blowing through the desert in every direction, but most
frequently from the south to north; and the narrow sand ravines beside
them often, for the distance of a quarter of a league, obstruct the
view of the person passing through them over the nearest sand-wave.

Not until she believed herself too far from the road to be seen, did
she again turn in her original direction, eastward, or what she thought
was east. Meantime, it is true, the fiery, glowing rising sun had
extinguished the light of the stars and marked the east; but soon
thereafter the crimson disk vanished behind vaporous clouds, the
exhalations of the desert. She ran on and on and on. She was now
entirely within the domain of the desert. There was no longer any
distinguishing object,--no tree, no bush, nothing but sky above and
sand below. True, there were sometimes sand valleys, sometimes sand
heights, but these, too, were perfectly uniform. On, on she ran. "Only
to reach his grave!" she thought. "Only his grave. Always straight on!"
It was so still, so strangely still.

Once only she fancied that she saw, far, far away on her left,
corresponding with the "path," hurrying cloud-shadows; perhaps they
were ostriches or antelopes. No, she thought she heard human voices
calling, but very, very distant. Yet it sounded like "Eugenia!"

Startled, she stooped down close to the sand-hill at her left; it would
prevent her being seen from that direction. Even if the valley in which
she was now cowering could be overlooked from a hillock, the back of
the mound would protect her. "Eugenia!" Now the name seemed to come
again more distinctly; the tones were like Hilda's voice. The low,
distant sound died tremulously away, sorrowful, hopeless. All was still
again. She started up, and ran on breathlessly.

But the fugitive now grew uneasy, because she had lost her direction.
What if she was not keeping a perfectly straight course? Then she
thought of looking back. The print of every one of her light footsteps
was firmly impressed upon the sand. The line was perfectly straight;
she rejoiced over her wisdom. Then she often glanced behind--at almost
every hundred steps--to test. Only forward, forward! She was growing
anxious. Drops of perspiration had long been falling from her forehead
and her bare arms. It was growing hot, very hot, and so strangely
sultry--the sky so leaden gray. A light, whistling wind sprang up,
blowing from south to north.

Eugenia glanced back aga