shall expect you at sundown at my house
over there. If I am not at home by dusk, you must wait for me."

As he spoke he twisted his hand in his horse's mane and Orion prepared
to assist him to mount; but the Arab, though a man of fifty, was too
quick for him. He flung himself into the saddle as lightly as a youth,
and gave his followers the signal for departure.

Paula had been standing close to the entrance of the tomb with Dame
Neforis, and she had heard every word of the dialogue between the two
men. Pale, as she beheld him, in costly but simple, flowing, mourning
robes, stricken by solemn and manly indignation, it was impossible
that she should not confess that the events of the last days had had a
powerful effect on the misguided youth.

When Paula had led the grief-worn but tearless widow to her chariot,
and had then returned home with Perpetua, the image of the handsome and
wrathful youth as he lifted his powerful arm and tightly-clenched fist
and shook them in the air, still constantly haunted her. She had not
failed to observe that he had seen her standing opposite to him by the
open tomb and she had been able to avoid meeting his eye; but her heart
had throbbed so violently that she still felt it quivering, she had not
succeeded in thinking of the beloved dead with due devotion.

Orion, as yet, had neither come near her in her peaceful retreat, nor
sent any messenger to deliver her belongings, and this she thought very
natural; for she needed no one to tell her how many claims there must be
on his time.

But though, before the funeral, she had firmly resolved to refuse to see
him if he came, and had given her nurse fall powers to receive from his
hand the whole of her property, after the ceremony this line of conduct
no longer struck her as seemly; indeed, she considered it no more than
her duty to the departed not to repel Orion if he should crave her
forgiveness.

And there was another thing which she owed to her uncle. She desired to
be the first to point out to Orion, from Philip's point of view, that
life was a post, a duty; and then, if his heart seemed opened to this
admonition, then--but no, this must be all that could pass between
them--then all must be at an end, extinct, dead, like the fires in a
sunken raft, like a soap-bubble that the wind has burst, like an echo
that has died away--all over and utterly gone.

And as to the counsel she thought of offering to the man she had once
looked up