the garden of allah-第99部分

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wandering；　who　could　never　be　at　peace　even　in　a　mighty　human　love
unless　that　love　was　consecrated　by　God's　contentment　with　it。　As　she
stood　there　Domini　had　had　an　instant　of　absolutely　clear　sight　into
the　depths　of　another's　heart；　another's　nature。　She　had　seen　the　monk
in　Androvsky；　not　slain　by　his　act　of　rejection；　but　alive；　sorrow…
stricken；　quivering；　scourged。　And　she　had　been　able　to　tell　this　monk
as　God　seemed　to　be　telling　her；　making　of　her　his　messengerthat
now　at　last　he　might　pray　to　a　God　who　again　would　hear　him；　as　He　had
heard　him　in　the　garden　of　El…Largani；　in　his　cell；　in　the　chapel；　in
the　fields。　She　had　been　able　to　do　this。　Then　she　had　turned　away；
gone　into　the　tent　and　fallen　upon　her　knees。

But　with　that　personal　action　her　sense　of　triumph　passed　away。　As　her
body　sank　down　her　soul　seemed　to　sink　down　with　it　into　bottomless
depths　of　blackness　where　no　light　had　ever　been；　into　an　underworld；
airless；　peopled　with　invisible　violence。　And　it　seemed　to　her　as　if
it　was　her　previous　flight　upward　which　had　caused　this　descent　into　a
place　which　had　surely　never　before　been　visited　by　a　human　soul。　All
the　selflessness　suddenly　vanished　from　her；　and　was　replaced　by　a
burning　sense　of　her　own　personality；　of　what　was　due　to　it；　of　what
had　been　done　to　it；　of　what　it　now　was。　She　saw　it　like　a　cloth　that
had　been　white　and　that　now　was　stained　with　indelible　filth。　And
anger　came　upon　her；　a　bitter　fury；　in　which　she　was　inclined　to　cry
out；　not　only　against　man；　but　against　God。　The　strength　of　her　nature
was　driven　into　a　wild　bitterness；　the　sweet　waters　became　acrid　with
salt。　She　had　been　able　a　moment　before　to　say　to　Androvsky；　almost
with　tenderness；　〃Now　at　last　you　can　pray。〃　Now　she　was　on　her　knees
hating　him；　hatingyes；　surely　hatingGod。　It　was　a　frightful
sensation。

Soul　and　body　felt　defiled。　She　saw　Androvsky　coming　into　her　clean
life；　seizing　her　like　a　prey；　rolling　her　in　filth　that　could　never
be　cleansed。　And　who　had　allowed　him　to　do　her　this　deadly　wrong？　God。
And　she　was　on　her　knees　to　this　God　who　had　permitted　this！　She　was
in　the　attitude　of　worship。　Her　whole　being　rebelled　against　prayer。
It　seemed　to　her　as　if　she　made　a　furious　physical　effort　to　rise　from
her　knees；　but　as　if　her　body　was　paralysed　and　could　not　obey　her
will。　She　remained　kneeling；　therefore；　like　a　woman　tied　down；　like　a
blasphemer　bound　by　cords　in　the　attitude　of　prayer；　whose　soul　was
shrieking　insults　against　heaven。

Presently　she　remembered　that　outside　Androvsky　was　praying；　that　she
had　meant　to　join　with　him　in　prayer。　She　had　contemplated；　then；　a
further；　deeper　union　with　him。　Was　she　a　madwoman？　Was　she　a　slave？
Was　she　as　one　of　those　women　of　history　who；　seized　in　a　rape；
resigned　themselves　to　love　and　obey　their　captors？　She　began　to　hate
herself。　And　still　she　knelt。　Anyone　coming　in　at　the　tent　door　would
have　seen　a　woman　apparently　entranced　in　an　ecstasy　of　worship。

This　great　love　of　hers；　to　what　had　it　brought　her？　This　awakening　of
her　soul；　what　was　its　meaning？　God　had　sent　a　man　to　rouse　her　from
sleep　that　she　might　look　down　into　hell。　Again　and　again；　with
ceaseless　reiteration；　she　recalled　the　incidents　of　her　passion　in
the　desert。　She　thought　of　the　night　at　Arba　when　Androvsky　blew　out
the　lamp。　That　night　had　been　to　her　a　night　of　consecration。　Nothing
in　her　soul　had　risen　up　to　warn　her。　No　instinct；　no　woman's
instinct；　had　stayed　her　from　unwitting　sin。　The　sand…diviner　had　been
wiser　than　she；　Count　Anteoni　more　far…seeing；　the　priest　of　Beni…Mora
more　guided　by　holiness；　by　the　inner　flame　that　flickers　before　the
wind　that　blows　out　of　the　caverns　of　evil。　God　had　blinded　her　in
order　that　she　might　fall；　had　brought　Androvsky　to　her　in　order　that
her　religion；　her　Catholic　faith；　might　be　made　hideous　to　her　for
ever。　She　trembled　all　over　as　she　knelt。　Her　life　had　been　sad；　even
tormented。　And　she　had　set　out　upon　a　pilgrimage　to　find　peace。　She
had　been　led　to　Beni…Mora。　She　remembered　her　arrival　in　Africa；　its
spell　descending　upon　her；　her　sensation　of　being　far　off；　of　having
left　her　former　life　with　its　sorrows　for　ever。　She　remembered　the
entrancing　quiet　of　Count　Anteoni's　garden；　how　as　she　entered　it　she
seemed　to　be　entering　an　earthly　Paradise；　a　place　prepared　by　God　for
one　who　was　weary　as　she　was　weary；　for　one　who　longed　to　be　renewed
as　she　longed　to　be　renewed。　And　in　that　Paradise；　in　the　inmost
recess　of　it；　she　had　put　her　hands　against　Androvsky's　temples　and
given　her　life；　her　fate；　her　heart　into　his　keeping。　That　was　why　the
garden　was　there；　that　she　might　be　led　to　commit　this　frightful
action　in　it。　Her　soul　felt　physically　sick。　As　to　her　bodybut　just
then　she　scarcely　thought　of　the　body。　For　she　was　thinking　of　her
soul　as　of　a　body；　as　if　it　were　the　core　of　the　body　blackened；
sullied；　destroyed　for　ever。　She　was　hot　with　shame；　she　was　hot　with
a　fiery　indignation。　Always；　since　she　was　a　child；　if　she　were
suddenly　touched　by　anyone　whom　she　did　not　love；　she　had　had　an
inclination　to　strike　a　blow　on　the　one　who　touched　her。　Now　it　was　as
if　an　unclean　hand　had　been　laid　on　her　soul。　And　the　soul　quivered
with　longing　to　strike　back。

Again　she　thought　of　Beni…Mora；　of　all　that　had　taken　place　there。　She
realised　that　during　her　stay　there　a　crescendo　of　calm　had　taken
place　within　her；　calm　of　the　spirit；　a　crescendo　of　strength；
spiritual　strength；　a　crescendo　of　faith　and　of　hope。　The　religion
which　had　almost　seemed　to　be　slipping　from　her　she　had　grasped　firmly
again。　Her　soul　had　arrived　in　Beni…Mora　an　invalid　and　had　become　a
convalescent。

It　had　been　reclining　wearily；　fretfully。　In　Beni…Mora　it　had　stood
up；　walked；　sung　as　the　morning　stars　sang　together。　But　thenwhy？　If
this　was　to　be　the　endwhywhy？

And　at　this　question　she　paused；　as　before　a　great　portal　that　was
shut。　She　went　back。　She　thought　again　of　this　beautiful　crescendo；　of
this　gradual　approach　to　the　God　from　whom　she　had　been　if　not
entirely　separated　at　any　rate　set　a　little　apart。　Could　it　have　been
only　in　order　that　her　catastrophe　might　be　the　more　complete；　her
downfall　the　more　absolute？

And　then；　she　knew　not　why；　she　seemed　to　see　in　the　hands　that　were
pressed　against　her　face　words　written　in　fire；　and　to　read　them
slowly　as　a　child　spelling　out　a　great　lesson；　with　an　intense
attention；　with　a　labour　whose　result　would　be　eternal　recollection：

〃Love　watcheth；　and　sleeping；　slumbereth　not。　When　weary　it　is　not
tired；　when　straitened　it　is　not　constrained；　when　frightened　it　is
not　disturbed；　but　like　a　vivid　flame　and　a　burning　torch　it　mounteth
upwards　and　securely　passeth　through　all。　Whosover　loveth　knoweth　the
cry　of　this　voice。〃

The　cry　of　this　voice！　At　that　moment；　in　the　vast　silence　of　the
desert；　she　seemed　to　hear　it。　And　it　was　the　cry　of　her　own　voice。　It
was　the　cry　of　the　voice　of　her　own　soul。　Startled；　she　lifted　her
face　from　her　hands　and　listened。　She　did　not　look　out　at　the　tent
door；　but　she　saw　the　moonlight　falling　upon　the　matting　that　was
spread　upon　the　sand　within　the　tent；　and　she　repeated；　〃Love
watchethLove　watchethLove　watcheth；〃　moving　her　lips　like　the
child　who　reads　with　difficulty。　Then　came　the　thought；　〃I　am
watching。〃

The　passion　of　personal　anger　had　died　away　as　suddenly　as　it　had
come。　She　felt　numb　and　yet　excited。　She　leaned　forward　and　once　more
laid　her　face　in　her　hands。

〃Love　watchethI　am　watching。〃　Then　a　momentthen〃God　is　watching
me。〃

She　whispered　the　words　over　again　and　again。　And　the　numbness　began
to　pass　away。　And　the　anger　was　dead。　Always　she　had　felt　as　if　she
had　been　led　to　Africa　for　some　definite　end。　Did　not　the　freed
negroes；　far　out　in　the　Desert；　sing　their　song　of　the　deeper
mysteries〃No　one　but　God　and　I　knows　what　is　in　my　heart〃？　And　had
not　she　heard　it　again　and　again；　and　each　time　with　a　sense　of　awe？
She　had　always　thought　that　the　words　were　wonderful　and　beautiful。
But　she　had　thought　that　perhaps　they　were　not　true。　She　had　said　to
Androvsky　that　he　knew　what　was　in　her　heart。　And　now；　in　this　night；
in　its　intense　stillness；　close　to　the　man　who　for　so　long　had　not
dared　to　pray　but　who　now　was　praying；　again　she　thought　that　they
were　not　quite　true。　It　seemed　to　her　that　she　did　not　know　what　was
in　her　heart；　and　that　she　was　waiting　there　for　God　to　come　and　tell
her。　Would　He　come？　She　waited。　Patience　entered　into　her。

The　silence　was　long。　Night　was　travelling；　turning　her　thoughts　to　a
distant　world。　The　moon　waned；　and　a　faint　breath　of　wind　that　was
almost　cold　stole　over　the　sands；　among　the　graves　in　the　cemetery；　to
the　man　and　the　woman　who　were　keeping　vigil　upon　their　knees。　The
wind　died　away　almost　ere　it　had　risen；　and　the　rigid　silence　that
precedes　the　dawn　held　the　desert　in　its　grasp。　And　God　came　to　Domini
in　the　silence；　Allah　through　Allah's　garden　that　was　shrouded　still
in　the　shadows　of　night。　Once；　as　she　journeyed　through　the　roaring　of
the　storm；　she　had　listened　for　the　voice　of　the　desert。　And　as　the
desert　took　her　its　voice　had　spoken　to　her　in　a　sudden　and　magical
silence；　in　a　falling　of　the　wind。　Now；　in　a　more　magical　silence；　the
voice　of　God　spoke　to　her。　And　the　voice　of　the　desert　and　of　God　were
as　one。　As　she　knelt　she　heard　God　telling　her　what　was　in　her　heart。
It　was　a　strange　and　passionate　revelation。　She　trembled　as　she　heard。
And　sometimes　she　was　inclined　to　say；　〃It　is　not　so。〃　And　sometimes
she　was　afraid；　afraid　of　what　thisall　this　that　was　in　her　heart
would　lead　her　to　do。　For　God　told　her　of　a　strength　which　she　had　not
known　her　heart　possessed；　whichso　it　seemed　to　hershe　did　not
wish　it　to　possess；　of　a　strength　from　which　something　within　her
shrank；　against　which　something　within　her　protested。　But　God　would
not　be　denied。　He　told　her　she　had　this　strength。　He　told　her　that　she
must　use　it。　He　told　her　that　she　would　use　it。　And　she　began　to
understand　something　of　the　mystery　of　the　purposes　of　God　in　relation
to　herself；　and　to　understand；　with　it；　how　closely　companioned　even
those　who　strive　after　efface