“I went on no such errand,” he said with an effort. “I went with a thousand prayers on scarlet paper made in——” “A lie, Yezidee! You came to seize _me_!” He turned still paler. “By Abu, Omar, Otman, and Ali, it is not true!” “You lie!—by the Lion of God, Hassini!” She stepped closer. “And I’ll tell you another thing you fear—you Yezidee of Alamout—you robber of Yian—you sorcerer of Sabbah Khan, and chief of his sect of Assassins! You fear this native land of mine, America; and its laws and customs, and its clear, clean sunshine; and its cities and people; and its police! Take that message back. We Americans fear nobody save the true God!—nobody—neither Yezidee nor Hassani nor Russ nor German nor that sexless monster born of hell and called the Bolshevik!” “Tokhta!” he cried sharply. “Damn you!” retorted the girl; “get out of my room! Get out of my sight! Get out of my path! Get out of my life! Take that to your Master of Mount Alamout! I do what I please; I go where I please; I live as I please. And if I please, _I turn against him_!” “In that event,” he said hoarsely, “there lies your winding-sheet on the floor at your feet! Take up your shroud; and make Erlik seize you!” “Sanang,” she said very seriously. “I hear you, Keuke-Mongol.” “Listen attentively. I wish to live. I have had enough of death in life. I desire to remain a living, breathing thing—even if it be true—as you Yezidees tell me, that you have caught my soul in a net and that your sorcerers really control its destiny. “But damned or not, I passionately desire to live. And I am coward enough to hold my peace for the sake of living. So—I remain silent. I have no stomach to defy the Yezidees; because, if I do, sooner or later I shall be killed. I know it. I have no desire to die for others—to perish for the sake of the common good. I am young. I have suffered too much; I am determined to live—and let my soul take its chances between God and Erlik.” She came close to him, looked curiously into his pale face. “I laughed at you out of the temple cloud,” she said. “I know how to open bolted doors as well as you do. And I know _other things_. And if you ever again come to me in this life I shall first torture you, then slay you. Then I shall tell all!... and unroll my shroud.” “I keep your word of promise until you break it,” he interrupted hastily. “Yarlig! It is decreed!” And then he slowly turned as though to glance over his shoulder at the locked and bolted door. “Permit me to open it for you, Prince Sanang,” said the girl scornfully. And she gazed steadily at the door. Presently, all by itself, the key turned in the lock, the bolt slid back, the door gently opened. Toward it, white as a corpse, his overcoat on his left arm, his stick and top-hat in the other hand, crept the young man in his faultless evening garb.