w." She was sorry for Michael's embarrassment; he writhed under
the whole thing.

Millicent paid no attention to her words. She repeated the story for
Margaret's benefit. Michael turned away impatiently. He had meant to
tell Margaret all the details of his life in the desert when they were
married and alone together.

"As I told you," Millicent said, "I met him in the desert. I had found
out where he was going to. He was furiously angry . . . he wanted me
to go back. I stayed against his wishes. The saint turning up the
same day as I did made him forget me. I often tried to win him from
you . . . and I thought I was succeeding. The only reason he didn't
turn me out of the camp was because of my equipment and food--they were
good for the holy man, who was ill. He was sickening with the
smallpox, only we didn't know it. Michael took him into his camp. I
told you about that. We didn't know what was the matter with him, but
Michael behaved like an angel to the lunatic. When he discovered that
he had smallpox, I implored him to leave him. When he wouldn't, I
fled. That very night I left him alone, even though I had told him
that I loved him--I had offered myself to him. I took all my luxuries
with me. I was mad . . . furiously angry. He had taken the sick man
in against all my entreaties; he had scorned my love. The next morning
Hassan told me that one of my men had deserted, left our camp at dawn."

"Stop, that's enough!" Michael cried. "Stop it!" Every word had
lashed his nerves and brought back to his memory his own struggles, his
own weakness.

"I fled," Millicent went on, not heeding his interruption. "I spent
some weeks in Upper Egypt. I thought I had escaped the horrible
disease. . . . I thought Hassan had taken every precaution. He sent
some of my boxes straight on to Cairo; I opened them the night I saw
you. They must have carried the infection--that is how I got smallpox.
It lay in wait for me." She paused, breathless, and then went on
excitedly: "I know nothing about the treasure. I am absolutely
innocent in that one respect. I can tell you nothing more, nothing."

As Millicent ceased speaking, Michael took up her story.

"Margaret," he said, "some days after she left us the saint died. When
he was buried, we moved on." As he spoke, he visualized the desert
burial. "We journeyed to the hills. On our way we passed through a
subterranean village--a terrible place, of flies an