Her unexpected spirit was briefly disconcerting. The Turk looked down upon her in arrested irony and then he smiled beneath his mustaches and bent nearer with kindling gaze. "Not at all--nothing at all like that, little dove with talons. I want sweetness and repentance--and submission. And--" "You have a strange way to win them," she said desperately. "You have taken a strange way with me, my love! Little did I foresee, when I escorted you up the stairs this morning--" He broke off. "There are men," he reminded her, "who would not consider a cold bath as a complete recompense for your bridal plans." She was silent. "But I," he murmured, "I am soft hearted." He dropped on one knee before her and tried to smile into her averted face. "I can never resist a charming penitent.... I assure you I am pliability itself in delicate fingers--although iron and steel to a threatening hand.... If you should woo me very sweetly, little one--" She could not overcome and she could not hide from his mocking eyes the sick shrinking that drew her back from his least touch. But she did fight down the wild hysteria of her repugnance so that her voice was not the trembling gasp it wanted to be. "How can I know what you are?" she told him. "You mock me--you threaten to torture that man--it would be folly not to think that you are deceiving me. If you would only prove to me so that I could believe--" "If you would but prove to _me_ so that _I_ could believe--! Prove that you are mine--and not that infidel's. Prove that you bring me a wife's devotion--not a wanton's indifference." He caught her cold hands, trying to draw her forward to him. "Prove that you only pity him," he whispered, "but that your love will be mine--" She felt as if a serpent clasped her. And yet, if that were the only way to win Ryder's safety--if it were possible for her sickened senses to allay this madman's suspicions and undermine his revenge-- Quiveringly she thought that to save Ryder she would go through fire. But the hideous, mocking uncertainties! Her utter helplessness--her lost deference.... It was not a sudden sound that broke in upon them but rather the perception of many sounds, muffled, half heard, but gaining upon their consciousness. Running feet--a stifled voice--something faint and shrill-- Aimée sprang to her feet; the general rose with her and turned his head inquiringly in the direction. Then he jerked open the door through which Fatima had disappeared; it led to a dark service corridor and small anteroom, from whose bed the attendant was absent. An outer door was ajar. No need to question the sounds now. Faint, but piercingly shrill shrieks were sounding from above, while the footsteps were racing, some down, some up-- The bey flung shut the door behind him and hurried towards the confusion. CHAPTER XX BEYOND THE DOOR