But now, M'Barka's warnings had brought the fears back, like
flapping ravens. He had planned the little play of the sand-divining,
and at first it had pleased him. M'Barka's vision of the dark man who
was not of Victoria's country could not have been better; and because he
knew that his cousin believed in the sand, he was superstitiously
impressed by her prophecy and advice. In the end, he had forced her to
go on when she would have stopped, yet he was angry with her for
putting doubts into his mind, doubts of his own wisdom and the way to
succeed. With a girl of his own people, or indeed with any girl, if he
had not loved too much, he would have had no doubts. But he did not know
how it was best to treat Victoria. His love for her was so strong, that
it was like fear, and in trying to understand her, he changed his mind a
dozen times a day. He was not used to this uncertainty, and hated to
think that he could be weak. Would she turn from him, if he broke the
tacit compact of loyal friendship which had made her trust him as a
guide? He could not tell; though an Arab girl would scorn him for
keeping it. "Perhaps at heart all women are alike," he thought. "And if,
now that I am warned, I should risk waiting, I would be no man." At
last, the only question left in his mind was, "When?"
For two days they journeyed through desolation, in a burnt-out world
where nothing had colour except the sad violet sky which at evening
flamed with terrible sunsets, cruelly beautiful as funeral pyres.
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