approaching. She was sure it was he, even when he was far off, by the
same sure instinct that convinced him. For an instant she hesitated.
She would turn back, and meet him with the crowd. Then she looked
around. The desert was deserted by all save herself and himself and
those who were with him. No. Her mind was made up. She would ride
forward. She would be the first to welcome him back to life and the
world. He and she would meet alone in the desert. For one minute they
would be alone, they two, with the world afar, they two, to meet, to
greet--and to part. Out of all that Fate had to give of sorrow and loss,
this one delectable moment, no matter what came after.

"David!" she cried with beating heart, and rode on, harder and harder.

Now she saw him ride ahead of the others. Ah, he knew that it was she,
though he could not see her face! Nearer and nearer. Now they looked
into each other's eyes.

She saw him stop his camel and make it kneel for the dismounting. She
stopped her horse also, and slid to the ground, and stood waiting, one
hand upon the horse's neck. He hastened forward, then stood still, a few
feet away, his eyes on hers, his helmet off, his brown hair, brown as
when she first saw it--peril and hardship had not thinned or greyed it.
For a moment they stood so, for a moment of revealing and understanding,
but speechless; and then, suddenly, and with a smile infinitely touching,
she said, as he had heard her say in the monastery--the very words:

"Speak--speak to me!"

He took her hand in his. "There is no need--I have said all," he
answered, happiness and trouble at once in his eyes. Then his face