the red fires fade away. All is dark and silent. And then he
sees--"

"Wait!" Domini said almost sharply.

He sat looking at her. She pressed her hands together. In her dark face,
with its heavy eyebrows and strong, generous mouth, a contest showed, a
struggle between some quick desire and some more sluggish but determined
reluctance. In a moment she spoke again.

"I won't hear anything more, please."

"But you said 'whatever it may be.'"

"Yes. But I won't hear anything more."

She spoke very quietly, with determination.

The Diviner was beginning to move his hands again, to make fresh
patterns in the sand, to speak swiftly once more.

"Shall I stop him?"

"Please."

"Then would you mind going out into the garden? I will join you in a
moment. Take care not to disturb him."

She got up with precaution, held her skirts together with her hands, and
slipped softly out on to the garden path. For a moment she was inclined
to wait there, to look back and see what was happening in the _fumoir_.
But she resisted her inclination, and walked on slowly till she reached
the bench where she had sat an hour before with Androvsky. There she sat
down and waited. In a few minutes she saw the Count coming towards her
alone. His face was very grave, but lightened with a slight smile when
he saw her.

"He has gone?" she asked.

"Yes."

He was about to sit beside her, but she said quickly:

"Would you mind going back to the jamelon tree?"

"Where we sat this morning?"

"Was it only--yes."

"Certainly."

"Oh; but you are going away to-morrow! You have a lot to do probably?"

"Nothing. My men will arrange everything."

She got up, and they walked in silence till they saw once more the
immense spaces of the desert bathed in the afternoon sun. As Domini
looked at them again she knew that their wonder, their meaning, had
increased for her. The steady crescendo that was beginning almost to
frighten her was maintained--the crescendo of the voice of the Sahara.
To what tremendous demonstration was this crescendo tending, to
what ultimate glory or terror? She felt that her soul was as yet too
undeveloped to conceive. The Diviner had been right. There was a veil
around it, like the veil of the womb that hides the unborn child.

Under the jamelon tree she sat down once more.

"May--I light a cigar?" the Count asked.

"Do."

He struck a match, lit a cigar, and sat down on her left, by the garden
wall.

"Tell me fra