He seemed to hear her saying:  “After this morning you will have to prove your belief in me to me, thoroughly prove it, or else I shall not believe it.  It will take a little time to make me feel quite safe with you, as one can only feel when the little bit of sincerity in one is believed in and trusted.”  And he remembered the resolve he had taken on that night of crisis, to restore this woman’s confidence in goodness by having a firm faith in the goodness existing in her.  And he condemned himself and braced himself for new efforts.  Those efforts were not difficult for him to make now that he had Ruby all to himself, now that he saw her utterly divorced from her old life and companions, now that he held her in the breast of Nature, now that he knew—­as how could he not know?—­that she was living virtuously, sanely, simply, and, as he thought, splendidly and happily, despite the lingering backward glances she sometimes cast at the old luxury foregone.  It is very difficult for the human being who finds perfect happiness in a life to realize that such a life to another may be a torment.

And Ruby made few mistakes.  When she was with her husband, her now unpainted face was serene.  She worked bravely to earn her release from a life that was unsuited to her whole temperament, and that was utterly odious to her.

But had not Hamza and Ibrahim been in the camp with her, she often said to herself that she could not have endured this period.  That they were there meant that she was not forgotten, that while she was being patient, in a distant place, somewhere upon the great river, in the golden climate of Upper Egypt, some one else was being patient too.

Surely it meant, it must mean, that!

But she was haunted by a jealousy that, instead of being diminished by time and absence, increased with each passing day, even waking up in her a vital force of imagination she had not suspected she possessed.  She knew men as a race au fond—­knew their fickleness, swift forgetfulness, readiness to be content with the second best, so different from the far greater Epicureanism of women; knew their uneasy appetites, their lack of self-restraint; and, adding to this sum of knowledge her personal knowledge of Baroudi as a young, strong, and untrammelled man of the East, she was confronted with visions which tortured her cruelly.  There were times when her mind ran riot, throwing him among all the sensual pleasures which he loved.  And then she was more than heart-sick; she was actually body-sick.  She felt ill; she felt that she ached with jealousy, as another may ache with some physical disease.  She had a longing to perform some frantic physical act.

And then she remembered her beauty, and that, at all costs, she must preserve it as long as possible, and she secretly cursed the unbridled nature within her.  But the climate of the Fayyum was very kind to her, and this life in the open, in the unvitiated air that blew through the palms from the virgin deserts of Libya, gave to her health such as she had never known till now, despite her mental torture.  And that body-sickness which came from her jealousy was like a fit which seized her and passed away.