crucifix。 He started as if someone had struck him； hesitated； then；
with a look of fierce and concentrated resolution on his face； went
swiftly to the crucifix and pulled it from the canvas roughly。 He held
it in his hand for an instant； then moved to the tent door and stooped
to unfasten the cords that held it to the pegs； evidently with the
intention of throwing the crucifix out into the night。 But he did not
unfasten the cords。 Somethingsome sudden change of feeling； some
secret and powerful reluctancechecked him。 He thrust the crucifix
into his pocket。 Then； returning to where Domini was kneeling； he put
his arms round her and drew her to her feet。
She did not resist him。 Still holding her in his arms he blew out the
lamp。
CHAPTER XIX
The Arabs have a saying； 〃In the desert one forgets everything； one
remembers nothing any more。〃
To Domini it sometimes seemed the truest of all the true and beautiful
sayings of the East。 Only three weeks had passed away since the first
halt at Arba； yet already her life at Beni…Mora was faint in her mind
as the dream of a distant past。 Taken by the vast solitudes；
journeying without definite aim from one oasis to another through
empty regions bathed in eternal sunshine； camping often in the midst
of the sand by one of the wells sunk for the nomads by the French
engineers； strengthened perpetually； yet perpetually soothed； by airs
that were soft and cool； as if mingled of silk and snow； they lived
surely in a desert dream with only a dream behind them。 They had
become as one with the nomads； whose home is the moving tent； whose
hearthstone is the yellow sand of the dunes； whose God is liberty。
Domini loved this life with a love which had already become a passion。
All that she had imagined that the desert might be to her she found
that it was。 In its so…called monotony she discovered eternal
interest。 Of old she had thought the sea the most wonderful thing in
Nature。 In the desert she seemed to possess the sea with something
added to it； a calm； a completeness； a mystical tenderness； a
passionate serenity。 She thought of the sea as a soul striving to
fulfil its noblest aspirations； to be the splendid thing it knew how
to dream of。 But she thought of the desert as a soul that need strive
no more； having attained。 And she； like the Arabs； called it always in
her heart the Garden of Allah。 For in this wonderful calm； bright as
the child's idea of heaven； clear as a crystal with a sunbeam caught
in it； silent as a prayer that will be answered silently； God seemed
to draw very near to His wandering children。 In the desert was the
still； small voice； and the still； small voice was the Lord。
Often at dawn or sundown； when； perhaps in the distance of the sands；
or near at hand beneath the shade of the palms of some oasis by a
waterspring； she watched the desert men in their patched rags； with
their lean； bronzed faces and eagle eyes turned towards Mecca； bowing
their heads in prayer to the soil that the sun made hot； she
remembered Count Anteoni's words； 〃I like to see men praying in the
desert；〃 and she understood with all her heart and soul why。 For the
life of the desert was the most perfect liberty that could be found on
earth； and to see men thus worshipping in liberty set before her a
vision of free will upon the heights。 When she thought of the world
she had known and left； of the men who would always live in it and
know no other world； she was saddened for a moment。 Could she ever
find elsewhere such joy as she had found in the simple and unfettered
life of the wastes？ Could she ever exchange this life for another
life； even with Androvsky？
One day she spoke to him of her intense joy in the wandering fate； and
the pain that came to her whenever she thought of exchanging it for a
life of civilisation in the midst of fixed groups of men。
They had halted for the noonday rest at a place called Sidi…Hamdam；
and in the afternoon were going to ride on to a Bordj called Mogar；
where they meant to stay two or three days； as Batouch had told them
it was a good halting place； and near to haunts of the gazelle。 The
tents had already gone forward； and Domini and Androvsky were lying
upon a rug spread on the sand； in the shadow of the grey wall of a
traveller's house beside a well。 Behind them their horses were
tethered to an iron ring in the wall。 Batouch and Ali were in the
court of the house； talking to the Arab guardian who dwelt there； but
their voices were not audible by the well； and absolute silence
reigned； the intense yet light silence that is in the desert at
noontide； when the sun is at the zenith； when the nomad sleeps under
his low…pitched tent； and the gardeners in the oasis cease even from
pretending to work among the palms。 From before the well the ground
sank to a plain of pale grey sand； which stretched away to a village
hard in aspect； as if carved out of bronze and all in one piece。 In
the centre of it rose a mosque with a minaret and a number of cupolas；
faintly gilded and shining modestly under the fierce rays of the sun。
At the foot of the village the ground was white with saltpetre； which
resembled a covering of new…fallen snow。 To right and left of it were
isolated groups of palms growing in threes and fours； like trees that
had formed themselves into cliques and set careful barriers of sand
between themselves and their despised brethren。 Here and there on the
grey sand dark patches showed where nomads had pitched their tents。
But there was no movement of human life。 No camels were visible。 No
guard dogs barked。 The noon held all things in its golden grip。
〃Boris！〃 Domini said； breaking a long silence。
〃Yes； Domini？〃
He turned towards her on the rug； stretching his long； thin body
lazily as if in supreme physical contentment。
〃You know that saying of the Arabs about forgetting everything in the
desert？〃
〃Yes； Domini； I know it。〃
〃How long shall we stay in this world of forgetfulness？〃
He lifted himself up on his elbow quickly； and fixed his eyes on hers。
〃How long！〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Butdo you wish to leave it？ Are you tired of it？〃
There was a note of sharp anxiety in his voice。
〃I don't answer such a question；〃 she said； smiling at him。
〃Ah； then； why do you try to frighten me？〃
She put her hand in his。
〃How burnt you are！〃 she said。 〃You are like an Arab of the South。〃
〃Let me become more like one。 There's health here。〃
〃And peace； perfect peace。〃
He said nothing。 He was looking down now at the sand。
She laid her lips on his warm brown hand。
〃There's all I want here；〃 she added。
〃Let us stay here。〃
〃But some day we must go back； mustn't we？〃
〃Why？〃
〃Can anything be lifelongeven our honeymoon？〃
〃Suppose we choose that it shall be？〃
〃Can we choose such a thing？ Is anybody allowed to choose to live
always quite happily without duties？ Sometimes I wonder。 I love this
wandering life so much； I am so happy in it； that I sometimes think it
cannot last much longer。〃
He began to sift the sand through his fingers swiftly。
〃Duties？〃 he said in a low voice。
〃Yes。 Oughtn't we to do something presently； something besides being
happy？〃
〃What do you mean； Domini？〃
〃I hardly know； I don't know。 You tell me。〃
There was an urging in her voice； as if she wanted； almost demanded；
something of him。
〃You mean that a man must do some work in his life if he is to keep
himself a man；〃 he said； not as if he were asking a question。
He spoke reluctantly but firmly。
〃You know；〃 he added； 〃that I have worked hard all my life； hard like
a labourer。〃
〃Yes； I know；〃 she said。
She stroked his hand； that was worn and rough； and spoke eloquently of
manual toil it had accomplished in the past。
〃I know。 Before we were married； that day when we sat in the garden；
you told me your life and I told you mine。 How different they have
been！〃
〃Yes；〃 he said。
He lit a cigar and watched the smoke curling up into the gold of the
sunlit atmosphere。
〃Mine in the midst of the world and yours so far away from it。 I often
imagine that little place； El Krori； the garden； your brother； your
twin…brother Stephen； that one…eyed Arab servantwhat was his name？〃
〃El Magin。〃
〃Yes； El Magin； who taught you to play Cora and to sing Arab songs；
and to eat cous…cous with your fingers。 I can almost see Father Andre；
from whom you learnt to love the Classics； and who talked to you of
philosophy。 He's dead too； isn't he； like your mother？〃
〃I don't know whether Pere Andre is dead。 I have lost sight of him；〃
Androvsky said。
He still looked steadily at the rings of smoke curling up into the
golden air。 There was in his voice a sound of embarrassment。 She
guessed that it came from the consciousness of the pain he must have
caused the good priest who had loved him when he ceased from
practising the religion in which he had been brought up。 Even to her
he never spoke frankly on religious subjects； but she knew that he had
been baptised a Catholic and been educated for a time by priests。 She
knew； too； that he was no longer a practising Catholic； and that； for
some reason； he dreaded any intimacy with priests。