The House of the Falcon
movement, a gurgle of liquid, and a cup was thrust against her lips.
Edith tasted its contents suspiciously. Then she took the cup and drank. It was good water, rather musty. "Some more," she commanded.
She had emptied the cup a second time before she reflected that some one in the cart must understand English. Edith sat up and looked over her shoulder, hugging the blanket to her.
"Who are you?"
Like the glimmer of a will-o'-the-wisp, the lightning flickered, revealing two huddled shadows on the driver's seat. They had not moved at the question. Her voice rose angrily, almost hysterically.
"Take me back to the major-sahib—at once. You must take me to Srinagar! You must"
A lump rose in her throat. Edith began to cry, overmastered by sheer helplessness.
By degrees the rain ceased. A fresh, cold wind sprang up, shaking the hood of the ekka. The thunder had rolled away, like some sportive, muttering giant betaking himself to distant skies. The blackness around Edith changed to a somber gray. She could make out the cloaked form of her guard, a massive bulk wrapped in sheepskin. She sat up, peering at him.
The scarred face of the native of Baramula met her eyes.
Dawn flooded the interior of the hood suddenly. Edith could hear the twittering of birds near by. And the cart jolted to a halt, while the heavy breathing of spent horses reached her ears.
A voice close at hand was repeating unknown words monotonously, sonorously. The girl stirred her
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