r couch. "I do
consider thee," she said. "If it were not for thee and Si Maieddine, I
might not be able to get to Saidee at all; so I must not mind being
delayed a few days. It is worse for thee than for me, because thou art
suffering."

"When a true believer lies ill for more than three days, his sins are
all forgiven him," M'Barka consoled herself. She put out a hot hand, and
laid it on Victoria's head. "Thou art a good child. Thou hast given up
thine own will to do what is right."

"I'm not quite sure at this moment that I am doing what is right,"
murmured Victoria. "But I can't make thee more ill than thou art, so I
must let Mr. Knight go. And probably I shall never see him, never hear
of him again. He will look for me, and then he will grow tired, and
perhaps go home to England before I can write to let him know I am safe
with Saidee." Her voice broke a little. She bent down her head, and
there were tears in her eyes.

She heard the creaking of the gate as it shut. The motor-car had gone
panting away. For a moment it seemed as if her heart would break. Just
one glimpse had she caught of Stephen's face, and it had looked to her
more than ever like the face of a knight who would fight to the death
for a good cause. She had not quite realized how noble a face it was, or
how hard it would be to let it pass out of her life. He would always
hate her if he guessed she had sat there, knowing he had come so far for
her sake?--she was sure it was for her sake--and had made no sign. But
he would not guess. And it was true, as Lella M'Barka said, he was
nothing to her. Saidee was everything. And she was going to Saidee. She
must think only of Saidee, and the day of their meeting.

* * * * * * *

Stephen had never seen an Arab cemetery; and it seemed to him that this
Mussulman burial-place, scattered over two low hills, in the midst of
desert wastes, was beautiful and pathetic. The afternoon sunshine beat
upon the koubbahs of marabouts, and the plastered graves or headstones
of less important folk; but so pearly pale were they all that the golden
quality of the light was blanched as if by some strange, white magic,
and became like moonlight shining on a field of snow.

There were no names on any of the tombs, even the grandest. Here and
there on a woman's grave was a hand of Fatma, or a pair of the Prophet's
slippers; and on those of a few men were turbans carved in marble