ssim
really means us to go, he won't let Maieddine find out. He will thank
Allah and the Prophet for sending the fever that keeps Maieddine in his
bedroom."

"Poor Maieddine!" Victoria half whispered. In her heart lurked kindness
for the man who had so desperately loved her, even though love had
driven him to the verge of treachery. "I hope he'll forget all about me
and be happy," she said. And then, because she was happy herself, and
the future seemed bright, she forgot Maieddine, and thought only of
another.

XLVIII

"That must be the bordj of Toudja, at last," Victoria said, looking out
between the curtains of her bassour. "Aren't you thankful, Saidee?
You'll feel happier and freer, when Cassim's men have gone back to the
Zaouia, and our ransom has been paid by the return of the little boy.
That volume of your life will be closed for ever and ever, and you can
begin the next."

Saidee was silent. She did not want to think that the volume was closed
for ever, because in it there was one chapter which, unless it could be
added to the new volume, would leave the rest of the book without
interest for her. Half involuntarily she touched the basket which Honore
Sabine had given her when they parted in the desert city of Oued Tolga
early that morning. In the basket were two carrier pigeons. She had
promised to send one from the Bordj of Toudja, and another at the end of
the next day's journey. After that she would be within reach of the
telegraph. Her reason told her it was well that Sabine was not with her
now, yet she wished for him, and could not be glad of his absence.
Perhaps she would never see him again. Who could tell? It would have
been unwise for Sabine, as an officer and as a man, to leave his duty to
travel with her: she could see that, yet she was secretly angry with
Victoria, because Victoria, happy herself, seemed to have little
sympathy with her sister's hopes. The girl did not like to talk about
Sabine, or discuss any connection he might possibly have with Saidee's
future; and because Victoria was silent on that subject, Saidee revenged
herself by being reticent on others. Victoria guessed the reason, and
her heart yearned over Saidee; but this was something of which they
could not talk. Some day, perhaps, Saidee would understand, and they
would be drawn together again more closely than before.

"There's Toudja," Stephen said, as the girl looked out again from the
bassour. Whenever he saw her