The Seller of Rugs
The major had called him a caravaneer, and a caravan had taken Donovan Khan away. To the hills.
The events of the day had tired her; the continued absence of her father filled her with misgivings. Monsey had proposed to her on the lagoon; and, as he spoke, her dislike of the man had grown upon her, as at Quebec.
He had said that he loved her, needed her. Her refusal seemed to affect him strongly. His savage anger at her words had aroused Edith's rebellious spirit.
Drowsily Edith smiled at her own musing and fell into a troubled sleep. Vivid dreams thronged in upon her.
Visions of the splendors of the carpets of Iskander ibn Tahir passed before her unconscious eyes. The white-garmented Arab salaamed to her, rising abruptly, after the manner of dreams, from the piles of his own goods. Then Iskander's swarthy face grew black—as black as the storm clouds that passed over the city of the hills.
The Arab seized her in an iron clasp. Edith had the tormenting sensation, familiar in a nightmare, of wanting to cry out and of being unable to utter a sound. Quite as a matter of course the veranda of the bungalow faded from her vision and the bare slopes of the Himalayan foothills took its place. The carpets of Iskander lay stretched before her, and each one seemed to be a shroud.
Edith, still held by the Arab's remorseless hand, stared at the carpets. Under them veiled forms lay motionless. She felt very helpless.
Then she saw the sharp face of Monsey, smiling at her in friendly fashion. Again, the girl tried to articu-
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