in London when a
lady rides out with the attendant who guards her--the really smart thing
to do?"

She was playing on his vanity. He responded with a ready smile.

"No, Madame."

"The attendant rides at a short distance behind her, so that no one can
come up near her without his knowledge."

Batouch fell back, and Domini cantered on, congratulating herself on the
success of her expedient.

She passed through the village, full of strolling white figures, lights
and the sound of music, and was soon at the end of the long, straight
road that was significant to her as no other road had ever been. Each
time she saw it, stretching on till it was lost in the serried masses
of the palms, her imagination was stirred by a longing to wander through
barbaric lands, by a nomad feeling that was almost irresistible. This
road was a track of fate to her. When she was on it she had a strange
sensation as if she changed, developed, drew near to some ideal. It
influenced her as one person may influence another. Now for the first
time she was on it in the night, riding on the crowded shadows of
its palms. She drew rein and went more slowly. She had a desire to be
noiseless.

In the obscurity the thickets of the palms looked more exotic than in
the light of day. There was no motion in them. Each tree stood like a
delicately carven thing, silhouetted against the remote purple of the
void. In the profound firmament the stars burned with a tremulous ardour
they never show in northern skies. The mystery of this African night
rose not from vaporous veils and the long movement of winds, but was
breathed out by clearness, brightness, stillness. It was the deepest of
all mystery--the mystery of vastness and of peace.

No one was on the road. The sound of the horse's feet were sharply
distinct in the night. On all sides, but far off, the guard dogs were
barking by the hidden homes of men. The air was warm as in a hothouse,
but light and faintly impregnated with perfume shed surely by the
mystical garments of night as she glided on with Domini towards the
desert. From the blackness of the palms there came sometimes thin notes
of the birds of night, the whizzing noise of insects, the glassy pipe of
a frog in the reeds by a pool behind a hot brown wall.

She rode through one of the villages of old Beni-Mora, silent,
unlighted, with empty streets and closed cafes maures, touched her horse
with the whip, and cantered on at a quicker pace. As sh