the garden of allah-第123章

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faintly　a　cloud　of　sand　grains　whirling；　and　imagined　it　stirred　up　by
the　strangers'　caravan。　Then　he　thought　of　the　rich　lands　of　the　Tell；
of　the　olive　groves　of　Tunis；　of　the　blue　Mediterranean；　of　France；
his　country　which　he　had　not　seen　for　many　years。　He　sighed
profoundly。

〃Happy　people；〃　he　thought　to　himself。　〃Rich；　free；　able　to　do　as　they
like；　to　go　where　they　will！　Why　was　I　born　to　live　in　the　sand　and　to
be　alone？〃

He　was　moved　by　envy。　But　then　he　remembered　his　intercourse　with
Androvsky　on　the　previous　day。

〃After　all；〃　he　thought　more　comfortably；　〃he　did　not　look　a　happy
man！〃　And　he　took　himself　to　task　for　his　sin　of　envy；　and　strolled　to
the　inn　by　the　fountain　where　he　paid　his　pension。

The　same　day；　in　the　house　of　the　marabout　of　Beni…Hassan；　Count
Anteoni　received　a　letter　brought　from　Amara　by　an　Arab。　It　was　as
follows：


〃AMARA。

　〃MY　DEAR　FRIEND：　Good…bye。　We　are　just　leaving。　I　had　expected　to
　　be　here　longer；　but　we　must　go。　We　are　returning　to　the　north　and
　　shall　not　penetrate　farther　into　the　desert。　I　shall　think　of　you；
　　and　of　your　journey　on　among　the　people　of　your　faith。　You　said　to
　　me；　when　we　sat　in　the　tent　door；　that　now　you　could　pray　in　the
　　desert。　Pray　in　the　desert　for　us。　And　one　thing　more。　If　you
　　never　return　to　Beni…Mora；　and　your　garden　is　to　pass　into　other
　　hands；　don't　let　it　go　into　the　hands　of　a　stranger。　I　could　not
　　bear　that。　Let　it　come　to　me。　At　any　price　you　name。　Forgive　me
　　for　writing　thus。　Perhaps　you　will　return；　or　perhaps；　even　if　you
　　do　not；　you　will　keep　your　garden。Your　Friend；　DOMINI。〃


In　a　postscript　was　an　address　which　would　always　find　her。

Count　Anteoni　read　this　letter　two　or　three　times　carefully；　with　a
grave　face。

〃Why　did　she　not　put　Domini　Androvsky？〃　he　said　to　himself。　He　locked
the　letter　in　a　drawer。　All　that　night　he　was　haunted　by　thoughts　of
the　garden。　Again　and　again　it　seemed　to　him　that　he　stood　with　Domini
beside　the　white　wall　and　saw；　in　the　burning　distance　of　the　desert；
at　the　call　of　the　Mueddin；　the　Arabs　bowing　themselves　in　prayer；　and
the　manthe　man　to　whom　now　she　had　bound　herself　by　the　most　holy
tiefleeing　from　prayer　as　if　in　horror。

〃But　it　was　written；〃　he　murmured　to　himself。　〃It　was　written　in　the
sand　and　in　fire：　'The　fate　of　every　man　have　we　bound　about　his
neck。'〃

In　the　dawn　when；　turning　towards　the　rising　sun；　he　prayed；　he
remembered　Domini　and　her　words：　〃Pray　in　the　desert　for　us。〃　And　in
the　Garden　of　Allah　he　prayed　to　Allah　for　her；　and　for　Androvsky。

Meanwhile　the　camp　had　been　struck；　and　the　first　stage　of　the　journey
northward；　the　journey　back；　had　been　accomplished。　Domini　had　given
the　order　of　departure；　but　she　had　first　spoken　with　Androvsky。

After　his　narrative；　and　her　words　that　followed　it；　he　did　not　come
into　the　tent。　She　did　not　ask　him　to。　She　did　not　see　him　in　the
moonlight　beyond　the　tent；　or　when　the　moonlight　waned　before　the
coming　of　the　dawn。　She　was　upon　her　knees；　her　face　hidden　in　her
hands；　striving　as　surely　few　human　beings　have　ever　had　to　strive　in
the　difficult　paths　of　life。　At　first　she　had　felt　almost　calm。　When
she　had　spoken　to　Androvsky　there　had　even　been　a　strange　sensation
that　was　not　unlike　triumph　in　her　heart。　In　this　triumph　she　had　felt
disembodied；　as　if　she　were　a　spirit　standing　there；　removed　from
earthly　suffering；　but　able　to　contemplate；　to　understand；　to　pity　it；
removed　from　earthly　sin；　but　able　to　commit　an　action　that　might　help
to　purge　it。

When　she　said　to　Androvsky；　〃Now　you　can　pray；〃　she　had　passed　into　a
region　where　self　had　no　existence。　Her　whole　soul　was　intent　upon
this　man　to　whom　she　had　given　all　the　treasures　of　her　heart　and　whom
she　knew　to　be　writhing　as　souls　writhe　in　Purgatory。　He　had　spoken　at
last；　he　had　laid　bare　his　misery；　his　crime；　he　had　laid　bare　the
agony　of　one　who　had　insulted　God；　but　who　repented　his　insult；　who
had　wandered　far　away　from　God；　but　who　could　never　be　happy　in　his
wandering；　who　could　never　be　at　peace　even　in　a　mighty　human　love
unless　that　love　was　consecrated　by　God's　contentment　with　it。　As　she
stood　there　Domini　had　had　an　instant　of　absolutely　clear　sight　into
the　depths　of　another's　heart；　another's　nature。　She　had　seen　the　monk
in　Androvsky；　not　slain　by　his　act　of　rejection；　but　alive；　sorrow…
stricken；　quivering；　scourged。　And　she　had　been　able　to　tell　this　monk
as　God　seemed　to　be　telling　her；　making　of　her　his　messengerthat
now　at　last　he　might　pray　to　a　God　who　again　would　hear　him；　as　He　had
heard　him　in　the　garden　of　El…Largani；　in　his　cell；　in　the　chapel；　in
the　fields。　She　had　been　able　to　do　this。　Then　she　had　turned　away；
gone　into　the　tent　and　fallen　upon　her　knees。

But　with　that　personal　action　her　sense　of　triumph　passed　away。　As　her
body　sank　down　her　soul　seemed　to　sink　down　with　it　into　bottomless
depths　of　blackness　where　no　light　had　ever　been；　into　an　underworld；
airless；　peopled　with　invisible　violence。　And　it　seemed　to　her　as　if
it　was　her　previous　flight　upward　which　had　caused　this　descent　into　a
place　which　had　surely　never　before　been　visited　by　a　human　soul。　All
the　selflessness　suddenly　vanished　from　her；　and　was　replaced　by　a
burning　sense　of　her　own　personality；　of　what　was　due　to　it；　of　what
had　been　done　to　it；　of　what　it　now　was。　She　saw　it　like　a　cloth　that
had　been　white　and　that　now　was　stained　with　indelible　filth。　And
anger　came　upon　her；　a　bitter　fury；　in　which　she　was　inclined　to　cry
out；　not　only　against　man；　but　against　God。　The　strength　of　her　nature
was　driven　into　a　wild　bitterness；　the　sweet　waters　became　acrid　with
salt。　She　had　been　able　a　moment　before　to　say　to　Androvsky；　almost
with　tenderness；　〃Now　at　last　you　can　pray。〃　Now　she　was　on　her　knees
hating　him；　hatingyes；　surely　hatingGod。　It　was　a　frightful
sensation。

Soul　and　body　felt　defiled。　She　saw　Androvsky　coming　into　her　clean
life；　seizing　her　like　a　prey；　rolling　her　in　filth　that　could　never
be　cleansed。　And　who　had　allowed　him　to　do　her　this　deadly　wrong？　God。
And　she　was　on　her　knees　to　this　God　who　had　permitted　this！　She　was
in　the　attitude　of　worship。　Her　whole　being　rebelled　against　prayer。
It　seemed　to　her　as　if　she　made　a　furious　physical　effort　to　rise　from
her　knees；　but　as　if　her　body　was　paralysed　and　could　not　obey　her
will。　She　remained　kneeling；　therefore；　like　a　woman　tied　down；　like　a
blasphemer　bound　by　cords　in　the　attitude　of　prayer；　whose　soul　was
shrieking　insults　against　heaven。

Presently　she　remembered　that　outside　Androvsky　was　praying；　that　she
had　meant　to　join　with　him　in　prayer。　She　had　contemplated；　then；　a
further；　deeper　union　with　him。　Was　she　a　madwoman？　Was　she　a　slave？
Was　she　as　one　of　those　women　of　history　who；　seized　in　a　rape；
resigned　themselves　to　love　and　obey　their　captors？　She　began　to　hate
herself。　And　still　she　knelt。　Anyone　coming　in　at　the　tent　door　would
have　seen　a　woman　apparently　entranced　in　an　ecstasy　of　worship。

This　great　love　of　hers；　to　what　had　it　brought　her？　This　awakening　of
her　soul；　what　was　its　meaning？　God　had　sent　a　man　to　rouse　her　from
sleep　that　she　might　look　down　into　hell。　Again　and　again；　with
ceaseless　reiteration；　she　recalled　the　incidents　of　her　passion　in
the　desert。　She　thought　of　the　night　at　Arba　when　Androvsky　blew　out
the　lamp。　That　night　had　been　to　her　a　night　of　consecration。　Nothing
in　her　soul　had　risen　up　to　warn　her。　No　instinct；　no　woman's
instinct；　had　stayed　her　from　unwitting　sin。　The　sand…diviner　had　been
wiser　than　she；　Count　Anteoni　more　far…seeing；　the　priest　of　Beni…Mora
more　guided　by　holiness；　by　the　inner　flame　that　flickers　before　the
wind　that　blows　out　of　the　caverns　of　evil。　God　had　blinded　her　in
order　that　she　might　fall；　had　brought　Androvsky　to　her　in　order　that
her　religion；　her　Catholic　faith；　might　be　made　hideous　to　her　for
ever。　She　trembled　all　over　as　she　knelt。　Her　life　had　been　sad；　even
tormented。　And　she　had　set　out　upon　a　pilgrimage　to　find　peace。　She
had　been　led　to　Beni…Mora。　She　remembered　her　arrival　in　Africa；　its
spell　descending　upon　her；　her　sensation　of　being　far　off