As soon as Daniel arrived at the Residency next morning he sent a message to Lord Blair, asking that he might see him. He had hardly slept at all during the night, and his haggard face showed the ravages of his emotion.

Lying on his bed upon the rocks above his camp, he had striven to examine the entire situation with an impartial mind; and he would not admit that his philosophy had failed him. His reason strove to assert itself, and to quell the tumult of his tortured heart; and again and again he reminded himself that there was no such thing as sorrow of the soul. It was only his body that was miserable; and could he but manage to identify himself with the spiritual aspect of his entity, the pain of the material world would be forgotten in the serenity of his spirit. This was a first principle of his philosophy; and yet it seemed now to be utterly beyond his attainment.

“I could not believe in a merciful God,” he thought to himself, “unless I believed that He had placed within the reach of every man the means to overcome sorrow. Therefore the means must be at hand, if only I can take hold of them.”

And again: “My reason, my soul, is unconquerable. It stands above my miserable body. If only I can look at this disaster with the calm eyes of the spirit, I shall get the victory over the wretched torment of my heart.”

In itself the actual quarrel with Muriel had presented no insuperable obstacle to their relationship. Had the trouble been an isolated incident, it would not have been difficult for them to have kissed and made friends; but Daniel realized that the differences between them had been growing for some time, and for many days now it had seemed clear to him that Muriel was too chained in the prison of her class ever to understand the freedom of the desert. He despaired of her; yet he loved her so deeply that their estrangement was, beyond all words, terrible to him.

While he waited in his room for Lord Blair’s reply, he paced to and fro; and in his weary brain the battle which had raged all night came ever nearer to a definite issue.

“I must get away from it all,” he kept saying to himself. “I must go back to the desert, for only there shall I find peace.”

At length a servant came to him, saying that Lord Blair would receive him; and thereat he betook himself to the Great Man’s study, his impulsive mind made up on the instant and eager to meet his destiny.

“Why, what is the matter, Daniel?” Lord Blair asked, as he entered the room. “You looked troubled.”

“I am more than troubled,” said Daniel. “I’m in despair. It’s about Muriel: I’m afraid we’ve had a definite quarrel.”

Lord Blair wiggled in his chair, apparently with annoyance, though possibly with nothing more than an itch.

“Ah—a lovers’ tiff ...,” he commented; but Daniel stopped him with a gesture.

“No, it’s a total estrangement,” he said, fiercely. “It’s been growing gradually, and now there’s nothing to be done. I’ve come to give you my resignation. I’m going back to El HamrÂn.”

Lord Blair suddenly sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on his friend, the tips of his fingers touching the edge of the table as though some movement had been arrested. “My dear Daniel,” he said at last, and he spoke sharply, “control yourself! This is an absurd situation.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Daniel replied, “you think I’m just a fool in love, who’s going off in a huff. No, that’s not it. I want to go because I’ve lost my happiness since I’ve been in Cairo: I’m utterly out of tune with the people I meet. Why, yesterday at the Cavillands’ I could feel myself being a boor and a bore. I couldn’t laugh.... Yes, that’s it; since I’ve been amongst all these witty people I’ve forgotten how to laugh. Good God!—I hav’n’t smiled for weeks. Out there in the desert, when my mind was at peace, I was always full of laughter; I was always chuckling to myself, just from sheer light-heartedness or whatever you like to call it. But here my heart’s in my boots, and I’m blue all day long. I can’t even whistle.”

“I think—indeed, I am sure—you are taking things too seriously,” said Lord Blair.

“You’re right,” Daniel answered, quickly, interrupting him. “The gay life makes me painfully serious; this fashionable stuff fills me with gloom. It’s all this blasted chase after amusement, this immense preoccupation with the surface of things, that gives me the hump. You see, to my way of thinking, light-heartedness only comes from a tranquil sort of mind. It’s something deep inside oneself; one doesn’t get it from outside—though, on the other hand, outside things do certainly obscure one’s inner vision. Real happiness—not just pleasure—seems to be absolutely essential to life and to all human relations. It’s the key to diplomacy. You’ve got to see the fun of things, you’ve got to bubble inside with happiness before you can really govern or be governed. You’ve got to be the exact opposite of sinister, and nearly the opposite of solemn, before you can get any punch into your dealings with your fellow men, don’t you think? And how, in God’s name, can one be happy unless there is the right mental atmosphere of truth, and sincerity, and trust, and benevolence, and broad understanding?”

He spoke with intensity, and the movement of his hands added expression to his words.

“But do you realize,” said Lord Blair, “what an immense, what an unqualified success your work here has been? And now you would throw it all up just because a chit of a girl has annoyed you.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Daniel replied. “I might have been able to ignore all this miserable Society business; but when Muriel and I grew fond of one another I was drawn into it. And then, gradually, I began to see that that was her world. At first I hoped she would be the buffer between me and that world, and a non-conductor, so to speak, but I find that she transmits the shocks to me direct.”

He told Lord Blair something of the more tangible trouble between them, but he would not reveal all the bitter yearning of his heart. He might have said “I love her, I want her to be wholly mine, I want her to come over to my way of thinking so that I can show her where real happiness is to be found.” He might have said “I am distracted by her, and I want to go away to forget her dear eyes, and the touch of her lips, and the intoxication of her personality.” But on these matters he was silent.

As he talked his mind was filled with a passionate desire for the peace of the desert. He was like a monk, longing for the refuge of his quiet monastery walls; and he seemed to hear in his heart the gentle voice of the wilderness calling to him to come back into the sweet smiling solitude, away from the sorrows of the superficial world.

“I must go back to El HamrÂn,” he said. “I beg you not to stop me.”

Lord Blair looked at him with pity. He was in the presence of an emotion which he could not altogether understand, but the reality of which was very apparent. “There must be no question,” he said, “of your resignation. Go away for a time, if you wish, but you mustn’t play the deserter.”

An idea had suddenly come into his head, and he turned to Daniel with relief in his anxious eyes. “Now listen to me,” he said. “Go back to El HamrÂn: I can send you there on business.”

He hunted about amongst his papers, and presently produced the memorandum which Benifett Bindane had handed to him. “Here are some matters upon which Mr. Bindane desires information before he starts his tour of the Oases in three or four weeks’ time. You can send your answers in to him on his arrival at El Homra; and after that you can wait at El HamrÂn in case he comes there. After that I won’t hurry you to return: I can give you leave of absence. And then, when your mind is more settled you can come back here. The winter season will be over, and what you call ‘Society’ will have left the country for the summer.”

Daniel fell in with the suggestion gladly. “You are very patient with me,” he said. “I don’t deserve it: I feel I’m being very cranky.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” the elder man replied, and his sincerity was apparent. But he was much startled when Daniel asked if he might leave at once.

“Today?” he exclaimed, in surprise.

“Yes, now,” said Daniel, emphatically. “There are practically no outstanding matters. I can put Lestrange wise about everything in ten minutes.”

Lord Blair looked at him, curiously. “Muriel won’t be back from Mena House until this evening,” he said. “Don’t you want to see her before you go?”

“No,” he replied, quickly and decisively, rising to go, “I have nothing to say to her.”

Lord Blair sighed as they walked to the door. “Daniel,” he said, “all this is a great blow to me.”

Thus it came about that an hour after Daniel had arrived at the Residency he was on his way back to the desert, his teeth set, and his brain occupied, by force of will, with his plans. He did not dare to look into the future: he was going, as a sick man goes to an operation, to find by a path of pain the health of mind that he had lost. Perhaps he would return to the Residency; perhaps he would not; but for the present it was of paramount importance that he should master his complaint, and regain the power to see clearly, the power to work happily, the power to laugh.

By mid-afternoon his camp was struck, and he was ready to depart. A camel-owner in the village of Kafr-el-HarÂm, near the Pyramids, had supplied the necessary camels and men at a moment’s notice, hastened by the enthusiasm of Hussein and his brother, both overjoyed at the good fortune which was to take them so suddenly back to their home. Some of the tents and the unnecessary articles of furniture had been stored in the village at the house of a native friend; and the remainder were packed upon the camels.

As the afternoon shadows were lengthening the start was made. The camels, grumbling and complaining, lurched to their feet; the three dogs, barking with excitement, ran in circles around the company; and Daniel, swinging into his saddle, took his place at the head of the caravan. In single file, and at a slow trot, they moved away westwards, their long shadows stretching out behind them; and soon they had disappeared into the waste of sand and rocks, golden in the light of the descending sun.

An hour later the picnic party, coming back from a point to the south, rode towards the Pyramids. Muriel had been very silent all day; but Kate, who was in her confidence, had helped her to conceal her depression, and now was riding by her side, a little removed from the others. The desert had had a soothing influence upon the raw wound which the quarrel of the previous day had inflicted; and Muriel was already somewhat happier in her mind.

“Don’t you worry, old girl,” said Kate. “Men have got to be managed, and you’ll soon put things ship-shape in the morning.”

“But the morning is so far off,” Muriel replied, pathetically.

She did not altogether understand what the trouble was about. Daniel had attacked her so suddenly, just when she had been wholly engaged in attacking him. So far as she could make out, he had been angry with her because she had made a fuss about his relationship with Lizette. “I suppose,” she thought to herself, “he thinks a woman oughtn’t to question a man’s movements, or know anything about what he is doing when he is not with her. It doesn’t seem fair somehow....”

She did not in the least realize that Daniel’s hostility had been aroused by her belief that there was anything between him and Lizette, and by her readiness, in spite of that belief, to overlook his supposed deception as soon as she had vented her feelings by a brief show of temper. She felt that he had been harsh, and rather brazen about the whole thing; and yet, so greatly did she yearn for his love, she was prepared to forgive even his brutality.

She turned to her companion. “I don’t think I can wait till the morning,” she said. “I’m going to ride over to his camp now, and say I’m sorry. It’s only a mile out of the way, and I’ll be home almost as soon as you.”

Kate was sympathetic. “Go on, then,” she replied. “I’ll hint to the others that you’ve got a stomach-ache or something, and have ridden on. And let me see more colour in that old mug of yours when you get back.”

She leant forward in her saddle, and struck her companion’s horse with her cane, so that he went off at a gallop across the sand.

Bearing off to the left, Muriel soon described the head of rock which overlooked the camp; but approaching it thus from the south she knew that the tents would not come into view until she had rounded this ridge.

She had no idea what she was going to say. She thought only that she would go into his tent, where she would probably find him writing at his table; and she would put her arms about him, and tell him that she could not live under his displeasure.

At last she reached the rocks; and, as she rode round them, she drew up her reins and prepared to dismount. Then, with horrible suddenness, the truth was, as it were flung at her. Where she had thought to see the tents, there was only a patch of broken-up sand, a few bits of paper and straw, and innumerable footprints.

She uttered a little cry of dismay, and, with wide, frightened eyes, gazed about her. The footprints of the camels passed in a thin line out to the west, and she could see them winding away into the silent desert.