, the figures of Turkish
soldiers, of street children, of travelers, moved noiselessly to and
fro.

The voice of this boy, heedless and very powerful, indeed almost
impudent, stirred Mrs. Clarke. It brought her back to her worship of
force. One must worship something, and she chose force--force of will,
of temperament, of body, of brain. Now she saw the Sultan's tribune, and
it made her think of an opera box and of the worldly life. The boy sang
on, catching at her mind, pulling her towards the East. The curious
peace of any religious life was certainly not for her, yet to-day she
felt weary of the life in her world. And she wished she could have
in her existence peace of some kind; she wished that she were not a
perpetual wanderer. She remembered some of those with whom from time to
time, she had linked herself--her husband, Hadi Bey, Dumeny, Brayfield,
Dion Leith. Now she was struggling, and so far in vain, to thrust Dion
out of her life. If she succeeded--what then? Where was stability in her
existence? Her love for Jimmy was the only thing that lasted, and that
often made her afraid now. She was seized by an almost sentimental
desire to lose herself in a love for a man that would last as her love
for Jimmy had lasted, to know the peace of an enduring and satisfied
desire.

The voice of the boy died away. She turned in the direction of the
Mihrab to offer up her prayer to the Unknown God, as the pious Mussulman
turns in the direction of the Sacred City when he puts up his prayer to
Allah.

Her eyes fell upon the Bedouin.

As she looked at him, this man of the desert come up into the City, with
the fires of the dunes in his veins, the vast spaces mirrored in
his eyes, the passion for wandering in his soul, she felt that in a
mysterious and remote way she was akin to him, despite all her culture,
her subtle mentality, the difference of her life from his. For she had
her wildness of nature, dominant and unceasing, as he had his. He was
forever traveling in body and she in mind. He sought fresh, and ever
fresh, camping-places, and so did she. The black ashes of burnt-out
fires marked his progress and hers. She looked at him as she uttered her
prayer to the Unknown God.

And she prayed for a master, that she might meet a man who would be able
to dominate her, to hold her fast in the grip of his nature. At this
moment Dion dominated her in an ugly way, and she knew it too well. But
she needed some one whom she would