believe--that He wishes me to think of you always
till the end of my life. I dare to believe that He would almost hate me
if I could ever cease from loving you. That's my other confession--my
confession to you. I was born, perhaps, to be a monk. But I was born,
too, that I might love you and know your love, your beauty, your
tenderness, your divinity. If I had not known you, if I had died a monk,
a good monk who had never denied his vows, I should have died--I feel
it, Domini--in a great, a terrible ignorance. I should have known the
goodness of God, but I should never have known part, a beautiful part,
of His goodness. For I should never have known the goodness that He has
put into you. He has taught me through you. He has tortured me through
you; yes, but through you, too, He has made me understand Him. When I
was in the monastery, when I was at peace, when I lost myself in prayer,
when I was absolutely pure, absolutely--so I thought--the child of
God, I never really knew God. Now, Domini, now I know Him. In the worst
moments of the new agony that I must meet at least I shall always have
that help. I shall always feel that I know what God is. I shall always,
when I think of you, when I remember you, be able to say, 'God is
love.'"

He was silent, but his face still spoke to her, his eyes read her eyes.
And in that moment at last they understood each other fully and for
ever. "It was written"--that was Domini's thought--"it was written by
God." Far away the church bell chimed.

"Boris," Domini said quietly, "we must go to-day. We must leave
Beni-Mora. You know that?"

"Yes," he said, "I know."

He looked out into the garden. The almost fierce resolution, that had
something in it of triumph, faded from him.

"Yes," he said, "this is the end, the real end, for--there, it will all
be different--it will be terrible."

"Let us sit here for a little while together," Domini said, "and be
quiet. Is it like the garden of El-Largani, Boris?"

"No. But when I first came here, when I saw the white walls, the great
door, when I saw the poor Arabs gathered there to receive alms, it made
me feel almost as if I were at El-Largani. That was why----" he paused.

"I understand, Boris, I understand everything now."

And then they were silent. Such a silence as theirs was then could
never be interpreted to others. In it the sorrows, the aspirat