Now, alone with her purpose, she thought of this reserve. Would she be
able to break it down with her love? For an instant she felt as if she
were about to enter upon a contest with her husband, but she did not
coldly tell over her armoury and select weapons. There was a heat of
purpose within her that beckoned her to the unthinking, to the reckless
way, that told her to be self-reliant and to trust to the moment for the
method.
When Androvsky returned to the camp it was towards evening. A lemon
light was falling over the great white spaces of the sand. Upon their
little round hills the Arab villages glowed mysteriously. Many horsemen
were riding forth from the city to take the cool of the approaching
night. From the desert the caravans were coming in. The nomad children
played, half-naked, at Cora before the tents, calling shrilly to each
other through the light silence that floated airily away into the vast
distances that breathed out the spirit of a pale eternity. Despite the
heat there was an almost wintry romance in this strange land of white
sands and yellow radiance, an ethereal melancholy that stole with the
twilight noiselessly towards the tents.
Pages:
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757