Page:Harold Lamb--The House of the Falcon.djvu/33

 By degrees that seemed to Edith infinitely slow the grasp on her shoulders tightened and she was drawn up. Above her the stars danced in a maze of light and a dozen moons circled the sky.

She was standing again in the grass, well back from the edge, Monsey's arms around her, and his face peering into hers. "Thank you," she heard herself saying quite calmly. "I was very foolish" She drew away, leaning against the cannon for support.

"It was my kismet," he nodded, "that I should be of aid to you. Now you will not forget the dance at Srinagar. I must see you again." His voice, always low, was little more than a whisper. "Because I shall not live until then."

Edith was repeating to herself that he had saved her life. He had acted promptly, at great risk to himself. The man seemed to think only of her.

Yet, even while thanking him, Edith was conscious of a strong feeling of aversion. More than his, last words offended her. The young girl was sensitive to impressions. Something, perhaps, that she had seen in his face repelled her.

When she returned to her room Edith glanced through the letters that Monsey had given back to her, a note from a school chum, invitations. One missive caught her attention. It was a single sheet of blue paper, and the envelope from which it came had already been opened. On the blue sheet several lines of meaningless characters peered at her.

"How strange!" Edith whistled softly, a habit of hers when puzzled.

The odd lettering was very neat—pothooks, dashes, and scrolls, all following each other in regular