“I could not believe in a merciful God,” he thought to himself, “unless I believed that He had placed within the reach of every man the means to overcome sorrow. Therefore the means must be at hand, if only I can take hold of them.”
And again: “My reason, my soul, is unconquerable. It stands above my miserable body. If only I can look at this disaster with the calm eyes of the spirit, I shall get the victory over the wretched torment of my heart.”
In itself the actual quarrel with Muriel had presented no insuperable obstacle to their relationship. Had the trouble been an isolated incident, it would not have been difficult for them to have kissed and made friends; but Daniel realized that the differences between them had been growing for some time, and for many days now it had seemed clear to him that Muriel was too chained in the prison of her class ever to understand the freedom of the desert. He despaired of her; yet he loved her so deeply that their estrangement was, beyond all words, terrible to him.
While he waited in his room for Lord Blair’s reply, he paced to and fro; and in his weary brain the battle which had raged all night came ever nearer to a definite issue.
“I must get away from it all,” he kept saying to himself. “I must go back to the desert, for only there shall I find peace.”
At length a servant came to him, saying that Lord Blair would receive him; and thereat he betook himself to the Great Man’s study, his impulsive mind made up on the instant and eager to meet his destiny.
“Why, what is the matter, Daniel?” Lord Blair asked, as he entered the room. “You looked troubled.”
“I am more than troubled,” said Daniel. “I’m in despair. It’s about Muriel: I’m afraid we’ve had a definite quarrel.”
Lord Blair wiggled in his chair, apparently with annoyance, though possibly with nothing more than an itch.
“Ah—a lovers’ tiff ...,” he commented; but Daniel stopped him with a gesture.