g without the body, or, at most, merely
a continuance of power to know that all which had been was no more. All
which had been was no more.

At last her mind began to work again, and those words went through
it with persistence. She thought of the fascination of Africa, that
enormous, overpowering fascination which had taken possession of her
body and spirit. What had become of it? What had become of the romance
of the palm gardens, of the brown villages, of the red mountains, of the
white town with its lights, its white figures, its throbbing music? And
the mystical attraction of the desert--where was it now? Its voice, that
had called her persistently, was suddenly silent. Its hand, that had
been laid upon her, was removed. She looked at it in the moonlight and
it was no longer the desert, sand with a soul in it, blue distances full
of a music of summons, spaces, peopled with spirits from the sun. It
was only a barren waste of dried-up matter, arid, featureless, desolate,
ghastly with the bones of things that had died.

She heard the dogs barking by the tents of the nomads and the noises of
the insects, but still she did not feel the horse underneath her. Yet
she was gradually recovering her powers, and their recovery brought with
it sharp, physical pain, such as is felt by a person who has been nearly
drowned and is restored from unconsciousness.

Androvsky turned round. She saw his eyes fastened upon her, and
instantly pride awoke in her, and, with pride, her whole self.

She felt her horse under her, the reins in her hands, the stirrup at her
foot. She moved in her saddle. The blood tingled in her veins fiercely,
bitterly, as if it had become suddenly acrid. She felt as if her face
were scarlet, as if her whole body flushed, and as if the flush could be
seen by her companion. For a moment she was clothed from head to foot
in a fiery garment of shame. But she faced Androvsky with calm eyes, and
her lips smiled.

"You are tired of it?" she said.

"I never meant to stay long," he answered, looking down.

"There is not very much to do here. Shall we ride back to the village
now?"

She turned her horse, and as she did so cast one more glance at the
three palm trees that stood far out on the path of the moon. They looked
like three malignant fates lifting up their hands in malediction. For a
moment she shivered in the saddle. Then she touched her horse with the
whip and turned her eyes away. Androvsky followed h