She prayed that this
man whom she loved, and who she believed was seeking, might find. And
she felt that there was a strength, a passion in her prayers, which
could not be rejected. She felt that some day Allah would show himself
in his garden to the wanderer there. She dared to feel that because she
dared to believe in the endless mercy of God. And when that moment came
she felt, too, that their love--hers and his--for each other would be
crowned. Beautiful and intense as it was it still lacked something. It
needed to be encircled by the protecting love of a God in whom they both
believed in the same way, and to whom they both were equally near.
While she felt close to this love and he far from it they were not quite
together.
There were moments in which she was troubled, even sad, but they passed.
For she had a great courage, a great confidence. The hope that dwells
like a flame in the purity of prayer comforted her.
"I love the solitudes," he said. "I love to have you to myself."
"If we lived always in the greatest city of the world it would make no
difference," she said quietly. "You know that, Boris.
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