lay sentinel,
but though Sanda had slipped inside her tent, perhaps to dream of
to-morrow, it seemed to Max that there were no drugs in the world strong
enough to give him sleep. He supposed, vaguely, that if a priest
consented to marry the girl to Stanton, after the wedding and the start
of the explorer's caravan, he, Max, would board the first train he could
catch on the new railway, and go to "take his medicine" at
Sidi-bel-Abbes.

Before dawn, when Stanton came to tell Sanda that he was off for
Touggourt to fetch the priest, no alternative had yet presented itself
to Max's mind, and he was still indifferent to his own future. But when
Stanton had been gone for half an hour, and a faint primrose coloured
flame had begun to quiver along the billowy horizon in the east, he
heard a soft voice call his name, almost in a whisper.

"Soldier St. George!" it said.

Max sprang up, fully dressed as he was, and went out of his tent. Sanda
was standing near, a vague shape of glimmering white.

CHAPTER XXV

CORPORAL ST. GEORGE, DESERTER

"Is anything the matter?" he asked. A wild hope was in his heart that
she might wish to tell him she had changed her mind. The joy of that
hope snatched his breath away. But her first words put it to flight.

"No, nothing is the matter, except that I've been thinking about you. I
could hardly wait to ask you some things. But I _had_ to wait till
morning. It is morning now that Richard is up and has gone, even though
it isn't quite light. And it's better to talk before he comes back.
There'll be--so much happening then---- You're all dressed! You didn't
go to bed."

"No, I didn't want to sleep," said Max.

"I haven't slept, either. I didn't try to sleep! I'm so happy for
myself, but I'm not _all_ happy. I'm anxious about you. I see that I've
been horribly, hatefully selfish--a beast!"

"Don't! I won't hear you say such things."

"You mustn't try and put me off. Will you promise by--by your love for
my father--and your friendship for me, to answer truly the questions I
ask?"

"All I can answer."

"If you don't answer, I shall know what your silence means. _Mon ami_,
you made a great sacrifice for me. You gave up your march to take me
safely to Bel-Abbes. You had only eight days' leave to do it in. I know,
because my father said so in his letter. But I, thinking always of
myself, gave no thought to that. You lost time coming back from Djazerta
to the _douar_. Now I've kept