“I think there is something in your heart that sometimes makes you sad even with me. I think perhaps I partly guess what it is.”
He took his hand away from her face, his arm from her shoulder, but she caught hold of him, and her arm was strong like a man’s.
“Boris, you are with me, you are close to me, but do you sometimes feel far away from God?”
He did not answer.
“I don’t know; I oughtn’t to ask, perhaps. I don’t ask—no, I don’t. But, if it’s that, don’t be too sad. It may all come right—here in the desert. For the desert is the Garden of Allah. And, Boris—put out the light.”
He extinguished the candle with his hand.
“You feel, perhaps, that you can’t pray honestly now, but some day you may be able to. You will be able to. I know it. Before I knew I loved you I saw you—praying in the desert.”
“I!” he whispered. “You saw me praying in the desert!”
It seemed to her that he was afraid. She pressed him more closely with her arms.
“It was that night in the dancing-house. I seemed to see a crowd of people to whom the desert had given gifts, and to you it had given the gift of prayer. I saw you far out in the desert praying.”