A momentary red rushed
to his cheek, and his eyes flashed. Boris, tongue out, tail wagging,
rubbed against him, and the master's hand dropped between the
speaking eyes with a swift caress.
"Good dog! You came with her!"
"And I. Am I not also a good dog?" asked The Jinnee, jealously.
Mr. Jelnik's reply I did not understand, but Achmet made a
respectful salutation, and his grin was the grin of a little boy.
"Sophy!" said Nicholas Jelnik, and his voice shook, "Sophy! Oh, I
knew you would come!" He gave a low, pleased laugh. "And now she is
here, she doesn't even ask why I have sent for her!"
"The mistress," said Achmet, "should have been of the Faith. May
Allah enlighten her!"
"Sit down here beside me for a few minutes, Sophy, and rest," said
Mr. Jelnik, seating himself. "And do not look so pale, my little
comrade."
"I thought--that you might be ill," I faltered. "I thought--that you
needed me."
"I am not ill, but I do need you," he said quickly, and took my hand
in a firm clasp. The touch of that hand brought me out of my
trance-like state. It was all right, and the most natural thing in
the world, that I should be sitting in this windowless vault, with
two candles and a shadowy lantern burning dimly in the still air, an
old black Jinnee squatting on his heels watching me, a great
wolf-hound stretched beside him.
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