“Why did you say that about a woman’s love being able even to go down into hell to preach to the spirits in prison?”
He did not answer. His hand seemed to her to lie more heavily on her cheek.
“I—I am not sure that you are quite happy with me,” she said.
She spoke like one who reverenced truth, even though it slew her. There was a note of agony in her voice.
“Hush!” he said. “Hush, Domini!”
They were both silent. Beyond the canvas of the tent that shut out from them the camp they heard a sound of music. Drums were being beaten. The African pipe was wailing. Then the voice of Ali rose in the song of the “Freed Negroes”:
“No one but God and I
Knows what is in my heart.”
At that moment Domini felt that the words were true—horribly true.
“Boris,” she said. “Do you hear?”
“Hush, Domini.”