But today Muriel felt that the definition was false. Her happiness was intangible, and all that she could say with certainty was that it was the result of her little time of silence yesterday in the desert.
It had been so quiet and gentle, so entirely opposite to the prehistoric rough-and-tumble which might have been expected. Her thoughts went back to the incident of the curate at Eastbourne, who had banged her about on the sofa, and would have rolled her on the floor, had not the ten commandments suddenly affrighted him. She thought, too, of Rupert and his impassioned kisses: he had left red marks on her shoulder.
But Daniel had been so silent, so tender, and withal so genuine. He had seemed to be part of the vast sky and desert around him, enfolding her, and harming her not. Yet with a twist of his hand he could have killed her.
In the distance she heard the murmur of his voice as he talked to his native visitors in the alcove; and she had a curious feeling that his proximity was protective. She was no longer afraid, or even shy of him.
Presently, across the lawn, she saw him dismissing three silk-robed Egyptians; and, when they had taken their departure, he waved his hand to her before returning once more behind the screen of roses and trees. The signal was like the caress of an old friend, and by it her happiness was enhanced.
A few minutes later she watched another caller being piloted by a native servant across the lawn to the alcove. He was a young effendi wearing European clothes and the usual red tarboush or fez—an unhealthy little man, who paused once to cough and to spit unpleasantly.
Lazily she watched the servant return to the house, and she hoped that Daniel was finding his new visitor interesting.
She closed her eyes, and sleep was stealing upon her when suddenly she was startled into full consciousness by the sharp crack of a pistol-shot. She sprang out of the hammock and stood for a moment staring about her, her heart beating.
The sound had come from the direction of the alcove, but now all was silent once more. Evidently nobody in the house had heard the shot; and she might have thought it to have been an illusion of sleep, had it not been for the manifest excitement of the birds which had risen from the branches of the trees around.
Almost without definite thought she hastened across the lawn, and paused, listening, near the rose bushes. A whimpering sound of moaning came to her ears; and at this she ran forward impulsively, and, a moment later, came to a sudden halt upon the secluded terrace.