nts
discussing their affairs, the desert had lost its purity, its healing
powers. In its sands the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil seemed to
need no water.

Michael clung to the thought of Margaret. For some few moments they rode
in silence. Michael was inarticulate; his thoughts were like a flaming
bush. In half an hour's time they would halt for lunch; until that time
Millicent held her soul in patience.

Nothing was to be gained by a broken conversation on camel-back. A
delicious excitement exalted her; her plans had succeeded; the very devil
of insolence danced in her veins. She had trapped Michael and
successfully outwitted Margaret Lampton. She was going to thoroughly
enjoy herself. Michael, of course, would become quite docile in her
hands later on; one of her gentle spells would reconcile him.

"How long have you been in the desert?" Michael asked.

"We've camped for two nights," she said. "It's been perfectly beautiful!
We have had no difficulties, no adventures and we've scarcely met a
living soul. This eastern desert is awfully desolate, Mike--you're alone
with your thoughts if you can't speak to your dragoman."

"It's very desolate," Mike said. "And it's quite different from the
Valley in colour and in feeling--at least it is to me."

"I think so, too. This morning we met a strange creature--the only human
we've struck--one of those desert fanatics, 'a child of God,' as my
dragoman called him."

Michael's heart beat faster; he forgot his annoyance. "Where did you
meet him?" he asked.

Millicent noticed the change in his voice. "Not long before we sighted
you. He was travelling this way--we shall probably pass him. Our camels
were travelling at a good pace."

"Did you speak to him?"

"No, I couldn't, but Hassan did. I asked him about him. He told me that
what we call an idiot or a village simple is really a man whose reasoning
powers are in heaven. We see the material part of him, the part that
mixes with ordinary mortals. To the Mohammedans such people are
considered sacred, special favourites of God."

"Yes, I know," Michael said, "and the worst of it is that advantage is
taken of that charming idea and dreadful things are done by rogues who
pretend to be religious fanatics or holy men. Some of them are awful
creatures, absolute impostors, but as a rule they frequent towns and
cities. The genuine holy man, a 'child of God,' lives apart from his
fellows in the desert."