tness of the canes and olive boughs.
They sprang up from the ground, pulled the shrouding hoods from their
faces, tossed away their djelabes, and began, with shouts and
ejaculations, to dance up and down before the golden sheet, spreading
their hands to it with the glee of children. A sudden joy beamed in the
dusky and solemn faces, twinkled in the sombre eyes. One man flung away
his fez, another dashed his turban to the ground. Round, shaven heads,
bare arms, brown legs, half concealed by fluttering linen
knickerbockers, lithe bodies emerged with eager haste into the light.
Shadows became abruptly men, formless humps athletes. Mutes sent out
great voices to startle the sweeping bats. Mourners turned into maniacs.
It was a fantasia that exploded into life like a rocket, shedding a
stream of vivid human fire. Mohammed drew away from the flames, taking
a dozen swift footsteps to the rear. Then, with a shout, he dashed
forward, bounded into the golden sheet, and disappeared as a clown
disappears through a paper hoop. Only the paper closed up behind him. He
leaped through light to darkness, pursued by a thousand eager sparks.
One soldier followed him, then another, and another. The porters,
linking hands, leaped in twos and threes. Even the cook, old, and
serious with a weight of savoury knowledge, tottered to the edge of the
fire, which was now becoming a furnace, and took it as an Irish horse
takes a stone wall, striking the topmost branches with his bare feet
amid a chorus of yells.

Claire watched the darting figures with a silent gravity. She did not
seem to be stirred by the fantasia of the firelight, or to catch any
gaiety or life from the boisterous activity of those about her. The
flames lit up the whiteness of her face, and showed Renfrew that she was
looking gloomy and even despairing.

"Is anything the matter, Claire?" he asked anxiously.

"No. How could there be?"

The wind, which was increasing in violence, blew her thin dress forward,
and she shivered. Absalem noticed it.

"Wear djelabe, lady," he said.

And in a moment he had taken his off, and was carefully wrapping Claire
in it. She seemed glad of it, thanked him, and, with a quick gesture
that hurt Renfrew, pulled the big brown hood up over her head, so that
her face was entirely concealed from view. She now looked exactly like a
Moor, and might have been mistaken for one of the soldiers before the
fire was lit and all impeding garments were thrown