I awoke to find myself alone in the tent; Jane was not in bed with me and not in the other part of the tent. I threw a robe on and stepped out into the cold desert night to look for her.

It is a strange thing, but during the daytime the sand is so hot that one cannot ever walk upon it with bare feet, but in the dead of night it has cooled to the point where it almost feels wet against the skin. I love the feeling of sand wrapped around my feet, so as I padded from palm to palm looking for Jane, unwilling to call out lest I woke anyone, I enjoyed the freedom to walk on the sand.

She was by the water, just sitting with her back against a palm and her knees drawn up under her chin. She did not immediately sense my presence and I could see that she had been crying, a single tear gleaming in the moonlight on her cheek. I knew that she was missing England and I had wondered from time to time if she was really happy with me, but I had not seen any indication from her as clear as stealing out into the night to cry.