The Garden of Allah Part 76

He put his arms about her and drew her head down on his shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing. You have given, you have done everything--too much, too much. I feel myself below you, I know myself below you--far, far down."

"How can you say that? I couldn't have loved you if it were so." She spoke with complete conviction.

"Perhaps," he said, in a low voice, "perhaps women never realise what their love can do. It might--it might--"

"What, Boris?"

"It might do what Christ did--go down into h.e.l.l to preach to the--to the spirits in prison."

His voice had dropped almost to a murmur. With one hand on her cheek he kept her face pressed down upon his shoulder so that she could not see his face.

"It might do that, Domini."

"Boris," she said, almost whispering too, for his words and manner filled her with a sort of awe, "I want you to tell me something."

"What is it?"

"Are you quite happy with me here in the desert? If you are I want you to tell me that you are. Remember--I shall believe you."

"No other human being could ever give me the happiness you give me."

"But--"

He interrupted her.

"No other human being ever has. Till I met you I had no conception of the happiness there is in the world for man and woman who love each other."

"Then you are happy?"

"Don't I seem so?"

She did not reply. She was searching her heart for the answer--searching it with an almost terrible sincerity. He waited for her answer, sitting quite still. His hand was always against her face. After what seemed to him an eternity she said:

"Boris!"

"Yes."

"Why did you say that about a woman's love being able even to go down into h.e.l.l to preach to the spirits in prison?"

He did not answer. His hand seemed to her to lie more heavily on her cheek.

"I--I am not sure that you are quite happy with me," she said.

She spoke like one who reverenced truth, even though it slew her. There was a note of agony in her voice.

"Hus.h.!.+" he said. "Hush, Domini!"

They were both silent. Beyond the canvas of the tent that shut out from them the camp they heard a sound of music. Drums were being beaten. The African pipe was wailing. Then the voice of Ali rose in the song of the "Freed Negroes":

"No one but G.o.d and I Knows what is in my heart."

At that moment Domini felt that the words were true--horribly true.

"Boris," she said. "Do you hear?"

"Hush, Domini."

"I think there is something in your heart that sometimes makes you sad even with me. I think perhaps I partly guess what it is."

He took his hand away from her face, his arm from her shoulder, but she caught hold of him, and her arm was strong like a man's.

"Boris, you are with me, you are close to me, but do you sometimes feel far away from G.o.d?"

He did not answer.

"I don't know; I oughtn't to ask, perhaps. I don't ask--no, I don't.

But, if it's that, don't be too sad. It may all come right--here in the desert. For the desert is the Garden of Allah. And, Boris--put out the light."

He extinguished the candle with his hand.

"You feel, perhaps, that you can't pray honestly now, but some day you may be able to. You will be able to. I know it. Before I knew I loved you I saw you--praying in the desert."

"I!" he whispered. "You saw me praying in the desert!"

It seemed to her that he was afraid. She pressed him more closely with her arms.

"It was that night in the dancing-house. I seemed to see a crowd of people to whom the desert had given gifts, and to you it had given the gift of prayer. I saw you far out in the desert praying."

She heard his hard breathing, felt it against her cheek.

"If--if it is that, Boris, don't despair. It may come. Keep the crucifix. I am sure you have it. And I always pray for you."

They sat for a long while in the dark, but they did not speak again that night.

Domini did not sleep, and very early in the morning, just as dawn was beginning, she stole out of the tent, shutting down the canvas flap behind her.

It was cold outside--cold almost as in a northern winter. The wind of the morning, that blew to her across the wavelike dunes and the white plains, seemed impregnated with ice. The sky was a pallid grey. The camp was sleeping. What had been a fire, all red and gold and leaping beauty, was now a circle of ashes, grey as the sky. She stood on the edge of the hill and looked towards the tower.

As she did so, from the house behind it came a string of mules, picking their way among the stones over the hard earth. De Trevignac and his men were already departing from Mogar.

They came towards her slowly. They had to pa.s.s her to reach the track by which they were going on to the north and civilisation. She stood to see them pa.s.s.

When they were quite near De Trevignac, who was riding, with his head bent down on his chest, m.u.f.fled in a heavy cloak, looked up and saw her.

She nodded to him. He sat up and saluted. For a moment she thought that he was going on without stopping to speak to her. She saw that he hesitated what to do. Then he pulled up his mule and prepared to get off.

"No, don't, Monsieur," she said.