"A different code from ours!"

And the secret of the dahabeeyah, of the beautiful _Loulia_--was it
locked in that breast of the East?

In the silence Isaacson's mind sought converse with Hamza's, strove to
come into contact with Hamza's mind. But it seemed to him that his mind
was softly repelled. Hamza would not recognize the East that was in
Isaacson, or perhaps he felt the Jew. When the voice of Mrs. Armine was
heard from the threshold of the lighted chamber these two had not spoken
a word. But Isaacson had learnt that in any investigation of the past,
in any effort to make straight certain crooked paths, in any search
after human motives, he would get no help from this mind that was full
of refusal, from this soul that was full of prayer.

"Doctor Isaacson!"

A dress rustled.

"You are out here--with Hamza?"

She stood in one of the doorways.

"Will you please come and give my husband the sleeping draught?"

"Certainly."

When they were in the room by the fountain she said:

"Of course, you know, this is all wrong. We're not doing the right thing
by Doctor Hartley at all. But I don't like to thwart Nigel.
Convalescents are always wilful."

"Convalescents!" he said.

"Yes, convalescents."

"You think your husband is convalescent?"

"Of course he is. You didn't see him in the first days after his
sunstroke."

"That's true."

"Please give him the draught, or whatever it is, and then we really must
try and get some rest."

As she said the last words he noticed in her voice the sound of a woman
who had nearly come to the end of her powers of resistance.

"It won't take a moment," he said. "Where is he?"

"I'll show you."

She went in front of him to a cabin, in which, on a smart bed, Nigel lay
supported by pillows. One candle was burning on a bracket of white wood,
giving a faint light. Mrs. Armine stood by the head of the bed looking
down upon the thin, almost lead-coloured face that was turned towards
her.

"Now Doctor Isaacson is going to make you sleep."

"Thank God. The rheumatism's awfully bad to-night."

"Rheumatism?" said Isaacson.

Already he had poured some water into a glass, and dropped something
into it. He held the glass towards Nigel, not coming quite near to him.
To take the glass, it was necessary for the sick man to stretch out his
arm. Nigel made a movement to do this; but his arm dropped, and he said,
almost crossly:

"Do put it nearer."

Then Isaacson put it to hi