the end of it had not yet
come into sight behind the next sand billow; but at its head a man rode
on a horse, alone, with no one at his side. Already it was too dark to
see his face, but Max knew who it was. He _felt_ the man's identity with
an instinct as unerring as Sanda's.

Also he longed to hasten after her and catch up with the running camel,
as he could easily do, for his horse, though more delicate and not as
enduring, could go faster. But, though Sanda had cried "Come!" he held
back. She had hardly known what she said. She did not want him to be
with her when she met Stanton; and if he--Max--wished to be there, it
was a morbid wish. Whether Stanton were kind or unkind to the girl, he,
the outsider, would suffer more than he need let himself suffer, since
he was not needed and would only be in the way. Riding slowly and
keeping back the men of his own little caravan, who wished to dash
forward now their superstitious fears were put to flight, Max saw
Stanton rein up his horse as the mehari, bearing a woman's bassourah,
loped toward him; saw him stop in surprise, and then, no doubt
recognizing the face framed by the curtains, jump off his horse and
stride forward through the silky mesh of sand holding out his arms. The
next instant he had the girl in them, was lifting her down without
waiting for the camel to kneel, for she had sprung to him as if from the
crest of a breaking wave; and Max bit back an oath as he had to see
Ahmara's lover crush Sanda DeLisle against his breast.

It was only for an instant, perhaps, but for Max it was a red-hot
eternity. He forgot his resolution to efface himself, and whipped his
horse forward. By the time he had reached the two figures in the sand,
however, the big, square-shouldered man in khaki and the slim girl in
white had a little space between them. Stanton had released Sanda from
his arms and set her on her feet; but he held both the little white
hands in his brown ones; and now that Max was near he could see a look
on the square sunburnt face which might have won any woman, even if she
had not been his in heart already. Max himself was thrilled by it. He
realized as he had realized in Algiers, but a thousand times more
keenly, the vital, compelling magnetism of the man.

No need for Sanda to wonder whether "Sir Knight" would be glad to see
her! He was glad, brutally glad it seemed to Max, as the lion might be
glad after long, lonely ways to chance upon his young and wil