Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 had coiled in front of him. Mahmoud sighed. Donovan waited, his tall figure erect, the strap in an open hand. While four men kept silence, the balance of judg- ment was poised. There was no sword in the scales. Then some one spoke: - “The white woman must live.” - They turned, and Edith uttered a cry of surprise. In front of the damask cur- tain stood the priest of Yahka Arik. His haggard face, veiled by a venerable beard, was almost invisible under the loose folds of a white turban. He looked from one to the other and nodded slowly. ‘“T have heard—I have seen.” The chief and Iskander released their weapons. Donovan drew a deep breath. “IT have seen the life of a man offered with that of the woman,” went on the hadjt, his sonorous voice awaking echoes under the dome. ‘A life for a life. It is sufficient. It fulfils the law, which is not alone of revenge, but of mercy.” - Edith fancied that he smiled. “O my foolish children! Did you think that the peace of Yahka Arik and its mosque rested upon the tongue of one weak woman? Let the white man and the wo- man go free from the mosque.” With that he turned, to disappear through the curtain, and the Sayaks bent reverent eyes to the floor. The master of the mosque had spoken. : At the door Iskander touched Donovan on the arm. “Do not forget the pledge,” he whis- pered. ‘‘ Miss Brand must not attempt to leave the valley.” ) “T will not forget,” said Donovan. They found Aravang striding up and down, outside the guards, his broad face harassed. Seeing them he ran forward. “Take the white woman to her house,” commanded Donovan. ‘I must go with the Sayaks. There is much to be done.” Edith, once more in possession of her veil and slippers, lingered. Her eyes sought those of John Donovan. ‘“ Tell me,” she begged. ‘‘ I know we were—in danger.”’ ‘ Perhaps.” He laughed at the proscribed word. ‘“ After all, the mosque is not a safe place for inquisitive young women.” THE ARGOSY. “IT will never do anything you forbid again, Dono-van Khan,” she promised contritely. ‘“‘ Never. What did the hadji say?” ‘“ He said—” Donovan paused. ‘ Well, for a heathen, he said a rather fine thing. Now, you must go with Aravang. Lunch is waiting—”’ “Not,” responded Edith firmly, “ until you assure me that you are perfectly safe. And promise to come right away and tell me everything.” His glance rested long on her anxious face. He wanted to take her in his arms, to feel that she was still whole, to press his lips against the glory of her hair. Edith did not look away. So, Dono-van Khan laughed, just a little unsteadily. ‘““* Everything’ may mean more—than you think,” he whispered. Not until she had passed across the open space with burly Aravang at her heels, both looking back at him more than once where he stood among the Sayaks, did he realize that she was actually safe. Then he turned on his heel and strode to where the Sayaks stood waiting. Edith had no appetite for lunch—a thing that distressed Aravang. She sat on the small balcony overlooking the valley, resting her chin on her hand. Her thoughts strayed wilfully, seeking their own paths. Detail by detail, the scene at the mosque repeated itself before her fancy; the im- press of the light veil still lingered on her limbs; she visioned the flash of Iskander’s melancholy eyes; remembered the tranquil words of the priest—words that she could not understand. . What had it been all about? Edith was aware that she had been a spectator of men employing the full power of aroused per- sonalities in a conflict in which Donovan had emerged victorious. But—so thought the girl—he must have paid some price for his success. Why did he not come? She wanted him to tell her everything. ‘“‘ Everything,” she repeated, and the | watching Aravang saw her face brighten. The sun declined behind the ridge that backed the house. The coolness of its cComicloool C@