In coming to the hotel, Domini had seen a curious incident.  Androvsky, with a guide who carried his bag, was walking before her down the long public garden, when in the distance there appeared the black figure of the priest of Beni-Mora advancing slowly towards them.  When Androvsky saw the priest he had stopped short, hesitated, then, despite the protests of his guide, had abruptly turned down a side path and hurried away.  He had fled from the man of prayer.

Now, as the twilight fell, Domini thought of this incident, and when she heard Androvsky’s heavy tread upon the stairs of the verandah, the sharp closing of the French window of his room, she was filled with a vague uneasiness.

Next day she visited a wonderful garden on the edge of the desert belonging to a Count Anteoni, a recluse who loved the Arabs and spent much of his time among them.  There, standing with the count by the garden wall at the hour of the Mohammedan’s prayer, she had seen Androvsky again.  He was in the desert with a Nomad.  The cry of the muezzin went up to the brazen sky.  The Nomad fell on his knees and prayed.  Androvsky started, gazed, shrank back, then turned and strode away like one horrified by some grievous vision.  Domini said to the count, “I have just seen a man flee from prayer; it was horrible.”

He answered her, very gravely, “The man who is afraid of prayer is unwise to set foot beyond the palm-trees, for the desert is the garden of Allah.”

That evening Domini and Androvsky spoke to each other for the first time, on the top of a tower where they had come to see the sunset.  Domini spoke first, moved by a strange look of loneliness, of desolation, in Androvsky’s eyes.  He replied in a low voice, and asked her pardon for his rude conduct at the station.  Then, abruptly, he descended the tower and disappeared.

At night she visited a dancing house to see the strange dances of the desert.  She found Androvsky there, watching the painted women as if half fascinated, half horrified by them.  Irena, a girl who had been banished from Beni-Mora for threatening to murder an Arab of whom she was jealous, but had been permitted to return, discovering him among the audience, stabbed him.  There was a violent scene, during which Androvsky, forcing his way through the desert men, protected Domini from the crush.  The crowd rushed out, leaving them alone together.  Androvsky insisted on escorting Domini back to the hotel.

II.—­Defying Allah in Allah’s Garden

The acquaintance thus unconventionally began between them continued, and ripened into a strange friendship.  Domini was a magnificent horsewoman.  Finding that Androvsky did not know how to ride, she gave him lessons.  Together they galloped over the desert sands; together they visited the Saharan villages, hidden in the groves of date palms behind the brown earthen walls of the oasis; together watched the burning sunsets of Africa; at meal-times they met in the hotel; in the evenings they sat upon the verandah, and heard the Zouaves singing in chorus, the distant murmur of the tom-toms.