Romney began to understand her strength. She had risen above him. Her vision was clearer. In getting down from the camel he had become altogether human. The fury of his ardour was for the woman. Because he was moved with desire, he was not at his best. He took her in his arms, the tempest of emotions blinding him.... Women with a touch of the savage left in them, may be captured with strength, but he had given her a dream of greater days than these. She did not resist, but the wonder of their first kiss did not come again. Instead, through his mind, crippling his arms, flashed the picture of his own red passion—and that in his arms chilled him to the heart. Utterly passive, she had allowed him to wound himself in a way that would never be forgotten. He felt suddenly small and altered before her. He drew back, lowering his eyes from her face, his hand reaching behind him until he found the arm of his chair. He sat down, covering his face. Presently she came and touched his hands, whispering: "Do not grieve—I was thinking of something. Do not grieve. I do not care for you less. A woman loves the boy—the boy-tumult in a man—" "You were in my arms—and yet I was alone," he said strangely. "I never knew such a sudden loneliness—all that I had for you—flung back to me—" "I would not have hurt you so. But suddenly as you held me—I thought of the many little ones waiting for a sign—" He was still shocked at the lifelessness which had confronted his passion. The shame of his untimely bestowal did not pass. His life had seemed full of perfect gifts for her, and a sudden desire had blinded him, bringing down upon his head a rebuke more magic than any blow. "You have made me afraid," he said dully. "It could never happen again. I could not go to you so again—unless you held out your arms—" "After you have entered the Inner Temple," she whispered. The seven words numbered and registered themselves in his consciousness. He looked up at her and there was something endless in her beauty. "You must not be hurt," she said tenderly. "It is the man in you that is wounded. You must know that you cannot really be wounded, unless I am wounded, too—and oh, a woman is not wounded by loving, by passion—that’s why we are women. It was only the others I thought of. Believe me, all is well—" "Would you have me go to-day—now—into the desert?" he asked. "Wait," she answered. "I do not hear him. It would seem that he would be about—now that we hear him no longer—" *6*