connoisseurs, but also with the general public, inasmuch as
they owe their fascination not so much to an extreme
refinement of art as to their freshness of imagination and
dramatic intensity. This epitome of the "Garden of Allah" has
been prepared by Mr. Hichens himself.

_I.--The Home of Peace_

On an autumn evening, Domini Enfilden leaned on the parapet of a
verandah of the Hotel du Desert at Beni-Mora, in Southern Algeria,
gazing towards the great Sahara, which was lit up by the glory of
sunset. The bell of the Catholic Church chimed. She heard the throbbing
of native drums in the village near by. Tired with her long journey from
England, she watched and listened while the twilight crept among the
palms, and the sandy alleys grew dark.

Thirty-two, an orphan, unmarried, strong, fearless, ardent, but a deeply
religious woman and a Catholic, Domini had passed through much mental
agony. Her mother, Lady Rens, a member of one of England's oldest
Catholic families, but half Hungarian on the mother's side, had run away
when Domini was nineteen with a Hungarian musician, leaving her only
child with her despairing and abandoned husband. Lord Rens had become a
Catholic out of love for his wife. When he was deserted by her, he
furiously renounced his faith, and eventually died blaspheming. In vain
through many years he had tried to detach his daughter from the religion
of her guilty mother, now long since dead. Domini had known how to
resist; but the cruel contest had shaken her body and soul.

Now free, alone, she had left England to begin a new life far away from
the scene of her misery. Vaguely she had thought of the great desert,
called by the Arabs "The Garden of Allah," as the home of peace. She had
travelled there to find peace. That day, at the gate of the desert, she
had met a traveller, Doris Androvsky, a man of about thirty-six,
powerfully built, tanned by the sun. When she was about to get into the
train at the station of El Akbara this man had rudely sprung in before
her. The train had begun to move, and Domini had sprung into it almost
at the risk of her life. Androvsky had not offered to help her, had not
said a word of apology. His _gaucherie_ had almost revolted Domini.
Nevertheless, something powerful, mournful, passionate, and sincere in
his personality had affected her, roused her interest.

Silently they had come into the desert together, strangers, almost at
enmity the one wi