I can quite believe it,
I answered. I can believe anything. Leo, I say that we are but gnats meshed in a web, and yonder Khania is the spider and Simbri the Shaman guards the net. But tell me all you remember of what has happened to you, and be quick, for I do not know how long they may leave us alone.
Well,
he said, of course I remember our arrival at that Gate after the lady and the old man had pulled us out of the river, and, Horace, talking of spiders reminds me of hanging at the end of that string of yak's hide. Not that I need much reminding, for I am not likely to forget it. Do you know I cut the rope because I felt that I was going mad, and wished to die sane. What happened to you? Did you slip?
No; I jumped after you. It seemed best to end together, so that we might begin again together.
Brave old Horace!
he said affectionately, the tears starting to his grey eyes.
Well, never mind all that,
I broke in; you see you were right when you said that we should get through, and we have. Now for your tale.
It is interesting, but not very long,
he answered, colouring. I went to sleep, and when I woke it was to find a beautiful woman leaning over me, and Horace—at first I thought that it was—you know who, and that she kissed me; but perhaps it was all a dream.
It was no dream,
I answered. I saw it.
I am sorry to hear it—very sorry. At any rate there was the beautiful woman—the Khania—for I saw her plenty of times afterwards, and talked to her in my best modern Greek—by the way, Ayesha knew the old Greek; that's curious.
She knew several of the ancient tongues, and so did other people. Go on.
Well, she nursed me very kindly, but, so far as I know, until last night there was nothing more affectionate, and I had sense enough to refuse to talk about our
