"There is no hope. I've forgotten how to pray," Saidee answered, "and
God has forgotten me."

XXXVIII

There was no place for a guest in that part of the marabout's house
which had been allotted to Saidee. She had her bedroom and
reception-room, her roof terrace, and her garden court. On the ground
floor her negresses lived, and cooked for their mistress and themselves.
She did not wish to have Victoria with her, night and day, and so she
had quietly directed Noura to make up a bed in the room which would have
been her boudoir, if she had lived in Europe. When the sisters came down
from the roof, the bed was ready.

In the old time Victoria had slept with her sister; and her greatest
happiness as a child had been the "bed-talks," when Saidee had whispered
her secret joys or troubles, and confided in the little girl as if she
had been a "grown-up."

Hardly a night had passed since their parting, that Victoria had not
thought of those talks, and imagined herself again lying with her head
on Saidee's arm, listening to stories of Saidee's life. She had taken it
for granted that she would be put in her sister's room, and seeing the
bed made up, and her luggage unpacked in the room adjoining, was a blow.
She knew that Saidee must have given orders, or these arrangements would
not have been made, and again she felt the dreadful sinking of the heart
which had crushed her an hour ago. Saidee did not want her. Saidee was
sorry she had come, and meant to keep her as far off as possible. But
the girl encouraged herself once more. Saidee might think now that she
would rather have been left alone. But she was mistaken. By and by she
would find out the truth, and know that they needed each other.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable here, than crowded in with me,"
Saidee explained, blushing faintly.

"Yes, thank you, dear," said Victoria quietly. She did not show her
disappointment, and seemed to take the matter for granted, as if she had
expected nothing else; but the talk on the roof had brought back
something into Saidee's heart which she could not keep out, though she
did not wish to admit it there. She was sorry for Victoria, sorry for
herself, and more miserable than ever. Her nerves were rasped by an
intolerable irritation as she looked at the girl, and felt that her
thoughts were being read. She had a hideous feeling, almost an
impression, that her face had been lifted off like a mask, and that the
workings of