es. His voice was faint in the sand, faint and
surely piteous, as if, even while he prayed, he felt that his prayers
were useless, that the fate of the dead was pronounced beyond recall.
Domini listened to him no more. She was praying for the living as she
had never prayed before, and her prayer was the prelude not to patience
but to action. It was as if her conversation with Count Anteoni had set
a torch to something in her soul, something that gave out a great flame,
a flame that could surely burn up the sorrow, the fear, the secret
torture in her husband's soul. All the strength of her character had
been roused by the sight of the peace she desired for the man she loved;
enthroned in the heart of this other man who was only her friend.

The voice of the old Arab died away in the distance, but before it died
away Domini had ceased from hearing it.

She heard only a voice within her, which said to her, "If you really
love be fearless. Attack this sorrow which stands like a figure of death
between you and your husband. Drive it away. You have a weapon--faith.
Use it."

It seemed to her then that through all their intercourse she had been
a coward in her love, and she resolved that she would be a coward no
longer.

CHAPTER XXV

Domini had said to herself that she would speak to her husband that
night. She was resolved not to hesitate, not to be influenced from her
purpose by anything. Yet she knew that a great difficulty would stand
in her way--the difficulty of Androvsky's intense, almost passionate,
reserve. This reserve was the dominant characteristic in his nature. She
thought of it sometimes as a wall of fire that he had set round about
the secret places of his soul to protect them even from her eyes.
Perhaps it was strange that she, a woman of a singularly frank
temperament, should be attracted by reserve in another, yet she knew
that she was so attracted by the reserve of her husband. Its existence
hinted to her depths in him which, perhaps, some day she might sound,
she alone, strength which was hidden for her some day to prove.

Now, alone with her purpose, she thought of this reserve. Would she be
able to break it down with her love? For an instant she felt as if she
were about to enter upon a contest with her husband, but she did not
coldly tell over her armoury and select weapons. There was a heat of
purpose within her that beckoned her to the unthinking, to the reckless
way, that told her to be se