the garden of allah-第62节

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〃Madame；　we　must　not　go　further；　we　must　keep　near　the　oasis。〃

〃Why？〃

〃It　is　not　safe　at　night　in　the　desert；　and　besides〃

His　horse　plunged　and　nearly　rocketed　against　hers。　She　pulled　in。　His
company　took　away　her　desire　to　keep　on。

〃Besides？〃

Leaning　over　his　saddle　peak　he　said；　mysteriously：

〃Besides；　Madame；　someone　has　been　following　us　all　the　way　from　Beni…
Mora。〃

〃Who？〃

〃A　horseman。　I　have　heard　the　beat　of　the　hoofs　on　the　hard　road。　Once
I　stopped　and　turned；　but　I　could　see　nothing；　and　then　I　could　hear
nothing。　He；　too；　had　stopped。　But　when　I　rode　on　again　soon　I　heard
him　once　more。　Someone　found　out　we　were　going　and　has　come　after　us。〃

She　looked　back　into　the　violet　night　without　speaking。　She　heard　no
sound　of　a　horse；　saw　nothing　but　the　dim　track　and　the　faint；　shadowy
blackness　where　the　palms　began。　Then　she　put　her　hand　into　the　pocket
of　her　saddle　and　silently　held　up　a　tiny　revolver。

〃I　know；　but　there　might　be　more　than　one。　I　am　not　afraid；　but　if
anything　happens　to　Madame　no　one　will　ever　take　me　as　a　guide　any
more。〃

She　smiled　for　a　moment；　but　the　smile　died　away；　and　again　she　looked
into　the　night。　She　was　not　afraid　physically；　but　she　was　conscious
of　a　certain　uneasiness。　The　day　had　been　long　and　troubled；　and　had
left　its　mark　upon　her。　Restlessness　had　driven　her　forth　into　the
darkness；　and　behind　the　restlessness　there　was　a　hint　of　the　terror
of　which　she　had　been　aware　when　she　was　left　alone　in　the　/salle…a…
manger/。　Was　it　not　that　vague　terror　which；　shaking　the　restlessness；
had　sent　her　to　the　white　house　by　the　triple　palm　tree；　had　brought
her　now　to　the　desert？　she　asked　herself；　while　she　listened；　and　the
hidden　horseman　of　whom　Batouch　had　spoken　became　in　her　imagination
one　with　the　legendary　victims　of　fate；　with　the　Jew　by　the　cross
roads；　the　mariner　beating　ever　about　the　rock…bound　shores　of　the
world；　the　climber　in　the　witches'　Sabbath；　the　phantom　Arab　in　the
sand。　Still　holding　her　revolver；　she　turned　her　horse　and　rode　slowly
towards　the　distant　fires；　from　which　came　the　barking　of　the　dogs。　At
some　hundreds　of　yards　from　them　she　paused。

〃I　shall　stay　here；〃　she　said　to　Batouch。　〃Where　does　the　moon　rise？〃

He　stretched　his　arm　towards　the　desert；　which　sloped　gently；　almost
imperceptibly；　towards　the　east。

〃Ride　back　a　little　way　towards　the　oasis。　The　horseman　was　behind　us。
If　he　is　still　following　you　will　meet　him。　Don't　go　far。　Do　as　I　tell
you；　Batouch。〃

With　obvious　reluctance　he　obeyed　her。　She　saw　him　pull　up　his　horse
at　a　distance　where　he　had　her　just　in　sight。　Then　she　turned　so　that
she　could　not　see　him　and　looked　towards　the　desert　and　the　east。　The
revolver　seemed　unnaturally　heavy　in　her　hand。　She　glanced　at　it　for　a
moment　and　listened　with　intensity　for　the　beat　of　horse's　hoofs；　and
her　wakeful　imagination　created　a　sound　that　was　non…existent　in　her
ears。　With　it　she　heard　a　gallop　that　was　spectral　as　the　gallop　of
the　black　horses　which　carried　Mephistopheles　and　Faust　to　the　abyss。
It　died　away　almost　at　once；　and　she　knew　it　for　an　imagination。
To…night　she　was　peopling　the　desert　with　phantoms。　Even　the　fires　of
the　nomads　were　as　the　fires　that　flicker　in　an　abode　of　witches；　the
shadows　that　passed　before　them　were　as　goblins　that　had　come　up　out
of　the　sand　to　hold　revel　in　the　moonlight。　Were　they；　too；　waiting
for　a　signal　from　the　sky？

At　the　thought　of　the　moon　she　drew　up　the　reins　that　had　been　lying
loosely　on　her　horse's　neck　and　rode　some　paces　forward　and　away　from
the　fires；　still　holding　the　revolver　in　her　hand。　Of　what　use　would
it　be　against　the　spectres　of　the　Sahara？　The　Jew　would　face　it
without　fear。　Why　not　the　horseman　of　Batouch？　She　dropped　it　into　the
pocket　of　the　saddle。

Far　away　in　the　east　the　darkness　of　the　sky　was　slowly　fading　into　a
luminous　mystery　that　rose　from　the　underworld；　a　mystery　that　at
first　was　faint　and　tremulous；　pale　with　a　pallor　of　silver　and
primrose；　but　that　deepened　slowly　into　a　live　and　ardent　gold　against
which　a　group　of　three　palm　trees　detached　themselves　from　the　desert
like　messengers　sent　forth　by　it　to　give　a　salutation　to　the　moon。
They　were　jet　black　against　the　gold；　distinct　though　very　distant。
The　night；　and　the　vast　plain　from　which　they　rose；　lent　them　a
significance　that　was　unearthly。　Their　long；　thin　stems　and　drooping；
feathery　leaves　were　living　and　pathetic　as　the　night　thoughts　of　a
woman　who　has　suffered；　but　who　turns；　with　a　gesture　of　longing　that
will　not　be　denied；　to　the　luminance　that　dwells　at　the　heart　of　the
world。　And　those　black　palms　against　the　gold；　that　stillness　of
darkness　and　light　in　immensity；　banished　Domini's　faint　sense　of
horror。　The　spectres　faded　away。　She　fixed　her　eyes　on　the　palms。

Now　all　the　notes　of　the　living　things　that　do　not　sleep　by　night；　but
make　music　by　reedy　pools；　in　underwood；　among　the　blades　of　grass　and
along　the　banks　of　streams；　were　audible　to　her　again；　filling　her
mind　with　the　mystery　of　existence。　The　glassy　note　of　the　frogs　was
like　a　falling　of　something　small　and　pointed　upon　a　sheet　of　crystal。
The　whirs　of　the　insects　suggested　a　ceaselessly　active　mentality。　The
faint　cries　of　the　birds　dropped　down　like　jewels　slipping　from　the
trees。　And　suddenly　she　felt　that　she　was　as　nothing　in　the　vastness
and　the　complication　of　the　night。　Even　the　passion　that　she　knew　lay；
like　a　dark　and　silent　flood；　within　her　soul；　a　flood　that；　once
released　from　its　boundaries；　had　surely　the　power　to　rush
irresistibly　forward　to　submerge　old　landmarks　and　change　the　face　of
a　worldeven　that　seemed　to　lose　its　depth　for　a　moment；　to　be
shallow　as　the　first　ripple　of　a　tide　upon　the　sand。　And　she　forgot
that　the　first　ripple　has　all　the　ocean　behind　it。

Red　deepened　and　glowed　in　the　gold　behind　the　three　palms；　and　the
upper　rim　of　the　round　moon；　red　too　as　blood；　crept　about　the　desert。
Domini；　leaning　forward　with　one　hand　upon　her　horse's　warm　neck；
watched　until　the　full　circle　was　poised　for　a　moment　on　the　horizon；
holding　the　palms　in　its　frame　of　fire。　She　had　never　seen　a　moon　look
so　immense　and　so　vivid　as　this　moon　that　came　up　into　the　night　like
a　portent；　fierce　yet　serene；　moon　of　a　barbaric　world；　such　as　might
have　shone　upon　Herod　when　he　heard　the　voice　of　the　Baptist　in　his
dungeon；　or　upon　the　wife　of　Pilate　when　in　a　dream　she　was　troubled。
It　suggested　to　her　the　powerful　watcher　of　tragic　events　fraught　with
long　chains　of　consequence　that　would　last　on　through　centuries；　as　it
turned　its　blood…red　gaze　upon　the　desert；　upon　the　palms；　upon　her；
and；　leaning　upon　her　horse's　neck；　she　toolike　Pilate's　wifefell
into　a　sort　of　strange　and　troubled　dream　for　a　moment；　full　of
strong；　yet　ghastly；　light　and　of　shapes　that　flitted　across　a
background　of　fire。

In　it　she　saw　the　priest　with　a　fanatical　look　of　warning　in　his　eyes；
Count　Anteoni　beneath　the　trees　of　his　garden；　the　perfume…seller　in
his　dark　bazaar；　Irena　with　her　long　throat　exposed　and　her　thin　arms
drooping；　the　sand…diviner　spreading　forth　his　hands；　Androvsky
galloping　upon　a　horse　as　if　pursued。　This　last　vision　returned　again
and　again。　As　the　moon　rose　a　stream　of　light　that　seemed　tragic　fell
across　the　desert　and　was　woven　mysteriously　into　the　light　of　her
waking　dream。　The　three　palms　looked　larger。　She　fancied　that　she　saw
them　growing；　becoming　monstrous　as　they　stood　in　the　very　centre　of
the　path　of　the　nocturnal　glory；　and　suddenly　she　remembered　her
thought　when　she　sat　with　Androvsky　in　the　garden；　that　feeling　grew
in　human　hearts　like　palms　rising　in　the　desert。　But　these　palms　were
tragic　and　aspired　towards　the　blood…red　moon。　Suddenly　she　was　seized
with　a　fear　of　feeling；　of　the　growth　of　an　intense　sensation　within
her；　and　realised；　with　an　almost　feverish　vividness；　the　impotence　of
a　soul　caught　in　the　grip　of　a　great　passion；　swayed　hither　and
thither；　led　into　strange　paths；　along　the　edges；　perhaps　into　depths
of　immeasurable　abysses。　She　had　said　to　Androvsky　that　she　would
rather　be　the　centre　of　a　world　tragedy　than　die　without　having　felt
to　the　uttermost　even　if　it　were　sorrow。　Was　that　not　the　speech　of　a
mad　woman；　or　at　least　of　a　woman　who　was　so　ignorant　of　the　life　of
feeling　that　her　words　were　idle　and　ridiculous？　Again　she　felt
desperately　that　she　did　not　know　herself；　and　this　lack　of　the　most
essential　of　all　knowledge　reduced　her　for　a　moment　to　a　bitterness　of
despair　that　seemed　worse　than　the　bitterness　of　death。　The　vastness
of　the　desert　appalled　her。　The　red　moon　held　within　its　circle　all
the　blood　of　the　martyrs；　of　life；　of　ideals。　She　shivered　in　the
saddle。　Her　nature　seemed　to　shrink　and　quiver；　and　a　cry　for
protection　rose　within　her；　the　cry　of　the　woman　who　cannot　face　life
alone；　who　must　find　a　protector；　and　who　must　cling　to　a　strong　arm；
who　needs　man　as　the　world　needs　God。

Then　again　it　seemed　to　her　that　she　saw　Androvsky　galloping　upon　a
horse　as　if　pursued。

Moved　by　a　desire　to　do　something　to　combat　this　strange　despair；　born
of　the　moonrise　and　the　night；　she　sat　erec