The House of the Falcon
Iskander bowed.
"Then," she went on, "you heard me call to you. Why did you not turn back at once to Srinagar?"
Again the Arab bent his head His aristocratic features were inscrutable.
"I regret," he said, "it could not be."
"You will do it now—at once!"
The gray eyes were tempestuous, the beautiful face flushed. Not many women could have passed through such a night and looked as attractive as Edith Rand. The discreet gaze of the Mohammedan seemed to suggest as much.
"I am sorry," he responded politely, almost absently.
Edith flared into angry scorn. She stormed, threatened, abused. She warned Iskander that Major Fraser-Carnie would most certainly avenge the insult to her. The Arab's dark face was blank under the lash of words. Edith checked herself suddenly, realizing that she was making no progress.
"My father will shoot you for this, Iskander," she said slowly.
The man's brown eyes sought hers curiously.
"A life already has been spent," his voice was stern.
The girl caught her breath, wondering what he meant. Abruptly Iskander stepped from her view and the powerful native climbed back into the cart. A lurch, and the ekka started again upon its course—away from Srinagar.
Throughout tormented hours of a long day Edith was jolted ceaselessly upon the floor of the cart. She lay passive, white-lipped. Resolutely she fought off weariness, determined not to sleep.
It was evening when the cart at last halted again.
60
