“Let us ride on,” he said. “Do you see the change in the light? Do you see the green in the sky? It is cooler, too. This is the wind of evening.”
Their hands fell apart and they rode slowly on, up the long slope of the sands.
Presently they saw that they had come out of the trackless waste and that though still a long way from the city they were riding on a desert road which had been trodden by multitudes of feet. There were many footprints here. On either side were low banks of sand, beaten into a rough symmetry by implements of men, and shallow trenches through which no water ran. In front of them they saw the numerous caravans, now more distinct, converging from left and right slowly to this great isle of the desert which stretched in a straight line to the minarets.
“We are on a highway,” Domini said.
Androvsky sighed.
“I feel already as if we were in the midst of a crowd,” he answered.
“Our love for peace oughtn’t to make us hate our fellowmen!” she said. “Come, Boris, let us chase away our selfish mood!”
She spoke in a more cheerful voice and drew her rein a little tighter. Her horse quickened its pace.
“And think how our stay at Amara will make us love the solitudes when we return to them again. Contrast is the salt of life.”
“You speak as if you didn’t believe what you are saying.”