rred up into
clouds with their dancing, naked feet. In front, as if from the first
palms of the oasis, rose the roar of beaten drums from the negroes'
quarter, and from the hill-top at the feet of the minarets came the
fierce and piteous noise that is the _leit-motif_ of the desert, the
multitudinous complaining of camels dominating all other sounds.

As Domini and Androvsky rode into this whirlpool of humanity, above
which the sky was red like a great wound, it flowed and eddied round
them, making them its centre. The arrival of a stranger-woman was a
rare, if not an unparalleled, event in Amara, and Batouch had been very
busy in spreading the fame of his mistress.

"Madame should dismount," said Batouch. "Ali will take the horses, and
I will escort Madame and Monsieur up the hill to the place of the
fountain. Shabah will be there to greet Madame."

"What an uproar!" Domini exclaimed, half laughing, half confused. "Who
on earth is Shabah?"

"Shabah is the Caid of Amara," replied Batouch with dignity. "The
greatest man of the city. He awaits Madame by the fountain." Domini cast
a glance at Androvsky.

"Well?" she said.

He shrugged his shoulders like a man who thinks strife useless and the
moment come for giving in to Fate.

"The monster has opened his jaws for us," he said, forcing a laugh.
"We had better walk in, I suppose. But--O Domini!--the silence of the
wastes!"

"We shall know it again. This is only for the moment. We shall have all
its joy again."

"Who knows?" he said, as he had said when they were riding up the sand
slope. "Who knows?"

Then they got off their horses and were taken by the crowd.

CHAPTER XXII

The tumult of Amara waked up in Domini the town-sense that had been
slumbering. All that seemed to confuse, to daze, to repel Androvsky,
even to inspire him with fear, the noise of the teeming crowds, their
perpetual movement, their contact, startled her into a vividness of life
and apprehension of its various meanings, that sent a thrill through
her. And the thrill was musical with happiness. To the sad a great
vision of human life brings sadness because they read into the hearts
of others their own misery. But to the happy such a vision brings
exultation, for everywhere they find dancing reflections of their own
joy. Domini had lived much in crowds, but always she had been actively
unhappy, or at least coldly dreary in them. Now, for the first time, she
was surrounded by masses of