is to himself. He had been jealous of Claire's
interest in this man's performance, jealous perhaps even of her dream
among the hills in the midnight camp, where the man stood before her
sleeping eyes, and played with his visionary serpent. How mad can a
lover be? He resolved to go to Claire, and ask her pardon. This resolve
thrilled him. To carry it out, he would have to draw very near to
Claire, to unpack his heart to her. After all, she had given herself to
him. But he had appreciated the wonder of his role as possessor so
keenly, that he had waited upon her moods with an almost trembling awe.
Now, in asking pardon, he would show that in his passion he could be
strong. Women want to see the man in the lover, as well as the devotee.
Renfrew, in acknowledging his jealousy of a black savage, meant to clasp
Claire with the arms of a whirlwind.

Meanwhile she was hidden from him. The wind blew strongly. The sparks
leaped away in clouds toward the sea. From the dense darkness behind him
came a sound of music. The soldiers were feasting. The porters were
striking the lute, and singing songs of the dance and of love and of
victory. It was a night of comradeship and of rejoicing. Yet he stood
alone; and the turmoil of his heart was unheeded. He tried to explore
the blackness of the night which stood round the golden fire with his
eyes. Claire must be in that blackness close to him. Doubtless she saw
him, a red and yellow creature, painted into fictitious brilliance by
the illumination which was shed upon him. She saw him and kept from
him. Renfrew resolved to be patient. When her mood of reserve died she
would come to him, in her dress of a Moor, and he would kiss the white
face beneath the hood, and put his arms round the thin figure that was
lost in the djelabe of brawny Absalem, and tell her the true story of
his heart, never fully told to her yet. He squatted down before the
fire, lit his pipe, shrugged his shoulders against the tempest from the
mountains, and waited, listening to the weird music that swept by him
like a hidden bird on the wind.

And Claire--where was she? When Absalem wrapped her in the huge djelabe
it seemed to Claire that he had divined her secret longing to be in
hiding. She disappeared into the mighty hood of the garment as into a
cave. Its shadow concealed her from the watching eyes of Renfrew. There
was warmth in it and a beautiful darkness. She desired both. She saw
Renfrew turn to watch the leapi