She wanted freedom, a wide horizon, the great winds, the great sun, the terrible spaces, the glowing, shimmering radiance, the hot, entrancing moons and bloomy, purple nights of Africa.  She wanted the nomad’s fires and the acid voices of the Kabyle dogs.  She wanted the roar of the tom-toms, the dash of the cymbals, the rattle of the negroes’ castanets, the fluttering, painted figures of the dancers.  She wanted—­more than she could express, more than she knew.  It was there, want, aching in her heart, as she drew into her nostrils this strange and wealthy atmosphere.

When Domini returned to her bed she found it impossible to read any more Newman.  The rain and the scents coming up out of the hidden earth of Africa had carried her mind away, as if on a magic carpet.  She was content now to lie awake in the dark.

Domini was thirty-two, unmarried, and in a singularly independent—­some might have thought a singularly lonely—­situation.  Her father, Lord Rens, had recently died, leaving Domini, who was his only child, a large fortune.  His life had been a curious and a tragic one.  Lady Rens, Domini’s mother, had been a great beauty of the gipsy type, the daughter of a Hungarian mother and of Sir Henry Arlworth, one of the most prominent and ardent English Catholics of his day.  A son of his became a priest, and a famous preacher and writer on religious subjects.  Another child, a daughter, took the veil.  Lady Rens, who was not clever, although she was at one time almost universally considered to have the face of a muse, shared in the family ardour for the Church, but was far too fond of the world to leave it.  While she was very young she met Lord Rens, a Lifeguardsman of twenty-six, who called himself a Protestant, but who was really quite happy without any faith.  He fell madly in love with her and, in order to marry her, became a Catholic, and even a very devout one, aiding his wife’s Church by every means in his power, giving large sums to Catholic charities, and working, with almost fiery zeal, for the spread of Catholicism in England.

Unfortunately, his new faith was founded only on love for a human being, and when Lady Rens, who was intensely passionate and impulsive, suddenly threw all her principles to the winds, and ran away with a Hungarian musician, who had made a furor one season in London by his magnificent violin-playing, her husband, stricken in his soul, and also wounded almost to the death in his pride, abandoned abruptly the religion of the woman who had converted and betrayed him.

Domini was nineteen, and had recently been presented at Court when the scandal of her mother’s escapade shook the town, and changed her father in a day from one of the happiest to one of the most cynical, embittered and despairing of men.  She, who had been brought up by both her parents as a Catholic, who had from her earliest years been earnestly educated in the beauties of religion, was now exposed to the almost