played by the Moor seemed to approach him, very quietly, and
to become one with this slow agony. Music, among its many and terrible
powers, numbers one that is scarcely possessed as forcibly by any other
art. It can glide into a man and direct his emotions as irresistibly as
science can direct the flow of a stream. It can penetrate as a thing
seen cannot penetrate. For that which is invisible is that which is
invincible. And this tune of the Moor, while it added to Renfrew's
distress, touched his distress with confusion and bewilderment. At first
he did not realise that the music had anything to do with his state of
mind, or with the growing turmoil of his heart and brain; but he felt
that something was becoming intolerable to him, and pushing him on in a
dangerous path. He thought it was the statement of Claire; and, for the
first time in his life, he was stirred by an anger against her that was
horrible to him. He released her from his arm.

"How dare you say that to me?" he asked. "Do you understand what your
words imply, that--Good God!--that women are like animals, creatures
without souls, running to the feet of the master who has the whip with
the longest, the most stinging lash? Why, such a creed as yours would
keep men savages, and kill all gentleness out of the world. Curse that
chap! That hideous music of his--"

He had suddenly become aware that the Moor's melody added something to
his torment. At his last exclamation, the sullen look in Claire's pale
face gave way to an expression of fear and of startling solicitude.

"Desmond, you are putting a wrong interpretation on what I said," she
began hastily.

But he was excited, and could not endure any interruption.

"And you imply a degrading immorality as a prevailing characteristic of
women too," he went on, "that they should leave their homes, deny their
obligations, because they find elsewhere--away, out in some dark place
with a blackguard--a powerful will to curb them and keep them down,
like--why, like these wretched women all round us here in this
country,--the women we saw in Tetuan only to-day, veiled, hidden, loaded
with burdens, worse off than animals, because their masters doubt them,
and would not dream of trusting them. Claire, there's something
barbarous about you."

He spoke the words with the intonation of one who thinks he is uttering
an insult. But she smiled.

"It's the something barbarous about me that has placed me where I am,"
she