And he repeated in a low tone the words of the angel to the prophet: “Oh thou that art covered arise . . . and magnify thy Lord; and purify thy clothes, and depart from uncleanness.”
The call died away and was renewed three times. The old man and the boy beneath the tower turned their faces towards Mecca, fell upon their knees and bowed their heads to the hot stones. The tall Arab under the palm sank down swiftly. Domini kept the glasses at her eyes. Through them, as in a sort of exaggerated vision, very far off, yet intensely distinct, she saw the man with whom she had travelled in the train. He went to and fro, to and fro on the burning ground till the fourth call of the Mueddin died away. Then, as he approached the isolated palm tree and saw the Arab beneath it fall to the earth and bow his long body in prayer, he paused and stood still as if in contemplation. The glasses were so powerful that it was possible to see the expressions on faces even at that distance. The expression on the traveller’s face was, or seemed to be, at first one of profound attention. But this changed swiftly as he watched the bowing figure, and was succeeded by a look of uneasiness, then of fierce disgust, then—surely—of fear or horror. He turned sharply away like a driven man, and hurried off along the cliff edge in a striding walk, quickening his steps each moment till his departure became a flight. He disappeared behind a projection of earth where the path sank to the river bed.
Domini laid the glasses down on the wall and looked at Count Anteoni.
“You say an atheist in the desert is unimaginable?
“Isn’t it true?”
“Has an atheist a hatred, a horror of prayer?”
“Chi lo sa? The devil shrank away from the lifted Cross.”
“Because he knew how much that was true it symbolised.”
“No doubt had it been otherwise he would have jeered, not cowered. But why do you ask me this question, Madame?”
“I have just seen a man flee from the sight of prayer.”