she had ruined herself, his fierce attraction had fallen upon her like a great blow struck by a determined hand.  It had not stunned her to stupidity; it had roused her to feverish life.  Now, after years, she was struck another blow, and again the feverish life leaped up within her.  But between the two blows what great stretches of experience, and all the lost good opinion of the world!  In the deep silence of the orange-garden just then premonition whispered to her.  She longed for the renewed cry of the fellah to drown that sinister voice, but when it came, distant, yet loud, down the alley between the trees, it seemed to her like premonition’s voice, suddenly raised in menace against her.  And she seemed to hear behind it, and very far away, the world which had been her world once more crying shame upon her.  Then for a moment she was afraid of herself, as if she stood away from her own evil, and looked at it, and saw, with a wonder mingled with horror, how capable it was.

Would she again set out to earn a punishment?

But how could she be punished again?  The world had surely done its worst, and so lost its power over her.  The arm that had wielded the lash had wielded it surely to the limit of strength.  There could be nothing more to be afraid of.

And then—­Nigel stood before the eyes of her mind.

In the exquisite peace of this garden at the edge of the Nile a storm was surging up within her.  And Baroudi sat there at her feet, impassive, immobile, with his still, luminous eyes always steadily regarding her.

“My husband will soon be coming back!” she said, abruptly.

“And I shall soon be going up the river to Armant, and from Armant to Esneh, and from Esneh to Kom Ombos and Aswan.”

She felt as if she heard life escaping from her into the regions of the south, and a coldness of dread encompassed her.

“There is a girl at Aswan who is like the full moon,” murmured Baroudi.

She realized his absolute liberty, and a heat as of fire swept over the cold.  But she only said, with a smile: 

“Why don’t you sail for Aswan to-night?”

“There is time,” he answered.  “She will not leave Aswan until I choose for her to go.”

“And are there full moons at Armant, and Esneh, and Kom Ombos?”

She seemed to be lightly laughing at him.

“At Esneh—­no; at Kom Ombos—­no.”

“And Armant?”

A sharpness had crept into her lazy voice.

“There are French at Armant, and where the French come the little women come.”

She remembered the pretty little rooms on the Loulia.  He possessed a floating house—­a floating freedom.  At that moment she hated the dahabeeyah.  She wished it would strike on a rock in the Nile and go to pieces.  But he would be floating up the river into the golden south, while she travelled northwards to a tent in the Fayyum!  She could hardly keep her body still in her chair.  She picked up one of the silver boxes, and tightened her fingers round it.