n, bowed down their
foreheads. Preceded by Mustapha and the guide, who walked on their
stockinged feet, Domini slowly threaded her way among them, following
a winding path whose borders were praying men. To prevent her slippers
from falling off she had to shuffle along without lifting her feet from
the ground. With the regularity of a beating pulse the old man's shriek,
fainter now, came to her from without. But presently, as she penetrated
farther into the mosque, it was swallowed up by the sound of prayer. No
one seemed to see her or to know that she was there. She brushed against
the white garments of worshippers, and when she did so she felt as if
she touched the hem of the garments of mystery, and she held her habit
together with her hands lest she should recall even one of these hearts
that were surely very far off.

Mustapha and the guardian stood still and looked round at Domini. Their
faces were solemn. The expression of greedy anxiety had gone out of
Mustapha's eyes. For the moment the thought of money had been driven out
of his mind by some graver pre-occupation. She saw in the semi-darkness
two wooden doors set between pillars. They were painted green and
red, and fastened with clamps and bolts of hammered copper that looked
enormously old. Against them were nailed two pictures of winged horses
with human heads, and two more pictures representing a fantastical town
of Eastern houses and minarets in gold on a red background. Balls of
purple and yellow glass, and crystal chandeliers, hung from the high
ceiling above these doors, with many ancient lamps; and two tattered
and dusty banners of pale pink and white silk, fringed with gold and
powdered with a gold pattern of flowers, were tied to the pillars with
thin cords of camel's hair.

"This is the tomb of Sidi-Zerzour," whispered Mustapha. "It is opened
once a year."

The guardian of the mosque fell on his knees before the tomb.

"That is Mecca."

Mustapha pointed to the pictures of the city. Then he, too, dropped down
and pressed his forehead against the matting. Domini glanced round for
Androvsky. He was not there. She stood alone before the tomb of Zerzour,
the only human being in the great, dim building who was not worshipping.
And she felt a terrible isolation, as if she were excommunicated, as
if she dared not pray, for a moment almost as if the God to whom this
torrent of worship flowed were hostile to her alone.

Had her father ever felt such a