There's nothing left then, except to
say good-bye to the fair bride and her relations."
He had expected to get back to Algiers that night, slipping away from
the high passes of Grand Kabylia before dusk, and reaching home late, by
lamplight. But now the plan was changed. They were not to see Algiers
again until Stephen had made acquaintance with the desert. By setting
off at once, they might arrive at Bou-Saada some time in the dark hours;
and Nevill upset his old arrangements with good grace. Why should he
mind? he asked, when Stephen apologized shame-facedly for his
impatience. Bou-Saada was as good a place as any, except Tlemcen, and
this adventure would give him an excuse for a letter, even two letters,
to Josette Soubise. She would want to hear about Mouni's wedding, and
the stately Kabyle home which they had visited. Besides she would be
curious to know whether they found the white farmhouse on the hill, and
if so, what they learned there of the beautiful lady and her mysterious
fate. Oh yes, it would certainly mean two letters at least: one from
Bou-Saada, one after the search for the farmhouse; and Nevill thought
himself in luck, for he was not allowed to write often to Josette.
After Michelet the road, a mere shelf projecting along a precipice,
slants upward on its way to the Col de Tirouda, sharp as a knife aimed
at the heart of the mountains. From far below clouds boil up as if the
valleys smoked after a destroying fire, and through flying mists flush
the ruddy earth, turning the white film to pinkish gauze.
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