things in my garden
do not know me as I know them."

"Someone will regret you if--"

"Will you? Will you really?"

"Yes."

"I believe it."

He looked at her. She could see, by the expression of his eyes, that he
was on the point of saying something, but was held back by some fighting
sensation, perhaps by some reserve.

"What is it?"

"May I speak frankly to you without offence?" he asked. "I am really
rather old, you know."

"Do speak."

"That guest of mine yesterday--"

"Monsieur Androvsky?"

"Yes. He interested me enormously, profoundly."

"Really! Yet he was at his worst yesterday."

"Perhaps that was why. At any rate, he interested me more than any man I
have seen for years. But--" He paused, looking in at the little chamber
where the dog kept guard.

"But my interest was complicated by a feeling that I was face to face
with a human being who was at odds with life, with himself, even with
his Creator--a man who had done what the Arabs never do--defied Allah in
Allah's garden."

"Oh!"

She uttered a little exclamation of pain. It seemed to her that he was
gathering up and was expressing scattered, half formless thoughts of
hers.

"You know," he continued, looking more steadily into the room of the
dog, "that in Algeria there is a floating population composed of many
mixed elements. I could tell you strange stories of tragedies that have
occurred in this land, even here in Beni-Mora, tragedies of violence, of
greed, of--tragedies that were not brought about by Arabs."

He turned suddenly and looked right into her eyes.

"But why am I saying all this?" he suddenly exclaimed. "What is written
is written, and such women as you are guarded."

"Guarded? By whom?"

"By their own souls."

"I am not afraid," she said quietly.

"Need you tell me that? Miss Enfilden, I scarcely know why I have said
even as little as I have said. For I am, as you know, a fatalist. But
certain people, very few, so awaken our regard that they make us forget
our own convictions, and might even lead us to try to tamper with the
designs of the Almighty. Whatever is to be for you, you will be able to
endure. That I know. Why should I, or anyone, seek to know more for you?
But still there are moments in which the bravest want a human hand to
help them, a human voice to comfort them. In the desert, wherever I may
be--and I shall tell you--I am at your service."

"Thank you," she said simply.

She gave him her hand.