nd for once she allowed herself to accuse Michael. She began by
saying that he had been thoughtless and neglectful, that he ought to
have managed somehow to get a letter through to her as soon as
Millicent appeared on the scene. She felt convinced that she would
have contrived to let him hear under similar circumstances it . . .
well, if she had wanted him to hear, if she had had a satisfactory
explanation to offer. It was the horrible "if" which kept Margaret
awake. That mustard-seed of suspicion grew and grew until its flowers
of evil covered her whole world. Thought can make our heaven or our
hell. Margaret's thoughts that night created no divine vision, no fair
City of the Horizon.

If Millicent had come back to Cairo, because of business, surely
Michael could have sent a letter by her servants, even if he had not
cared to entrust it into her own hands. That was the thought which
triumphed--it shed its darkness over the things of light.

CHAPTER XVI

The next morning Margaret rose early. During her long and sleepless
night she had reviewed her position over and over again; there seemed
to be no way out of it. She must and would keep her promise to Freddy.

It is impossible to give a lucid interpretation of her tortured
feelings. In her practical, reasoning mind her thoughts were black and
suspicious; her heart was full of doubts, anger, wounded pride; while
in the background, still shining like the dim light on the horizon at
the approach of dawn, was her unconquerable belief in her lover's
honour.

She felt compelled to act up to her practical judgment, to her promise
that she would go home to England if she heard from either Michael's or
Millicent's own lips that they had been together in the desert. But it
was the horizon-light which helped her and made her able to bear the
shock of Millicent's brutal announcement.

For one whole night she had faced the certain fact that Millicent had
camped in the desert with Michael. Anyone who has considered the
ceaseless workings of the human brain will understand what no pen could
describe--the countless arguments for and against her lover's honour
which came and went in an endless rotation in Margaret's mind.

She was glad when daylight flooded the room and she could get up and
take the definite steps which would settle her doom. There is nothing
so unendurable as lying in bed, a victim to miserable thoughts.

As soon as she was dressed she wrote