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 A great joy flooded the heart of Mes'oodeh, for she thought she had not failed in the task which she had set herself to do. But as suddenly as happiness was born to her, it was crushed back into death, for one morning Andrea awakened to full consciousness. The past blazed out before him in as startling detail as though cast upon a screen.

Mes'oodeh bent over him, and lowered her lovely face to his.

"Kiss me," she breathed with half-closed lips.

A look of intense surprize came into the eyes of Andrea Giovanni. "You know not what you speak!" he cried.

"Kiss me," repeated Mes'oodeh languorously.

Andrea closed his eyes. "I can not," he said wistfully. "My life is consecrated to God and the Church."

At his words a terrible fury convulsed the face of Mes'oodeh as she realized that he was slipping from her. For one brief moment her expression was a mirror reflecting her true character. She threw back her head and laughed in a jarring, mirthless manner that seemed to strike a discordant note in the wondrous peace anthem of the desert.

"God?" she sneered. "God? Of what use is this God of whom you speak? It was I who saved your life when you were lost in the desert, not God. It is the material which sets the balance of life. The spiritual has no weight."

Abruptly she arose and walked with heavy step out into the desert. She felt as though her brain were bursting with hatred, hatred of the religion which held Andrea away from her, and as she walked slowly among the sand dunes she realized that she had lost, that for the first time she had failed utterly.

It was evening before she returned, and now all trace of anger seemed to have left her, leaving a soul saddened by the weight of her sorrow.

She poured a cup of water from the goatskin bag.

"Poor Andrea," she murmured as she held it toward him. "For the first time since we have been together I have neglected you."

With trembling hand he took the cup to his burning lips and drained it to the last drop. A few moments later he fell into a fitful sleep from which he did not awaken until far into the night. The moon had risen when he again opened his eyes and the whole desert seemed splashed with silver. By his side sat Mes'oodeh, crooning a desert love-song which floated weirdly upon the intense solitude.

Andrea lifted himself upon his elbow. "Water," he gasped. "Water. My body seems as dry as though I had been eating sun-scorched sand."

Mes'oodeh held up her lips.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

"Water," he gasped. "Water."

The desert woman laughed harshly. "Let your God bring you water," she jeered. "Truly he would not turn a deaf ear to the prayer of his humblest servant."

She placed her full-red lips to his ear.

"Do you know that you are dying?" she said. "Can your God save you now that I have poisoned you? I emptied three drops of a certain Eastern drug into the water I gave you to drink, from which no power in heaven or earth can save you. The Berbers call the liquid soul-poison because, although it kills, no trace of it can ever be found in the body of the dead."

As Mes'oodeh spoke Andrea closed his eyes and his head slipped back to the sand. So still he lay, for the moment she thought he was dead. But finally he opened his dreamer's eyes and gazed into her face. In his expression there was no