“Need you tell me that? Miss Enfilden, I scarcely know why I have said even as little as I have said. For I am, as you know, a fatalist. But certain people, very few, so awaken our regard that they make us forget our own convictions, and might even lead us to try to tamper with the designs of the Almighty. Whatever is to be for you, you will be able to endure. That I know. Why should I, or anyone, seek to know more for you? But still there are moments in which the bravest want a human hand to help them, a human voice to comfort them. In the desert, wherever I may be--and I shall tell you--I am at your service.” “Thank you,” she said simply. She gave him her hand. He held it almost as a father or a guardian might have held it. “And this garden is yours day and night--Smain knows.” “Thank you,” she said again. The shrill whinnying of a horse came to them from a distance. Their hands fell apart. Count Anteoni looked round him slowly at the great cocoanut tree, at the shaggy grass of the lawn, at the tall bamboos and the drooping mulberry trees. She saw that he was taking a silent farewell of them. “This was a waste,” he said at last with a half-stifled sigh. “I turned it into a little Eden and now I am leaving it.” “For a time.” “And if it were for ever? Well, the great thing is to let the waste within one be turned into an Eden, if that is possible. And yet how many human beings strive against the great Gardener. At any rate I will not be one of them.” “And I will not be one.” “Shall we say good-bye here?” “No. Let us say it from the wall, and let me see you ride away into the desert.” She had forgotten for the moment that his route was the road through the oasis. He did not remind her of it. It was easy to ride across the desert and join the route where it came out from the last palms. “So be it. Will you go to the wall then?”