"Take it! Drink, drink your fill! She will never know. Take it, and drink!"
He seized the water-jar, indeed, but only to carry it with shaking hands to her, where she lay in the welcome shadow of the hut. His lips were black with thirst as he raised her head and cried to her:
"Here is water—real water! Drink!"
She obeyed, hardly more than half conscious. He gave her all he dared to have her drink at once, nearly half. Then he set down the jar, loosened the sack from his shoulders which were cut raw with the chafing of the thongs, and bathed her face with a little of that other water which, though bad, still might keep life in them.
"This may be an insane waste," he was thinking, "but it will help revive her. And—maybe—we shall find another, better oasis."
Out across the plain he peered, over the sun-dried earth, out into the distances shrouded with purple mists. His blurred eyes narrowed.
"Why, my God! There's one, now!" he muttered. "A green one—cool—fresh—"
The Master laid the woman down again in the shadow, got up and staggered out into the blinding sun. He tottered forward, laughing hoarsely.
"Cool—fresh—" The words came from between parched lips.
All at once the oasis faded to a blur in the brilliant tapestry of the desert that beckoned: "Come to me—and die!"