"
He glanced at the tortured face of the Diviner and looked grave.
"Remember you have said I am fearless," she said.
He answered:
"Whatever it is you shall know it."
Then they were silent again. Gradually the Diviner's voice grew clearer,
the pace of its words less rapid, but always it sounded mysterious and
inward, less like the voice of a man than the distant voice of a secret.
"I can hear now," whispered the Count.
"What is he saying?"
"He is speaking about the desert."
"Yes?"
"He sees a great storm. Wait a moment!"
The voice spoke for some seconds and ceased, and once again the Diviner
remained absolutely motionless, with his hands extended above the grains
like carven things.
"He sees a great sand-storm, one of the most terrible that has ever
burst over the Sahara. Everything is blotted out. The desert vanishes.
Beni-Mora is hidden. It is day, yet there is a darkness like night. In
this darkness he sees a train of camels waiting by a church."
"A mosque?"
"No, a church. In the church there is a sound of music. The roar of the
wind, the roar of the camels, mingles with the chanting and drowns it.
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