othing but plain, endless plain, and
Victoria had been glad, for her own sake as well as the invalid's, when
night followed the first day. They had stopped on the outskirts of a
large town, partly French, partly Arab, passing through and on to the
house of a caid who was a friend of Si Maieddine's. It was a primitively
simple house, even humble, it seemed to the girl, who had as yet no
conception of the bareness and lack of comfort--according to Western
ideas--of Arab country-houses. Nevertheless, when, after another tedious
day, they rested under the roof of a village adel, an official below a
caid, the first house seemed luxurious in contrast. During this last,
third day, Victoria had been eager and excited, because of the desert,
through one gate of which they had entered. She felt that once in the
desert she was so close to Saidee in spirit that they might almost hear
the beating of each other's hearts, but she had not expected to be near
her sister in body for many such days to come: and the wave of joy that
surged over her soul as the horses turned up the golden hill towards the
white towers, was suffocating in its force.

The nearer they came, the less impressive seemed the building. After
all, it was not the great Arab stronghold it had looked from far away,
but a fortified farmhouse a century old, at most. Climbing the hill,
too, Victoria saw that the golden colour was partly due to a monstrous
swarm of ochre-hued locusts, large as young canary birds, which had
settled, thick as yellow snow, over the ground. They were resting after
a long flight, and there were millions and millions of them, covering
the earth in every direction as far as the eye could reach. Only a few
were on the wing, but as the carriage stopped before the closed gates,
fat yellow bodies came blundering against the canvas curtains, or fell
plumply against the blinkers over the mules' eyes.

Si Maieddine got down from the carriage, and shouted, with a peculiar
call. There was no answering sound, but after a wait of two or three
minutes the double gates of thick, greyish palm-wood were pulled open
from inside, with a loud creak. For a moment the brown face of an old
man, wrinkled as a monkey's, looked out between the gates, which he held
ajar; then, with a guttural cry, he threw both as far back as he could,
and rushing out, bent his white turban over Maieddine's hand. He kissed
the Sidi's shoulder, and a fold of his burnous, half kneeling, an