"One moment, I pray of you," Kaspar said in Turkish to the jailor. Then in Armenian, "Let us bid each other farewell." "Not so," Thomassian answered, smiling. "It is not worth while, we shall meet so soon with joy in the presence of our Lord." As they went forth, John Grayson thought once more of the last words he had heard his father say, "The dark river turns to light." It was the morning of Christmas Day, 1895. Chapter XVII A GREAT CRIME "The clinging children at their mother's knee Slain; and the sire and kindred one by one Flayed or hewn piecemeal; and things nameless done Not to be told: while imperturbably The nations gaze, where Rhine unto the sea, Where Seine and Danube, Thames and Tiber run, And where great armies glitter in the sun, And great kings rule, and man is boasted free!" --_"The Purple East," by William Watson._ Meanwhile, over the crowd of anxious hearts the Mission House sheltered, the sad days went slowly by. Shushan's fears for her husband could find no relief, and they were intensified by apprehensions about her father, of whose state disquieting rumours reached her. Her entreaties prevailed on Miss Celandine to send a couple of her zaptiehs to ascertain the truth. The zaptiehs brought back word that Boghos Meneshian was dying, and prayed that his daughter might be allowed to come to him, in order that he might give her his blessing. Miss Celandine sent her accordingly, in the charge of a trusted Armenian servant, and with a guard of four zaptiehs. This was early on the morning of Saturday, the 28th of December. She was left by her escort at the house of the Selferians, where her father had been staying, and was still supposed to be. The zaptiehs promised to return for her in an hour. The Armenian said he would be close at hand; he was going to see a friend in a neighbouring house. "Oh, my dear Oriort Shushan," said Hanum Selferian, hurrying to meet her, "in the name of God, what brings you here?" Shushan looked at her in amazement. "I have come to see my father," she said. "How is he?" "Well enough, I suppose. He went to the Vartonians, cured, with your mother, Mariam Hanum, about a week ago." "Thank God!" said Shushan, drawing a long breath of relief. "They told me he was dying." "_Who_ told you such a story, my dear? He is dying as much as we all are, no more." Shushan felt surprised and uneasy, though she did not yet know, perhaps she was destined never to know, that she was the victim of a plot. "It may be," she said, a shadow crossing her face, "that they told me wrong about the house. I ought to go to my cousins." "What? through the streets? You cannot--not even if my husband went with you. Besides, if the zaptiehs should come back, and find you gone? No, Oriort Shushan; this is what we will do--my husband will go to the Vartonians, and, if possible, bring your father to see you here." "I like not to take him from his work, Josephine Hanum."