But now her wide open eyes fixed upon his brimmed with an agony of appeal.

Innocent of the world's wickedness, she could only sense supreme peril in this mysterious game without understanding the stake.

Momus was not in sight--dead for all she knew--and the desert was an ally against her.

Over her, now, bent a face characteristic of a great spirit, yet one which was coeval with the times--times of violence and the supremacy of force.

His lips were thin, the contour of his face angular at the jaw, the nose straight and long, his brows black and low over dark blue eyes of a fathomless depth, the forehead strongly molded, and marked with deep perpendicular lines between the eyes.