That inhabitant was fear.

She knew that in Baroudi she had found a man by whom she could be governed, by whom, perhaps, she could be destroyed, because in him she had found a man whom she could love, in no high, eternal way-she was not capable of loving any man like that—­but with the dangerous force, the jealous physical passion and desire, the almost bitter concentration, that seem to come to life in a certain type of woman only when youth is left behind.

She knew that, and she was afraid as she had never been afraid before.

That night she slept very little.  Two or three times, as she lay awake in the dark, she heard distant voices singing somewhere on the Nile, and she turned upon the bed, and she longed to be out in the night, nearer to the voices.  They seemed to be there for her, to be calling her, and they brought back to her memory the sound of Baroudi’s voice, when he raised himself up, stared into her face, and sang the song about Allah, the song of the Nubian boatmen.  And then she saw him before her in the darkness with a painful clearness, as if he were lit up by the burning rays of the sun.  Why had she met this man immediately after she had taken the vital step into another marriage?  For years she had been free, free as only the social outcast can be who is forcibly driven out into an almost terrible liberty, and through all those years of freedom she had used men without really loving any man.  And then, at last, she had once more bound herself, she had taken what seemed to be a decisive step towards an ultimate respectability, perhaps an ultimate social position, and no sooner had she done this than chance threw in her way a man who could grip her, rouse her, appeal to all the chief wants in her nature.  Those words in the Koran, were they not true for her?  Her fate had surely been bound about her neck.  By whom?  If she asked Baroudi she knew what he would tell her.  Strangely, even his faith fascinated her, although at Nigel’s faith she secretly laughed; for in Baroudi’s faith there seemed to be a strength that was hard, that was fierce and cruel.  Even in his religion she felt him to be a brigand, trying to seize with greedy hands upon the promises and the joys of another world.  He was determined not to be denied anything that he really desired.

She turned again on her pillows, and she put her arms outside the sheet, then she put her hands up to her face and felt that her cheeks were burning.  And she remembered how, long ago, when she was a young married woman, one night she had lain awake and had felt her burning cheeks with her hands.

That was soon after she had met the man for whom she had been divorced, the man who had ruined her social life.  Does life return upon its steps?  She remembered the violent joys of that secret love which had ultimately been thrown down in the dust for all the world to stare at.  Was she to know such joys again?  Was it possible that she could know them, had she the capacity to know them after all she had passed through?