as of the
party. When they reached the place after sunset, the low square of the
building was a block of marble set in the dull gold of the desert,
carved in dazzling white against a deep-blue evening sky. Like Ben
Halim's house, it was roughly fortified, with many loopholes in the
walls, for it had been built to serve the uses of less peaceful days
than these. Within the strong gates, on one side were rooms for guests,
each with its own door and window opening into the huge court. On
another side of the square were the kitchens and dining-room, as well as
living-place for the Arab landlord and his hidden family; and opposite
was a roofed, open-fronted shelter for camels and other animals, the
ground yellow with sand and spilt fodder. Water overflowed from a small
well, making a pool in the courtyard, in which ducks and geese waddled,
quacking, turkey-cocks fought in quiet corners, barked at impotently by
Kabyle puppies. Tall, lean hounds or sloughis, kept to chase the desert
gazelles, wandered near the kitchens, in the hope of bones, and camels
gobbled dismally as their tired drivers forced them to their knees, or
thrust handfuls of date stones down their throats. There were sheep,
too, and goats; and even a cow, the "perpetual mother" loved and valued
by Arabs.

M'Barka refused to "read the sand" that night, when Maieddine suggested
it. The sand would yield up its secrets only under the stars, she said,
and wished to wait until they should be in the tents.

All night, outside Victoria's open but shuttered window, there was a
stealthy stirring of animals in the dark, a gliding of ghostly ducks, a
breathing of sheep and camels. And sometimes the wild braying of a
donkey or the yelp of a dog tore the silence to pieces.

The next day was hot; so that at noon, when they stopped to eat, the
round blot of black shadow under one small tree was precious as a black
pearl. And there were flies. Victoria could not understand how they
lived in the desert, miles from any house, miles from the tents of
nomads; where there was no vegetation, except an occasional scrubby
tree, or a few of the desert gourds which the Arabs use to cure the bite
of scorpions. But she had not seen the cages of bones, sometimes
bleached like old ivory, sometimes of a dreadful red, which told of
wayside tragedies. Always when they had come in sight of a skeleton,
Maieddine had found some excuse to make the girl look in another
direction; for he wanted he