streets and by trees. Scents of hidden flowers came to her
in the night, and she heard a whirr of insects. Still they mounted, and
presently reached the top of the hill.

"Stop!" said Androvsky to the driver.

He drew up his horses.

"Wait for us here."

Androvsky got out.

"Shall we walk a little way?" he said to Domini.

"Yes--yes."

She got out too, and they walked slowly along the deserted road. Below
them she saw the lights of ships gliding upon the lakes, the bright
eyes of a lighthouse, the distant lamps of scattered villages along the
shores, and, very far off, a yellow gleam that dominated the sea beyond
the lakes and seemed to watch patiently all those who came and went, the
pilgrims to and from Africa. That gleam shone in Carthage.

From the sea over the flats came to them a breeze that had a savour of
freshness, of cool and delicate life.

They walked for some time without speaking, then Domini said:

"From the cemetery of El-Largani you looked out over this, didn't you,
Boris?"

"Yes, Domini," he answered. "It was then that the voice spoke to me."

"It will never speak again. God will not let it speak again."

"How can you know that?"

"We are tried in the fire, Boris, but we are not burnt to death."

She said it for herself, to reassure herself, to give a little comfort
to her own soul.

"To-night I feel as if it were not so," he answered. "When we came to
the hotel it seemed--I thought that I could not go on."

"And now?"

"Now I do not know anything except that this is my last night with you.
And, Domini, that seems to me to be absolutely incredible although I
know it. I cannot imagine any future away from you, any life in which
I do not see you. I feel as if in parting from you I am parting from
myself, as if the thing left would be no more a man, but only a broken
husk. Can I pray without you, love God without you?"

"Best without me."

"But can I live without you, Domini? Can I wake day after day to the
sunshine, and know that I shall never see you again, and go on living?
Can I do that? I don't feel as if it could be. Perhaps, when I have done
my penance, God will have mercy."

"How, Boris?"

"Perhaps He will let me die."

"Let us fix all the thoughts of our hearts on the life in which He
may let us be together once more. Look, Boris, there are lights in the
darkness, there will always be lights."

"I can't see them," he said.

She looked at him and saw that tears w