“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 hell 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. “Hush!” 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 God 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 God?” 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.