The Pledge is Broken
Hereupon the Arab caught the other's hand and pressed it to his forehead. "Nay, Dono-van Khan," he said softly, "you are the sun of my world."
"And the mem-sahib Rand, Iskander—she is to be my wife. If there is a fight at the Tower—and there will be—she will be in danger. I must reach her first. Give me time, Iskander, before you attack Monsey. A little time will be enough."
The Arab's muscular hand plucked at his beard.
"The woman beloved of Dono-van Khan is dear to me as she who was the star of my life. What I may do, I will do. Yet the fury of the Sayaks is like to a torrent and who can stay the course of a torrent?" He lifted somber eyes to the tense face of the young Englishman. "Sahib, we are all under the hand of God."
"It is enough." Donovan smiled, his tired eyes quizzical. He knew that he would need to ride a horse to death to be at the Tower before the Sayaks. "Then I will go alone, Iskander."
"With God," said the Arab sententiously. They passed out together.
In the path by the lake shore Iskander halted with a warning gesture. He could hear footsteps following them. A shadowy figure, bulky and clumsy, was outlined against the silvery-gray glimmer of the lake.
"Aravang," said Donovan.
Throughout the night the servant of Edith Rand dogged the heels of John Donovan, not letting the Englishman from his sight. His broad, good-natured face wore a harassed look, and from time to time he muttered to himself uneasily. When the white man mounted one of the Sayak horses, Aravang promptly laid hold of the stirrup, and trotted silently beside him.
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