uninteresting. He did not add what
remained of the truth, that he had thought of Algiers as a refuge from
what had become disagreeable, rather than as a beautiful place which he
wished to see for its own sake. "I'd made no picture in my mind. You
know a lot more about it all than I do, though you've lived so far away,
and I within a distance of forty-eight hours."

"That great copper-coloured church high on the hill is Notre Dame
d'Afrique," said the girl. "She's like a dark sister of Notre Dame de la
Garde, who watches over Marseilles, isn't she? I think I could love her,
though she's ugly, really. And I've read in a book that if you walk up
the hill to visit her and say a prayer, you may have a hundred days'
indulgence."

Much good an "indulgence" would do him now, Stephen thought bitterly.

As the ship steamed closer inshore, the dreamlike beauty of the white
town on the green hillside sharpened into a reality which might have
seemed disappointingly modern and French, had it not been for the
sprinkling of domes, the pointing fingers of minarets with glittering
tiles of bronzy green, and the groups of old Arab houses crowded in
among the crudities of a new, Western civilization. Down by the wharf
for which the boat aimed like a homing bird, were huddled a few of these
houses, ancient dwellings turned into commercial offices where shipping
business was transacted. They looked forlorn, yet beautiful, like
haggard slavewomen who remembered days of greatness in a far-off land.

The _Charles Quex_ slackened speed as she neared the harbour, and every
detail of the town leaped to the eyes, dazzling in the southern
sunshine. The encircling arms of break-waters were flung out to sea in a
vast embrace; the smoke of vessels threaded with dark, wavy lines the
pure crystal of the air; the quays were heaped with merchandise, some of
it in bales, as if it might have been brought by caravans across the
desert. There was a clanking of cranes at work, a creaking of chains, a
flapping of canvas, and many sounds which blend in the harsh poetry of
sea-harbours. Then voices of men rose shrilly above all heavier noises,
as the ship slowly turned and crept beside a floating pontoon. The
journey together was over for Stephen Knight and Victoria Ray.

VII

A first glance, at such close quarters, would have told the least
instructed stranger that he was in the presence of two clashing
civilizations, both tenacious, one powerful.