tions. But it had operated all the time. Now it took
the lead. He dreaded to be alone in the Desert with this dark picture in
his mind of what Vance meant to bring there to completion. This
abomination of a selfish human will returned to fix its terror in him.
To be alone in the Desert meant to be alone with the imaginative picture
of what Vance--he knew it with such strange certainty--hoped to bring
about there.

There was absolutely no evidence to justify the grim suspicion. It
seemed indeed far-fetched enough, this connection between the sand and
the purpose of an evil-minded, violent man. But Henriot saw it true. He
could argue it away in a few minutes--easily. Yet the instant thought
ceased, it returned, led up by intuition. It possessed him, filled his
mind with horrible possibilities. He feared the Desert as he might have
feared the scene of some atrocious crime. And, for the time, this dread
of a merely human thing corrected the big seduction of the other--the
suggested "super-natural."

Side by side with it, his desire to join himself to the purposes of the
woman increased steadily. They kept out of his way apparently; the offer
seemed withdrawn; he grew restless, unable to settle to anything for
long, and once he asked the porter casually if they were leaving the
hotel. Lady Statham had been invisible for days, and Vance was somehow
never within speaking distance. He heard with relief that they had not
gone--but with dread as well. Keen excitement worked in him underground.
He slept badly. Like a schoolboy, he waited for the summons to an
important examination that involved portentous issues, and contradictory
emotions disturbed his peace of mind abominably.

VIII

But it was not until the end of the week, when Vance approached him with
purpose in his eyes and manner, that Henriot knew his fears unfounded,
and caught himself trembling with sudden anticipation--because the
invitation, so desired yet so dreaded, was actually at hand. Firmly
determined to keep caution uppermost, yet he went unresistingly to a
secluded corner by the palms where they could talk in privacy. For
prudence is of the mind, but desire is of the soul, and while his brain
of to-day whispered wariness, voices in his heart of long ago shouted
commands that he knew he must obey with joy.

It was evening and the stars were out. Helouan, with her fairy
twinkling lights, lay silent against the Desert edge. The sand was at
the flood