could possibly understand, and Max
did not mean to offer explanations, even to his colonel. If in his heart
Sanda's father could ever secretly pardon a deserter, it must be of his
own accord, not because of what that deserter had to say on his own
behalf.

Out of the little caravan Max had to discharge, Stanton kept the mehari
with the bassourah which Sanda had ridden during the journey from Ben
Raana's _douar_. It was, he said, laughing, a present direct from
Providence to his bride, since not without delay could he have provided
her with anything so comfortable for travelling. The finely bred camel
and many other animals of the escort might fail or die en route, but
there were places on the way where others could be got, as well as men
to replenish vacancies made by deaths. Stanton was too old an explorer
not to have calculated each step of the way, as far as any white man's
story or black man's rumour described it. And he talked stoically of the
depletion of his ranks. It was only his own failure or death which
appeared to be for him incredible.

Stanton rode all day at the head of the caravan, with Sanda, on her
mehari, looking down at him, "like the Blessed Damozel" as he had said,
between her curtains. Max, on a strong pony which Stanton had bought as
an "understudy" for his own horse, kept far in the rear. The desert had
been beautiful for him yesterday. It was hideous to-day. He thought it
must always be hideous after this. They saw the new moon for the first
time that afternoon. Sanda, lost in a dream of happiness, pointed it out
to Stanton, but he was vexed because they caught a glimpse of it over
the left shoulder. It was a bad sign, he said, and Sanda laughed at him
for being superstitious. As if anything could be a bad sign for them on
_that day_!

"Little White Moon," Ourieda and the other Arab women had called her at
Djazerta. Stanton said it was just the name for her, when she told him.
The girl was perfectly happy now that Max was rescued. She had no
regrets, no cares; for, though she dearly loved her father, it would
have been long before she saw him again even if she had gone to
Sidi-bel-Abbes; and she knew he had hated the necessity for leaving her
there without him. She believed it would be a great relief to such a
keen soldier as he was not to be burdened with a girl. Often she felt it
had been wrong and selfish of her to run away from the aunts and throw
herself upon his mercy. Their few weeks