her embittered father； and drifted into the unthinking worldliness of
the life of her order。 Her home was far from ideal。 Yet she would not
marry。 The wreck of her parents' domestic life had rendered her
mistrustful of human relations。 She had seen something of the terror
of love； and could not； like other women； regard it as safety and as
sweetness。 So she put it from her； and strove to fill her life with
all those lesser things which men and women grasp； as the Chinese
grasp the opium pipe； those things which lull our comprehension of
realities to sleep。
When Lord Rens died； still blaspheming； and without any of the
consolations of religion； Domini felt the imperious need of change。
She did not grieve actively for the dead man。 In his last years they
had been very far apart； and his death relieved her from the perpetual
contemplation of a tragedy。 Lord Rens had grown to regard his daughter
almost with enmity in his enmity against her mother's religion； which
was hers。 She had come to think of him rather with pity than with
love。 Yet his death was a shock to her。 When he could speak no more；
but only lie still； she remembered suddenly just what he had been
before her mother's flight。 The succeeding period； long though it had
been and ugly； was blotted out。 She wept for the poor； broken life now
ended； and was afraid for his future in the other world。 His departure
into the unknown roused her abruptly to a clear conception of how his
action and her mother's had affected her own character。 As she stood
by his bed she wondered what she might have been if her mother had
been true； her father happy； to the end。 Then she felt afraid of
herself； recognising partially； and for the first time； how all these
years had seen her long indifference。 She felt self…conscious too；
ignorant of the real meaning of life； and as if she had always been；
and still remained； rather a complicated piece of mechanism than a
woman。 A desolate enervation of spirit descended upon her； a sort of
bitter； and yet dull； perplexity。 She began to wonder what she was；
capable of what； of how much good or evil； and to feel sure that she
did not know； had never known or tried to find out。 Once； in this
state of mind； she went to confession。 She came away feeling that she
had just joined with the priest in a farce。 How can a woman who knows
nothing about herself make anything but a worthless confession？ she
thought。 To say what you have done is not always to say what you are。
And only what you are matters eternally。
Presently； still in this perplexity of spirit； she left England with
only her maid as companion。 After a short tour in the south of Europe；
with which she was too familiar； she crossed the sea to Africa； which
she had never seen。 Her destination was Beni…Mora。 She had chosen it
because she liked its name； because she saw on the map that it was an
oasis in the Sahara Desert； because she knew it was small； quiet； yet
face to face with an immensity of which she had often dreamed。 Idly
she fancied that perhaps in the sunny solitude of Beni…Mora； far from
all the friends and reminiscences of her old life； she might learn to
understand herself。 How？ She did not know。 She did not seek to know。
Here was a vague pilgrimage； as many pilgrimages are in this world
the journey of the searcher who knew not what she sought。 And so now
she lay in the dark； and heard the rustle of the warm African rain；
and smelt the perfumes rising from the ground； and felt that the
unknown was very near herthe unknown with all its blessed
possibilities of change。
CHAPTER II
Long before dawn the Italian waiter rolled off his little bed； put a
cap on his head； and knocked at Domini's and at Suzanne Charpot's
doors。
It was still dark； and still raining； when the two women came out to
get into the carriage that was to take them to the station。 The place
de la Marine was a sea of mud； brown and sticky as nougat。 Wet palms
dripped by the railing near a desolate kiosk painted green and blue。
The sky was grey and low。 Curtains of tarpaulin were let down on each
side of the carriage； and the coachman； who looked like a Maltese； and
wore a round cap edged with pale yellow fur； was muffled up to the
ears。 Suzanne's round； white face was puffy with fatigue； and her dark
eyes； generally good…natured and hopeful； were dreary； and squinted
slightly； as she tipped the Italian waiter； and handed her mistress's
dressing…bag and rug into the carriage。 The waiter stood an the
discoloured step； yawning from ear to ear。 Even the tip could not
excite him。 Before the carriage started he had gone into the hotel and
banged the door。 The horses trotted quickly through the mud；
descending the hill。 One of the tarpaulin curtains had been left
unbuttoned by the coachman。 It flapped to and fro； and when its
movement was outward Domini could catch short glimpses of mud； of
glistening palm…leaves with yellow stems； of gas…lamps； and of
something that was like an extended grey nothingness。 This was the
sea。 Twice she saw Arabs trudging along； holding their skirts up in a
bunch sideways； and showing legs bare beyond the knees。 Hoods hid
their faces。 They appeared to be agitated by the weather； and to be
continually trying to plant their naked feet in dry places。 Suzanne；
who sat opposite to Domini； had her eyes shut。 If she had not from
time to time passed her tongue quickly over her full； pale lips she
would have looked like a dead thing。 The coquettish angle at which her
little black hat was set on her head seemed absurdly inappropriate to
the occasion and her mood。 It suggested a hat being worn at some
festival。 Her black； gloved hands were tightly twisted together in her
lap； and she allowed her plump body to wag quite loosely with the
motion of the carriage； making no attempt at resistance。 She had
really the appearance of a corpse sitting up。 The tarpaulin flapped
monotonously。 The coachman cried out in the dimness to his horses like
a bird； prolonging his call drearily； and then violently cracking his
whip。 Domini kept her eyes fixed on the loose tarpaulin； so that she
might not miss one of the wet visions it discovered by its reiterated
movement。 She had not slept at all； and felt as if there was a gritty
dryness close behind her eyes。 She also felt very alert and enduring；
but not in the least natural。 Had some extraordinary event occurred；
had the carriage； for instance； rolled over the edge of the road into
the sea； she was convinced that she could not have managed to be
either surprised or alarmed； If anyone had asked her whether she was
tired she would certainly have answered 〃No。〃
Like her mother； Domini was of a gipsy type。 She stood five feet ten；
had thick； almost coarse and wavy black hair that was parted in the
middle of her small head； dark； almond…shaped； heavy…lidded eyes； and
a clear； warmly…white skin； unflecked with colour。 She never flushed
under the influence of excitement or emotion。 Her forehead was broad
and low。 Her eyebrows were long and level； thicker than most women's。
The shape of her face was oval； with a straight； short nose； a short；
but rather prominent and round chin； and a very expressive mouth； not
very small； slightly depressed at the corners； with perfect teeth； and
red lips that were unusually flexible。 Her figure was remarkably
athletic； with shoulders that were broad in a woman； and a naturally
small waist。 Her hands and feet were also small。 She walked
splendidly； like a Syrian； but without his defiant insolence。 In her
face； when it was in repose； there was usually an expression of still
indifference； some thought of opposition。 She looked her age； and had
never used a powderpuff in her life。 She could smile easily and easily
become animated； and in her animation there was often fire； as in her
calmness there was sometimes cloud。 Timid people were generally
disconcerted by her appearance； and her manner did not always reassure
them。 Her obvious physical strength had something surprising in it；
and woke wonder as to how it had been； or might be； used。 Even when
her eyes were shut she looked singularly wakeful。
Domini and Suzanne got to the station of Robertville much too early。
The large hall in which they had to wait was miserably lit； blank and
decidedly cold。 The ticket…office was on the left； and the room was
divided into two parts by a broad； low counter； on which the heavy
luggage was placed before being weighed by two unshaven and hulking
men in blue smocks。 Three or four Arab touts； in excessively shabby
European clothes and turbans； surrounded Domini with offers of
assistance。 One； the dirtiest of the group； with a gaping eye…socket；
in which there was no eye； succeeded by his passionate volubility and
impudence in attaching himself to her in a sort of official capacity。
He spoke fluent； but faulty； French； which attracted Suzanne； and；
being abnormally muscular and active； in an amazingly short time got
hold of all their boxes and bags and ranged them on the counter。 He
then indulged in a dramatic performance； which he apparently
considered likely to rouse into life and attention the two unshaven
men in smocks； who were