The Pledge is Broken
had been broken, through no fault of his. Would they understand? If they did not
"Edith's gone," he repeated to himself, "to the Tower. After all, that's what matters."
The certainty of his love returned fourfold and unsettled his reasoning. He could only think of one thing—Edith was gone and he must go after her, but was kept from doing that very thing. He straightened in his chair and spoke to Iskander.
"Send a rider to the ravine behind the mosque to learn what is to be seen there, where the guard stood. Let the rider report here what he has seen."
Before assenting or refusing, the Arab consulted the other Sayaks with a glance. One, a swaggering Afghan whose evil-smelling wool was belted with a priceless sword, rose and left the room.
From the road outside came a clatter of hoofs. Donovan was gazing thoughtfully into the fire. "The white woman has left Yakka Arik," he said.
The faces of the Syraks remained impassive, but all eyes turned at once to him. Iskander, leaning against the wall, played with a gold necklace at his throat.
"You made a pledge," he responded softly.
"I have not broken it, Iskander"
"Speak not in English," warned the Arab, "or these others will suspect and grow angry."
"Bear witness," Donovan slipped easily into Turki, "as to the truth of what I say"
"If it be truth," broke in one harshly. To interrupt a sahib was insolence.
"A fool, out of an empty mind, questions wisdom, and a jackal yelps from a pack." Donovan fastened the surly speaker with his blue eyes. "Have you not
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