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He rose from his knees and looked at her； holding the little wooden
crucifix in his hand。
〃Domini？〃 he said in an uncertain voice。
〃Put it back into your breast。 Keep it for ever； Boris。〃
As if mechanically； and not removing his eyes from her； he put the
crucifix into his breast。 After a moment she spoke again； quietly。
〃Boris； you never wished to stay here。 You meant to stay here for me。
Let us go away from Amara。 Let us go to…day； now； in the dawn。〃
〃Us！〃 he said。
There was a profound amazement in his voice。
〃Yes；〃 she answered。
〃Away from Amarayou and Itogether？〃
〃Yes； Boris； together。〃
〃Wherewhere can we go？〃
The amazement seemed to deepen in his voice。 His eyes were watching
her with an almost fierce intentness。 In a flash of insight she
realised that； just then； he was wondering about her as he had never
wondered before； wondering whether she was really the good woman at
whose feet his sin…stricken soul had worshipped。 Yes； he was asking
himself that question。
〃Boris；〃 she said； 〃will you leave yourself in my hands？ We have
talked of our future life。 We have wondered what we should do。 Will
you let me do as I will； let the future be as I choose？〃
In her heart she said 〃as God chooses。〃
〃Yes； Domini；〃 he answered。 〃I am in your hands； utterly in your
hands。〃
〃No；〃 she said。
Neither of them spoke after that till the sunlight lay above the
towers and minarets of Amara。 Then Domini said：
〃We will go to…daynow。〃
And that morning the camp was struck； and the new journey beganthe
journey back。
CHAPTER XXVIII
A silence had fallen between Domini and Androvsky which neither seemed
able to break。 They rode on side by side across the sands towards the
north through the long day。 The tower of Amara faded in the sunshine
above the white crests of the dunes。 The Arab villages upon their
little hills disappeared in the quivering gold。 New vistas of desert
opened before them； oases crowded with palms； salt lakes and stony
ground。 They passed by native towns。 They saw the negro gardeners
laughing among the rills of yellow water； or climbing with bare feet
the wrinkled tree trunks to lop away dead branches。 They heard tiny
goatherds piping； solitary； in the wastes。 Dreams of the mirage rose
and faded far off on the horizon； rose and faded mystically； leaving
no trembling trace behind。 And they were silent as the mirage； she in
her purpose； he in his wonder。 And the long day waned； and towards
evening the camp was pitched and the evening meal was prepared。 And
still they could not speak。
Sometimes Androvsky watched her； and there was a great calm in her
face； but there was no rebuke； no smallness of anger； no hint of
despair。 Always he had felt her strength of mind and body； but never
so much as now。 Could he rest on it？ Dared he？ He did not know。 And
the day seemed to him to become a dream； and the silence recalled to
him the silence of the monastery in which he had worshipped God before
the stranger came。 He thought that in this silence he ought to feel
that she was deliberately raising barriers between them； butit was
strangehe could not feel this。 In her silence there was no
bitterness。 When is there bitterness in strength？ He rode on and on
beside her； and his sense of a dream deepened； helped by the influence
of the desert。 Where were they going？ He did not know。 What was her
purpose？ He could not tell。 But he felt that she had a purpose； that
her mind was resolved。 Now and then； tearing himself with an effort
from the dream； he asked himself what it could be。 What could be in
store for him； for them； after the thing he had told？ What could be
their mutual life？ Must it not be for ever at an end？ Was it not
shattered？ Was it not dust； like the dust of the desert that rose
round their horses' feet？ The silence did not tell him； and again he
ceased from wondering and the dream closed round him。 Were they not
travelling in a mirage； mirage people； unreal； phantomlike； who would
presently fade away into the spaces of the sun？ The sand muffled the
tread of the horses' feet。 The desert understood their silence；
clothed it in a silence more vast and more impenetrable。 And Androvsky
had made his effort。 He had spoken the truth at last。 He could do no
more。 He was incapable of any further action。 As Domini felt herself
to be in the hands of God； he felt himself to be in the hands of this
woman who had received his confession with this wonderful calm； who
was leading him he knew not whither in this wonderful silence。
When the camp was pitched； however； he noticed something that caught
him sharply away from the dreamlike； unreal feeling； and set him face
to face with fact that was cold as steel。 Always till now the
dressing…tent had been pitched beside their sleeping…tent； with the
flap of the entrance removed so that the two tents communicated。
To…night it stood apart； near the sleeping…tent； and in it was placed
one of the small camp beds。 Androvsky was alone when he saw this。 On
reaching the halting…place he had walked a little way into the desert。
When he returned he found this change。 It told him something of what
was passing in Domini's mind； and it marked the transformation of
their mutual life。 As he gazed at the two tents he felt stricken； yet
he felt a curious sense of something that was likewas it not like
relief？ It was as if his body had received a frightful blow and on his
soul a saint's hand had been gently laid； as if something fell about
him in ruins； and at the same time a building which he loved； and
which for a moment he had thought tottering； stood firm before him
founded upon rock。 He was a man capable of a passionate belief；
despite his sin； and he had always had a passionate belief in Domini's
religion。 That morning； when she came out to him in the sand； a
momentary doubt had assailed him。 He had known the thought； 〃Does she
love me stilldoes she love me more than she loves God； more than she
loves his dictates manifested in the Catholic religion？〃 When she said
that word 〃together〃 that had been his thought。 Now； as he looked at
the two tents； a white light seemed to fall upon Domini's character；
and in this white light stood the ruin and the house that was founded
upon a rock。 He was torn by conflicting sensations of despair and
triumph。 She was what he had believed。 That made the triumph。 But
since she was that where was his future with her？ The monk and the man
who had fled from the monastery stood up within him to do battle。 The
monk knew triumph； but the man was in torment。
Presently； as Androvsky looked at the two tents； the monk in him
seemed to die a new death； the man who had left the monastery to know
a new resurrection。 He was seized by a furious desire to go backward
in time； to go backward but a few hours； to the moment when Domini did
not know what now she knew。 He cursed himself for what he had done。 At
last he had been able to pray。 Yes； but what was prayer now； what was
prayer to the man who looked at the two tents and understood what they
meant？ He moved away and began to walk up and down near to the two
tents。 He did not know where Domini was