he
deck of a Mediterranean steamer, looking at a town in Algeria or Tunis.
And beyond, under the low-hanging stars, was the Mexican desert--a blank
page, with only here and there the obscurity of a garden, or a _hacienda_,
or a mere speck which would be a lonely casa built of earth.

"Do you like it?" he asked. He had seated himself with a sigh of
contentment. His outstretched arms lay along the back of the settee, and
he was looking at her eagerly.

Yes, she said, it was nice.... "It is strange that he should be thinking
of the view just now," she was saying to herself. A painful turmoil raged
within her; but outwardly she was so calm that Harboro was puzzled. To
him, too, that view became a negative thing for the moment. "I suspect
that house down under the mesquite-tree was a bit shabby," he was
thinking. "She's oppressed by so many new things." He gave her time to
find her bearings. That was a thing she would do better by being left
alone.

And out of the chaos in Sylvia's mind there came the clear realization
that Harboro was not living for the moment, but that he was looking
forward, planning for a lifetime, and not for a swift, passing storm of
passion. There was something static in his nature; there was a stability
in the house he had provided and furnished. Her experiences with him were
not to be like a flame: sanctioned, yet in all other respects like other
experiences she had had in the past.

The silence between them had become uncomfortable--inappropriate; and
Harboro put a gentle arm about her and drew her closer to him. "Sit down
by me," he said.

He was dismayed by the result of that persuasive movement. The hand he had
taken into his trembled, and she would not yield to the pressure of his
arm. She hung her head as if desolate memories were crowding between him
and her, and he saw that moisture glistened in her eyes.

"Eh?" he inquired huskily, "you're not afraid of me?"

She allowed him to draw her closer, and he felt the negative movement of
her head as it lay on his shoulder; but he knew that she _was_ afraid,
though he did not gauge the quality of her fear. "You mustn't be afraid,
you know." He continued the pressure of his arm until she seemed to relax
wholly against him. He felt a delicious sense of conquest over her by
sympathy and gentleness. He was eager for that moment to pass, though he
held it precious and knew that it would never return again. Then he felt
her body tremble as it lay