Twice he had all but yielded to this inner voice. But he had not
yielded. Another and a sterner voice had said: "She is an interloper.
She has no rights. Why give her another thought?"

This voice had prevailed. The Master had told himself only a few hours
more remained, at all events, before the woman should be cast off and
abandoned in whatever strange land might befall--probably Morocco, or
it might be the Spanish colony of Rio de Oro on the western fringes
of the Sahara. After that, what responsibility for her safety or her
welfare would be his? Why, he had none, even now!

"But, man," the small voice insinuated, "she came to you on an errand
of mercy, to nurse and care for such as might fall ill or be wounded.
It was not wholly the desire for adventure that led her to deceive
you. Her motive was high and fine!"

"A curse on all women!" retorted the other voice. "Away with her!" And
this sterner voice again prevailed. Still, at thought that sometime
during the day now close at hand he was to see the last of this woman
who had stood there before him in his cabin, with dark eyes looking
into his, with eager, oval face upturned to his, with all that glory
of lustrous hair a flood about her shoulders, something unknown,
unwonted, fingered at the latchets of his heart.

He realized that he felt strange, uneasy, uprooted from his sober
aplomb. Unknown irritations possessed him. Under his breath he
muttered an Arabic cynicism about woman, from the fourth chapter of
the Koran: "Men shall have the preeminence above women, because Allah
hath caused the one of them to excel the other!"