"What, Boris?"

"It might do what Christ did--go down into hell to preach to the--to the
spirits in prison."

His voice had dropped almost to a murmur. With one hand on her cheek he
kept her face pressed down upon his shoulder so that she could not see
his face.

"It might do that, Domini."

"Boris," she said, almost whispering too, for his words and manner
filled her with a sort of awe, "I want you to tell me something."

"What is it?"

"Are you quite happy with me here in the desert? If you are I want you
to tell me that you are. Remember--I shall believe you."

"No other human being could ever give me the happiness you give me."

"But--"

He interrupted her.

"No other human being ever has. Till I met you I had no conception of
the happiness there is in the world for man and woman who love each
other."

"Then you are happy?"

"Don't I seem so?"

She did not reply. She was searching her heart for the answer--searching
it with an almost terrible sincerity. He waited for her answer, sitting
quite still. His hand was always against her face. After what seemed to
him an eternity she said:

"Boris!"

"Yes."

"Why did you say that about a woman's love being able even to go down
into hell to preach to the spirits in prison?"

He did not answer. His hand seemed to her to lie more heavily on her
cheek.

"I--I am not sure that you are quite happy with me," she said.

She spoke like one who reverenced truth, even though it slew her. There
was a note of agony in her voice.

"Hush!" he said. "Hush, Domini!"

They were both silent. Beyond the canvas of the tent that shut out from
them the camp they heard a sound of music. Drums were being beaten. The
African pipe was wailing. Then the voice of Ali rose in the song of the
"Freed Negroes":

"No one but God and I
Knows what is in my heart."

At that moment Domini felt that the words were true--horribly true.

"Boris," she said. "Do you hear?"

"Hush, Domini."

"I think there is something in your heart that sometimes makes you sad
even with me. I think perhaps I partly guess what it is."

He took his hand away from her face, his arm from her shoulder, but she
caught hold of him, and her arm was strong like a man's.

"Boris, you are with me, you are close to me, but do you sometimes feel
far away from God?"

He did not answer.

"I don't know; I oughtn't to ask, perhaps. I don't ask--no, I don't.
But, if it's that, don't be too sad