men stood looking at each other across the tent; then the
Englishman moved forward and sat down on the end of the wooden couch as
the other moved back and leant against the wall, with his fingers upon
the little amulet above his heart.

"Have you ever been in love, Carden?" Kelham asked abruptly, unable to
control the question.

"There is no have-been in love. You either love or you do not love.
Do you?"

Ben Kelham nodded his head.

"Then, if you do, why, in the name of Allah who is your God as well as
mine, are you here? Why are you not at the feet of this woman,
stricken with wonder and humility before the gifts the great God has
given you? Why do you leave her exposed to the temptations of the
East, where has been wrecked the soul of many a white woman? What is
the killing of wild beasts compared to the look of the woman's eyes?
Where are your eyes, the eyes of your soul? What is this love you
speak of which lets you drop the jewel from between your fingers as you
would drop the half-consumed cigarette upon the ground?"

It was the prisoner's last despairing cry as the prison-door swings to,
shutting out the sun, the song of birds, the voice of children; it was
the beggar hungering for a crust, crying against the wasted abundance
of the rich man's table.

"What is this love you speak of, this love which lets you pass your
days in the shadow of another woman, a woman brown as a burned cake, as
comely as a stuffed pillow, who lies in wait to kill the king of
beasts? Yes! I know; in the East all things are known. I know whom
it is you love, and it is for her that I dare speak as men should not
speak of woman. Go to her; tarry not; go and heal the wound to her
pride, her heart, her love, lest in her pain she should fly to the
first hand for succour."

Ben Kelham sprang to his feet.

"Do you think, if my love was returned, Carden, that I should be here?"

"Love!" The man's voice was not raised one tone, but the tent vibrated
with the passionate words. "Are you such a coward that you run away at
the first hurt? When the ball struck you in the face at Lords, did you
retire--hurt? No; you stuck it, and scored a century! Are you such a
dullard that you cannot read beneath a woman's yes and no? Love! Do
you know what love means? What would you do for love? Could you
forgive in love?"

Kelham stared at the man who, word for word, repeated, the question
Damaris had asked on the night he had propo