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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

He covered his eyes with his hands. I opened it and
read:
"'GRAND HOTEL, TUNIS.
"'I have found out where you are. I have come. Forgive me--if you can.
I will marry you--or I will live with you. As you please; but I cannot
live without you. I know women are not admitted to the monastery. Come
out on the road that leads to Tunis. I am there. At least come for a
moment and speak to me. VERONIQUE.'
"Domini, I read this slowly; and it was as if I read my own fate. When I
had finished he got up. He was still pale as ashes and trembling.
"'Which is the way to the road?' he said. 'Do you know?'
"'Yes.'
"'Take me there. Give me your arm, Father.'
"He took it, leaned on it heavily. We walked through the wood towards
the highroad. I had almost to support him. The way seemed long. I felt
tired, sick, as if I could scarcely move, as if I were bearing--as if I
were bearing a cross that was too heavy for me. We came at last out of
the shadow of the trees into the glare of the sun. A flat field divided
us from the white road.
"'Is there--is there a carriage?' he whispered in my ear.
"I looked across the field and saw on the road a carriage waiting.


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