All the
heaven was full of eyes. The line of tethered mules looked like a black
hedge in whose shelter the group of tents was pitched. A low fire, held
in a cup of earth, was dying down in the distance, and as Renfrew came
out a lanky dog slunk off among the bushes that clothed the low hills on
every side.

Renfrew stood quite still. He was bare-headed, and the breeze caught at
his thick brown hair, and seemed to tug it like a rough child at play
with a kindly elder. His eyes were turned towards the tiny peaked tent
which shrouded Claire. A small moon half way up the sky sent out a beam
which faintly illuminated this home of a wanderer, and Renfrew thought
the beam was like a silver finger pointing at this wonderful creature
whom glory had so long attended. Such beings must walk in light. Nature
herself protests against their endeavours to shroud themselves even for
a moment in darkness. He drew close to the tent, and listened for
Claire's low breathing. But he could not hear it. Perhaps she was awake
then.

"Claire!" he called, in a low voice.

There was no answer. Renfrew hesitated and glanced round the little
camp. It was just then that he noticed the absence of two figures which
had been standing like statues near his tent when he went to bed. These
were soldiers sent from the nearest village to guard the camp from
marauders during the night. Clad in earth-coloured rags, shrouded in
loose robes that looked like musty dressing-gowns, with fez on head, and
musket in hand, they had seemed devoutly intent on doing their duty
then. But now--where were they? Renfrew strolled among the tents,
expecting to find them squatting near the fire smoking cigarettes, or
playing some Spanish game of cards. But they had vanished. He returned,
and posted himself again by the door of Claire's rude bed-room, saying
to himself that he would be her guard. Those Moorish vagabonds had
deserted her. They cared nothing for the safety of this jewel, whom the
whole civilised world cherished. But in his heart glowed a passion of
protection for her. And then he gazed again at the impenetrable canvas
wall that divided him from her. Only two hours ago he had held her in
his arms and kissed her lips, yet already he felt as if a river of years
flowed between them. He began to torture himself deliberately, as lovers
will, by the imagination of non-existent evils. Suppose Claire
possessed the power of a fairy, and could evaporate at will into the