. A European woman, the first who had ever come to the
Zaouia in eight years! It must be that she had a message from him.
Somehow he had contrived this visit. She dared ask no more questions.

"I will see these ladies," she said. "Let them come to me here."

"Already the old one is resting in the guest-house," answered the
negress. "She has her own servant, and she asks to see thee no earlier
than to-morrow, when she has rested, and is able to pay thee her
respects. It is the other, the young Roumia, who begs to speak with thee
to-night."

The wife of the marabout was more certain than ever that her visitor
must come from the sender of the pigeon. She was glad of an excuse to
talk with his messenger alone, without waiting.

"Go fetch her," she directed. "And when thou hast brought her to the
door I shall no longer need thee, Noura."

Her heart was beating fast. She dreaded some final decision, or the need
to make a decision, yet she knew that she would be bitterly disappointed
if, after all, the European woman were not what she thought. She shut up
the diary in which she wrote each night, and opening one of the wall
cupboards near her divan, she put it away on a shelf, where there were
many other small volumes, a dozen perhaps. They contained the history of
her life during the last nine years, since unhappiness had isolated her,
and made it necessary to her peace of mind, almost to her sanity, to
have a confidant. She closed the inlaid doors of the cupboard, and
locked them with a key which hung from a ribbon inside her dress.

Such a precaution was hardly needed, since the writing was all in
English, and she had recorded the events of the last few weeks
cautiously and cryptically. Not a soul in the marabout's house could
read English, except the marabout himself; and it was seldom he honoured
her with a visit. Nevertheless, it had become a habit to lock up the
books, and she found a secretive pleasure in it.

She had only time to slip the ribbon back into her breast, and sit down
stiffly on the divan, when the door was opened again by Noura.

"O Lella Saida, I have brought the Roumia," the negress announced.

A slim figure in Arab dress came into the room, unfastening a white veil
with fingers that trembled with impatience. The door shut softly. Noura
had obeyed instructions.

XXXVI

For ten years Victoria had been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it
at night, picturing it by day. Now it had com