TOO LATE?
Takvor had graduated and was busily packing his books and other
belongings, preparing to go to the city for a year of hospital
practice, when his landlady entered with a letter. It ran as follows:
CONSTANTINOPLE, 15 June, 189--
Dear Takvor,
To-day Aunt Vartouhi was buried. Last night when she retired,
she seemed perfectly well, but early this morning she awoke with
severe pains, and before medical aid could be called, she died
during a violent spasm. My conscience is troubling me, for I feel
that I may have been in a manner responsible for her death. Not
long ago our neighbor, Hassan Pasha, whom you knew in Ak Hissar as
Badiark, called to renew his proposal for my hand. Aunt Vartouhi
very indignantly rejected it, and the angry pasha threatened us. I
may be doing him a great injustice by leading you to infer that he
poisoned her; but Papasian, the priest who attended the funeral,
shared my suspicions, and believing that I could not safely remain
alone in Kum Kapu, insisted on my going to his home. In a day or
two I shall go to Ak Hissar, and again be with dear old Dede and
Vassinag, whom I have not seen since we left, five years ago. The
spy whom the pasha set to watch me was at the funeral to-day, and
now he is in the street before the house. My greatest fear is that
I may not be able to escape him when I go home. But do not worry,
for Dede will protect me until you come.
As ever, I am yours,
ARMENOUHI.
Takvor read the letter, reread it, and then stood lost in meditation.
Armenouhi’s letters from the school had been filled with such happiness
that a thought of danger to her had never entered his mind. He looked
at the date. The letter was written a week before. He was dazed trying
to think of all the things that might have happened to her since she
wrote. If she continued to resist the pasha, perhaps already she had
suffered the fate of her aunt, or more likely she was an unwilling wife
in a Turkish harem, forever beyond his reach. He took out his watch. It
was nine o’clock. To his landlady’s surprise, he left his boxes half
packed, hurried a few articles into his suit case, announced that he
must make the boat for Calais, and ran to catch the train. How slowly
that express traveled! Several times in his impatience he prepared a
cablegram to Dicran; but convinced that it would not get beyond the
hands of the police, he destroyed it. That night the Oriental Express
was flying with him across Europe to Constantinople.