It was as if he had divined
her intention and had subtly turned her from it, without speech, merely
by the force of his inward determination that she should not break
through his reserve. But to-night, with his hand on hers and the starry
darkness above them, with the waste stretching around them, and the
cool air that was like the breath of liberty upon their faces, she was
unconscious of any secret, combative force in him. It was impossible to
her to think there could have been any combat, however inward, however
subtle, between them. Surely if it were ever permitted to two natures to
be in perfect accord theirs were in perfect accord to-night.
"I never felt the presence of God in His world so keenly as I feel it
to-night," she went on, drawing a little closer to him. "Even in the
church to-day He seemed farther away than tonight. But somehow--one
has these thoughts without knowing why--I have always believed that the
farther I went into the desert the nearer I should come to God."
Androvsky moved again. The clasp of his hand on hers loosened, but he
did not take his hand away.
"Why should--what should make you think that?" he asked slowly.
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