The House of the Falcon
"After all, the mosque is not a safe place for inquisitive young women."
"I will never do anything you forbid again, Donovan 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 tangle of her hair. Edith did not look away. So, Donovan 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 he was trembling.
Edith sat on the small balcony overlooking the valley, chin on hand. Her thoughts strayed willfully. Detail by detail the scene at the mosque repeated itself before her fancy; the impress 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.
"It was some kind of a benediction, I think," she mused.
What had it all been about? Edith was aware that she had been an onlooker at a grim struggle, the meaning of which she would not know until Donovan
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