She looked into the sand, as if she, too, would be able to
see what he saw and had not told, looked till she began to feel almost
hypnotised. The Diviner's hands trembled now as they made the patterns,
and his breast heaved under his white robe. Presently he traced in the
sand a triangle and began to speak.
The Count bent down till his ear was almost at the Diviner's lips,
and Domini held her breath. That caravan lost in the desolation of the
desert, in the storm and the darkness--where was it? What had been its
fate? Sweat ran down over the Diviner's face, and dropped upon his
robe, upon his hands, upon the sand, making dark spots. And the voice
whispered on huskily till she was in a fever of impatience. She saw upon
the face of the Count the Diviner's tortured look reflected. Was it not
also on her face? A link surely bound them all together in this tiny
room, close circled by the tall trees and the intense silence. She
looked at the triangle in the sand. It was very distinct, more distinct
than the other patterns had been. What did it represent? She searched
her mind, thinking of the desert, of her life there, of man's life in
the desert.
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