. It may all come right--here in the
desert. For the desert is the Garden of Allah. And, Boris--put out the
light."

He extinguished the candle with his hand.

"You feel, perhaps, that you can't pray honestly now, but some day you
may be able to. You will be able to. I know it. Before I knew I loved
you I saw you--praying in the desert."

"I!" he whispered. "You saw me praying in the desert!"

It seemed to her that he was afraid. She pressed him more closely with
her arms.

"It was that night in the dancing-house. I seemed to see a crowd of
people to whom the desert had given gifts, and to you it had given the
gift of prayer. I saw you far out in the desert praying."

She heard his hard breathing, felt it against her cheek.

"If--if it is that, Boris, don't despair. It may come. Keep the
crucifix. I am sure you have it. And I always pray for you."

They sat for a long while in the dark, but they did not speak again that
night.

Domini did not sleep, and very early in the morning, just as dawn was
beginning, she stole out of the tent, shutting down the canvas flap
behind her.

It was cold outside--cold almost as in a northern winter. The wind of
the morning, that blew to her across the wavelike dunes and the white
plains, seemed impregnated with ice. The sky was a pallid grey. The camp
was sleeping. What had been a fire, all red and gold and leaping beauty,
was now a circle of ashes, grey as the sky. She stood on the edge of the
hill and looked towards the tower.

As she did so, from the house behind it came a string of mules, picking
their way among the stones over the hard earth. De Trevignac and his men
were already departing from Mogar.

They came towards her slowly. They had to pass her to reach the track by
which they were going on to the north and civilisation. She stood to see
them pass.

When they were quite near De Trevignac, who was riding, with his head
bent down on his chest, muffled in a heavy cloak, looked up and saw her.
She nodded to him. He sat up and saluted. For a moment she thought
that he was going on without stopping to speak to her. She saw that he
hesitated what to do. Then he pulled up his mule and prepared to get
off.

"No, don't, Monsieur," she said.

She held out her hand.

"Good-bye," she added.

He took her hand, then signed to his men to ride on. When they had
passed, saluting her, he let her hand go. He had not spoken a word. His
face, burned scarlet by the sun, ha