the garden of allah-第8章

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unpleasantly　conscious　of　her　observation。　This　vexed　her　vaguely；
perhaps　because　even　so　trifling　a　circumstance　was　like　a　thin　link
between　them。　She　snapped　it　by　ceasing　to　look　at　or　think　of　him。
The　window　was　down。　A　delicate　and　warm　breeze　drifted　in；　coming
from　the　thickets　of　the　palms。　In　flashing　out　of　the　darkness　of　the
gorge　Domini　had　had　the　sensation　of　passing　into　a　new　world　and　a
new　atmosphere。　The　sensation　stayed　with　her　now　that　she　was　no
longer　dreaming　or　giving　the　reins　to　her　imagination；　but　was　calmly
herself。　Against　the　terrible　rampart　of　rock　the　winds　beat　across
the　land　of　the　Tell。　But　they　die　there　frustrated。　And　the　rains
journey　thither　and　fail；　sinking　into　the　absinthe…coloured　pools　of
the　gorge。　And　the　snows　and　even　the　clouds　stop；　exhausted　in　their
pilgrimage。　The　gorge　is　not　their　goal；　but　it　is　their　grave；　and
the　desert　never　sees　their　burial。　So　Domini's　first　sense　of　casting
away　the　known　remained；　and　even　grew；　but　now　strongly　and　quietly。
It　was　well　founded；　she　thought。　For　she　looked　out　of　the　carriage
window　towards　the　barrier　she　was　leaving；　and　saw　that　on　this　side；
guarding　the　desert　from　the　world　that　is　not　desert；　it　was　pink　in
the　evening　light；　deepening　here　and　there　to　rose　colour；　whereas　on
the　far　side　it　had　a　rainy　hue　as　of　rocks　in　England。　And　there　was
a　lustre　of　gold　in　the　hills；　tints　of　glowing　bronze　slashed　with　a
red　line　as　the　heart　of　a　wound；　but　recalling　the　heart　of　a　flower。
The　folds　of　the　earth　glistened。　There　was　flame　down　there　in　the
river　bed。　The　wreckage　of　the　land；　the　broken　fragments；　gleamed　as
if　braided　with　precious　things。　Everywhere　the　salt　crystals　sparkled
with　the　violence　of　diamonds。　Everywhere　there　was　a　strength　of
colour　that　hurled　itself　to　the　gaze；　unabashed　and　almost　savage；
the　colour　of　summer　that　never　ceases；　of　heat　that　seldom　dies；　in　a
land　where　there　is　no　autumn　and　seldom　a　flitting　cold。

Down　on　the　road　near　the　village　there　were　people；　old　men　playing
the　〃lady's　game〃　with　stones　set　in　squares　of　sand；　women　peeping
from　flat　roofs　and　doorways；　children　driving　goats。　A　man；　like　a
fair　and　beautiful　Christ；　with　long　hair　and　a　curling　beard；　beat　on
the　ground　with　a　staff　and　howled　some　tuneless　notes。　He　was　dressed
in　red　and　green。　No　one　heeded　him。　A　distant　sound　of　the　beating　of
drums　rose　in　the　air；　mingled　with　piercing　cries　uttered　by　a　nasal
voice。　And　as　if　below　it；　like　the　orchestral　accompaniment　of　a
dramatic　solo；　hummed　many　blending　noises；　faint　calls　of　labourers
in　the　palm…gardens　and　of　women　at　the　wells；　chatter　of　children　in
dusky　courts　sheltered　with　reeds　and　pale…stemmed　grasses；　dim
pipings　of　homeward…coming　shepherds　drowned；　with　their　pattering
charges；　in　the　golden　vapours　of　the　west；　soft　twitterings　of　birds
beyond　brown　walls　in　green　seclusions；　dull　barking　of　guard　dogs；
mutter　of　camel　drivers　to　their　velvet…footed　beasts。

The　caravan　which　Domini　had　seen　descending　into　the　gorge
reappeared；　moving　deliberately　along　the　desert　road　towards　the
south。　A　watch…tower　peeped　above　the　palms。　Doves　were　circling　round
it。　Many　of　them　were　white。　They　flew　like　ivory　things　above　this
tower　of　glowing　bronze；　which　slept　at　the　foot　of　the　pink　rocks。　On
the　left　rose　a　mass　of　blood…red　earth　and　stone。　Slanting　rays　of
the　sun　struck　it；　and　it　glowed　mysteriously　like　a　mighty　jewel。

As　Domini　leaned　out　of　the　window；　and　the　salt　crystals　sparkled　to
her　eyes；　and　the　palms　swayed　languidly　above　the　waters；　and　the
rose　and　mauve　of　the　hills；　the　red　and　orange　of　the　earth；　streamed
by　in　the　flames　of　the　sun　before　the　passing　train　like　a　barbaric
procession；　to　the　sound　of　the　hidden　drums；　the　cry　of　the　hidden
priest；　and　all　the　whispering　melodies　of　these　strange　and　unknown
lives；　tears　started　into　her　eyes。　The　entrance　into　this　land　of
flame　and　colour；　through　its　narrow　and　terrific　portal；　stirred　her
almost　beyond　her　present　strength。　The　glory　of　this　world　mounted　to
her　heart；　oppressing　it。　The　embrace　of　Nature　was　so　violent　that　it
crushed　her。　She　felt　like　a　little　fly　that　had　sought　to　wing　its
way　to　the　sun　and；　at　a　million　miles'　distance　from　it；　was　being
shrivelled　by　its　heat。　When　all　the　voices　of　the　village　fainted
away　she　was　glad；　although　she　strained　her　ears　to　hear　their　fading
echoes。　Suddenly　she　knew　that　she　was　very　tired；　so　tired　that
emotions　acted　upon　her　as　physical　exertion　acts　upon　an　exhausted
man。　She　sat　down　and　shut　her　eyes。　For　a　long　time　she　stayed　with
her　eyes　shut；　but　she　knew　that　on　the　windows　strange　lights　were
glittering；　that　the　carriage　was　slowly　filling　with　the　ineffable
splendours　of　the　west。　Long　afterwards　she　often　wondered　whether　she
endowed　the　sunset　of　that　day　with　supernatural　glories　because　she
was　so　tired。　Perhaps　the　salt　mountain　of　El…Alia　did　not　really
sparkle　like　the　celestial　mountains　in　the　visions　of　the　saints。
Perhaps　the　long　chain　of　the　Aures　did　not　really　look　as　if　all　its
narrow　clefts　had　been　powdered　with　the　soft　and　bloomy　leaves　of
unearthly　violets；　and　the　desert　was　not　cloudy　in　the　distance
towards　the　Zibans　with　the　magical　blue　she　thought　she　saw　there；　a
blue　neither　of　sky　nor　sea；　but　like　the　hue　at　the　edge　of　a　flame
in　the　heart　of　a　wood　fire。　She　often　wondered；　but　she　never　knew。

The　sound　of　a　movement　made　her　look　up。　Her　companion　was　changing
his　place　and　going　to　the　other　side　of　the　compartment。　He　walked
softly；　no　doubt　with　the　desire　not　to　disturb　Domini。　His　back　was
towards　her　for　an　instant；　and　she　noticed　that　he　was　a　powerful
man；　though　very　thin；　and　that　his　gait　was　heavy。　It　made　her　think
again　of　his　labourer's　hands；　and　she　began　to　wonder　idly　what　was
his　rank　and　what　he　did。　He　sat　down　in　the　far　corner　on　the　same
side　as　herself　and　stared　out　of　his　window；　crossing　his　legs。　He
wore　large　boots　with　square　toes；　clumsy　and　unfashionable；　but
comfortable　and　good　for　walking　in。　His　clothes　had　obviously　been
made　by　a　French　tailor。　The　stuff　of　them　was　grey　and　woolly；　and
they　were　cut　tighter　to　the　figure　than　English　clothes　generally
are。　He　had　on　a　black　silk　necktie；　and　a　soft　brown　travelling　hat
dented　in　the　middle。　By　the　way　in　which　he　looked　out　of　the　window；
Domini　judged　that　he；　too；　was　seeing　the　desert　for　the　first　time。
There　was　something　almost　passionately　attentive　in　his　attitude；
something　of　strained　eagerness　in　that　part　of　his　face　which　she
could　see　from　where　she　was　sitting。　His　cheek　was　not　pale；　as　she
had　thought　at　first；　but　brown；　obviously　burnt　by　the　sun　of　Africa。
But　she　felt　that　underneath　the　sunburn　there　was　pallor。　She　fancied
he　might　be　a　painter；　and　was　noting　all　the　extraordinary　colour
effects　with　the　definiteness　of　a　man　who　meant；　perhaps；　to
reproduce　them　on　canvas。

The　light；　which　had　now　the　peculiar；　almost　supernatural　softness
and　limpidity　of　light　falling　at　evening　from　a　declining　sun　in　a
hot　country；　came　full　upon　him；　and　brightened　his　hair。　Domini　saw
that　it　was　brown　with　some　chestnut　in　it；　thick；　and　cut　extremely
short；　as　if　his　head　had　recently　been　shaved。　She　felt　convinced
that　he　was　not　French。　He　might　be　an　Austrian；　perhaps；　or　a　Russian
from　the　south　of　Russia。　He　remained　motionless　in　that　attitude　of
profound　observation。　It　suggested　great　force　not　merely　of　body；　but
also　of　mind；　an　almost　abnormal　concentration　upon　the　thing
observed。　This　was　a　man　who　could　surely　shut　out　the　whole　world　to
look　at　a　grain　of　sand；　if　he　thought　it　beautiful　or　interesting。

They　were　near　Beni…Mora　now。　Its　palms　appeared　far　off；　and　in　the
midst　of　them　a　snow…white　tower。　The　Sahara　lay　beyond　and　around　it；
rolling　away　from　the　foot　of　low；　brown　hills；　that　looked　as　if　they
had　been　covered　with　a　soft　powder　of　bronze。　A　long　spur　of　rose…
coloured　mountains　stretched　away　towards　the　south。　The　sun　was　very
near　his　setting。　Small；　red　clouds　floated　in　the　western　qua