A VEIL IS DRAWN
Edith gazed at the apparition in bewildered surprise. The splendor of
the flooding color had taken away her breath. She did not understand
how the old priest, motionless in the stream of light, could survive
the heat. But his aged face was tranquil.
A murmur rose from the throng; dark eyes shone. Then the vapor and the
temple itself were plunged in semidarkness. The aperture in the dome
had been closed. Edith could no longer see the priest.
Following an interval of quiet, came the rustle of many bare feet as
the Sayaks began to pass out of the mosque. Now that her eyes were more
accustomed to the dim light Edith could see them gathering up their
prayer rugs.
Her quick mind had caught the explanation of the radiant color of the
vapor clouds. It could have been nothing less than a rainbow. Light,
from the opening in the dome, had fallen upon the steam and gathered
strength until the clouds of moisture reflected the prismatic coloring
of the rainbow.
But the performance of the _hadji_ was still beyond her understanding.
"It is a ritual," whispered Donovan, who had drawn nearer in the
shadow, "that occurs only two or three times in a summer. Then the
priest of Yakka Arik steps into that confounded steam. It does not harm
him."
"Why?"
He hesitated, unwilling to explain further, but anxious not to reveal
to her his growing anxiety.
"You chose a bad time to come here, Edith. It is what the Sayaks call
'the miracle of life.' This mosque is their holy spot. The spring
underneath has a good deal of sanctity attached to it. Some old legend,
you know. Just at noon the sun pierces the hole in the roof."
"It was beautiful," she murmured. "But to see the hadji--it gave me the
creeps."
Within, the gloom of the vast mosque weighed upon the two. Edith found
herself gazing from shadow to shadow fearfully and listening for
footsteps that she fancied were moving toward them. Impulsively she
stepped to his side and took his hand, surprised to find it so chill.
"Are we in such danger?" she whispered. Then: "You came to find me."
This thought filled the woman with mute delight. She wanted him to
understand that she, also, had been thinking of him. "I believed the
_hadji_ would help us if I told him everything----"
The dome opened again, letting the ray of sunlight stream into the
depths of the temple. They had heard no movement, nor had they seen
the hands that worked the aperture. Donovan's hand closed on hers
protectingly as her eyes sought him shyly, seeing in his cleancut
profile the gentleness and honesty of his race.
"Dear Edith, you must understand. The Sayaks are not ordinary
Mohammedans, but are outlawed by the orthodox followers of the Prophet.
They are preyed upon by Turk, Alaman, and Buddhist----"
"Why?"
"They worship the sun."
Edith was silent, thinking of the ray of light that had descended upon
the priest, and the praying throngs that had raised their eyes to it.
"The _hadji_ is their saint, Edith. And they have carefully concealed
the location of his temple from their enemies----"
She saw that while he spoke he was watching the folds of the heavy
curtain that hung behind the vapor. Seeing this, she felt an impulse to
turn and flee from the mosque that seemed to be closing in upon them.
"We know--both of us, now," he went on quietly, "the secret of Yakka
Arik. And every fanatical _mullah_ from Constantinople to Kashgar would
willingly lose his fingers and eyes if he could help tear down this
temple of the sun--older than San Sophia, and a thorn in the side of
Moslem political power----"
The curtain folds swayed, as if a breath of air had stirred them.
The voices outside the entrance quickened and Edith had the fleeting
sensation of being encompassed in a trap. She pressed close to the man,
who smiled down at her.
"We'll make it, yet. Come, Edith."
The voices of the worshipers in the court were no longer to be heard.
Edith could not help glancing behind her as they started from the
shelter of the pillars. She had fancied that the curtains had parted,
drawn back by a hand from within.
"How did you follow me?" she asked gently, wishing to hear from his own
lips why he had sought her.
"Aravang. Don't fear that he will give you away. He lost track of you
and became worried. He hunted me up. I knew if that beggar couldn't
find you something must be wrong. Then we learned from an Usbek peasant
that he had seen a Sayak woman come from the house----"
Abruptly he thrust her back.
"Iskander and two others have come in," he whispered sharply. "Edith,
go back to the wall. Hide."
The girl, her heart beating tumultuously, lost no time in slipping back
into the shadow of the wall. A slight projection of the granite blocks
offered a shallow nook for her slender body.
John Donovan waited, while Iskander, Mahmoud, and another--the Sayak
chief--approached. They had seen him and advanced to where he stood.
Iskander fronted him with folded arms. To the white man's greeting he
returned no answer.
"Where is Mees Rand?" he asked slowly.
Donovan eyed him steadily, trying to guess how the Arab had come to
look for the girl and how much he knew of her actions. The presence of
Mahmoud and the chieftain was ominous. Still, he was reasonably sure
that Edith's disguise had not been penetrated. For a space the two
measured each other silently.
Behind them the folds of the great curtain parted.
"Where is the white woman?" said Iskander again.
Donovan shrugged. "Does not Aravang know?"
"He knows nothing." The Arab tugged at his beard, as was his habit when
aroused. "Speak, Dono-van Khan. I know that she is here. The guards at
the door brought me a pair of woman's slippers, left behind when all
had gone. I have seen the slippers before. They belong to Mees Rand."
Listening in her nook a dozen feet away, Edith thought of the pair
she had discarded at the gate. Why had she not kept them on? She had
instinctively followed the example set by the Sayak boy.
"The door is guarded," observed the _manaps_ softly. "And there is but
one door. If you do not summon the woman, we will find her."
Donovan weighed the alternatives swiftly and made up his mind. "Edith!"
he called, from set lips.
It was hard for Edith to step from her place of concealment to face the
three Sayaks. But she trusted John Donovan.
When she neared the Arab, he tore the veil from her face with his
free hand, and scrutinized the native garb of the girl, and his eyes
narrowed.
"You came secretly," he said slowly. "You were here during the festival
of the sun."
"I was here," she said boldly.
The admission seemed to surprise the two others when it was translated
to them. For a moment they stared at her. Then they conferred among
themselves. John Donovan stood a little apart, waiting. To Edith the
situation seemed not so very serious because the four men were so calm.
She now heartily regretted her foolishness in disobeying Donovan. She
wondered why he was so silent. Surely he could speak, assure the Sayaks
that she had not meant to spy upon their secrets!
Iskander addressed Donovan in the native tongue:
"O Dono-van Khan, this is a woman of your people. You know the law.
Perhaps you will think it wise to leave the mosque rather than remain."
Donovan stiffened; but he answered quietly:
"I shall remain."
"So be it. Yet, it is not wise. She is very fair. Why should you see
her die?"
At this a short sigh escaped Donovan, the only sign that he had had his
gravest fear confirmed.
"Is this the will of Mahmoud?"
"Aye." The _hakim_ answered for himself. "Iskander would have let the
woman go safely from the mosque, under a pledge of silence. But I have
read the hearts of many women. I know that their tongues cannot be
silenced."
"Yet I am free to go."
"That is the truth. But you we need. Likewise, it is written that a
strong man is faithful to his word. We have no fear that you will voice
the secrets of others."
Edith glanced from one to the other, trying to read their faces. All
four were speaking quietly, as if discussing some small matter of
common interest. Donovan knew that only in persuading the Sayaks to
change their minds was there hope for Edith.
It was the Sayak chief who spoke harshly.
"The task of the woman is finished now that she has healed Dono-van
Khan. Nay, it was Mahmoud, the all-wise, who lifted the shadow of
sickness from your body. The woman did her share, as we intended. Now,
she is useless and we will slay her, because she entered where it is
forbidden."
"Aye," agreed Iskander moodily. "She is young, and her hair is like the
light of the sun as was that of my child. We will not set her upon the
caravan. Besides, she is a white woman, and it is best her body should
not be seen--without."
Edith touched Donovan timidly on the arm.
"What are they saying, Donovan Khan? I want to know. They seem to
be--angry."
By way of answer he patted her hand gently. His alert blue eyes
searched the faces of the Sayaks, as a condemned criminal might
endeavor to read the faces of a jury, assembling to announce a verdict.
"A spy from without must die," added Mahmoud. He placed a withered
hand on the chest of the white man. "Do not grieve: a grave is dug for
each of us, and we must lie therein. The woman will feel no pain."