He felt as if he were
fighting in darkness something that he could not see.
"Return!" he said. "What do you mean?"
She saw the expression of almost angry fear in his face. It warned her
not to give the reins to her natural impulse, which was always towards a
great frankness.
"Boris, you fled from God, but do you not think it possible that you
could ever return to Him? Have you not taken the first step? Have you
not prayed?" His face changed, grew slightly calmer.
"You told me I could pray," he answered, almost like a child. "Otherwise
I--I should not have dared to. I should have felt that I was insulting
God."
"If you trusted me in such a thing, can you not trust me now?"
"But"--he said uneasily--"but this is different, a worldly matter, a
matter of daily life. I shall have to know."
"Yes."
"Then why should I not know now? At any moment I could ask Batouch."
"Batouch only knows from day to day. I have a map of the desert. I got
it before we left Beni-Mora."
Something--perhaps a very slight hesitation in her voice just before she
said the last words--startled him. He turned on his horse and looked at
her hard.
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