And as
she sat there alone she thought this unity of music drew her closer to
the desert than she had ever been before, and drew Androvsky with her,
despite his great reserve. In the heart of the desert he would surely
let her see at last fully into his heart. When he came back in the night
from the priest he would speak. She was waiting for that.
The moon was mounting. Its light grew stronger. She looked across the
sands and saw fires in the city, and suddenly she said to herself, "This
is the vision of the sand-diviner realised in my life. He saw me as I
am now, in this place." And she remembered the scene in the garden,
the crouching figure, the extended arms, the thin fingers tracing swift
patterns in the sand, the murmuring voice.
To-night she felt deeply expectant, but almost sad, encompassed by the
mystery that hangs in clouds about human life and human relations. What
could be that great joy of which the Diviner had spoken? A woman's great
joy that starred the desert with flowers and made the dry places run
with sweet waters. What could it be?
Suddenly she felt again the oppression of spirit she had been
momentarily conscious of in the afternoon.
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