ly. "I believe that I am in the hands of God, and
I know that perfect love can never harm me."

After a moment he said, gently:

"Miss Enfilden, I want to ask something of you."

"Yes?"

"Will you make a sacrifice? To-morrow I start at dawn. Will you be here
to wish me God speed on my journey?"

"Of course I will."

"It will be good of you. I shall value it from you. And--and when--if
you ever make your long journey on that road--the route to the south--I
will wish you Allah's blessing in the Garden of Allah."

He spoke with solemnity, almost with passion, and she felt the tears
very near her eyes. Then they sat in silence, looking out over the
desert.

And she heard its voices calling.

CHAPTER XIII

On the following morning, before dawn, Domini awoke, stirred from sleep
by her anxiety, persistent even in what seemed unconsciousness, to
speed Count Anteoni upon his desert journey. She did not know why he
was going, but she felt that some great issue in his life hung upon
the accomplishment of the purpose with which he set out, and without
affectation she ardently desired that accomplishment. As soon as she
awoke she lit a candle and glanced at her watch. She knew by the hour
that the dawn was near, and she got up at once and made her toilet. She
had told Batouch to be at the hotel door before sunrise to accompany her
to the garden, and she wondered if he were below. A stillness as of deep
night prevailed in the house, making her movements, while she dressed,
seem unnaturally loud. When she put on her hat, and looked into the
glass to see if it were just at the right angle, she thought her face,
always white, was haggard. This departure made her a little sad. It
suggested to her the instability of circumstance, the perpetual change
that occurs in life. The going of her kind host made her own going more
possible than before, even more likely. Some words from the Bible kept
on running through her brain "Here have we no continuing city." In the
silent darkness their cadence held an ineffable melancholy. Her mind
heard them as the ear, in a pathetic moment, hears sometimes a distant
strain of music wailing like a phantom through the invisible. And the
everlasting journeying of all created things oppressed her heart.

When she had buttoned her jacket and drawn on her gloves she went to the
French window and pushed back the shutters. A wan semi-darkness looked
in upon her. Again she wondered whether Batouch