Her thoughts made her desperate--and the idea of another attempt to escape came into her head. If she could only reach the street, she could run--and it would be a better race with her pursuer than she had given Hugh in the rose gardens of the Archduke! She made the attempt, quietly opening the door by which she had entered the room and passing on tip-toe down the corridor to the door with the _dutap_. She drew aside the curtain which covered it and noiselessly turned the knob. As she peered out she found herself staring straight into the eyes of Zubeydeh.

The woman's look was cold but full of understanding.

"Does the Fraulein wish anything?" she asked without the slightest change of expression. Her voice was colorless, like the speech which might be expected from a graven image.

"I--I was hungry," stammered Marishka helplessly. "I--I am sorry to bother you."

"If you will return to the room within, I will bring food at once," she said stolidly. And so Marishka, once more balked in her enterprise, went back to the Harim. Strong as she was, armed anew with the sudden strength of desperation, she knew that even if she could use her strength she was no match for this massive creature who, in the _selamlik_ nearby, perhaps had men within call. She went to the windows and peered out into the street. There was no one in sight, except a tall man in black who carried an umbrella. She watched him a moment through the carved screen, but he went up the street and disappeared around a corner. The garden seemed to be deserted. Would the gate to the street be locked? She made an effort to move the lattice of _meshrebiya_, but it was nailed fast to the main wood work of the house. Her case was hopeless. There was nothing to do but wait upon the clemency--the mercy of Captain Goritz. A new idea of her captor was being born in her, of a creature who differed from the courteous German official of Vienna and Agram. His eyes haunted her, the dark eyes set just a little obliquely in his head, a racial peculiarity which she had not been able to identify. She knew now. They were Oriental, like Zubeydeh's, like those of the man at the door below, alien, hostile and cruel. And yet it was curious how the smile in them had disarmed her and she remembered, with a futile glow of returning hope, that she had not feared him, that she had even had the temerity to defy him. But her courage had ebbed--she could not have defied him now and in the darkness while she waited for Yeva she feared him--feared him.

It seemed strange that Yeva had not returned. She had been gone an hour or more and the Hotel Europa could not be a great distance away. As the moments passed she gave up the other hope of persuading the girl, when she returned, to go back at once to the hotel and reclaim the note, before Hugh could get it. Could anything have happened to her? Marishka wanted her--the sound of a voice, the touch of a feminine hand, her airs and graces--the foibles of a child perhaps, but intensely virile in their childishness and intensely human. It seemed that even Yeva was to be denied to her.

For when Zubeydeh brought lights and food the woman made no comment upon the absence of the girl--a confirmation of Marishka's suspicions that Zubeydeh was aware of the conspiracy and what was to come of it. But as Marishka made a pretense of eating what the woman had brought, she summoned courage to inquire.

"Yeva went out into the city by the passage to the street. She has not yet returned?"

"I do not know," she said in her heavy colorless voice.

The woman lied. Marishka knew it by the shifting glance of her eye.

"Will you kindly inform His Excellency--I need mention no names--that I should be very glad if he would meet me at his convenience----"

"Excellency is not here," said the woman.

"Well, when he comes, I should be grateful if you will deliver my message."

"I will tell him."

Nothing more. Her manner was not discourteous, but her voice was forbidding. She had been given instructions to keep silence. And just before leaving the room, a further confirmation of Marishka's conviction that Yeva was at that very moment in another part of the house, Zubeydeh gathered up the two pieces of drapery which Marishka had given the girl, and carried them out of the room.

The hours lengthened while Marishka sat trying to gather the remnants of her courage to face Captain Goritz when he should come to her. The Turkish lamp which hung from the ceiling burned dimly, casting grotesque shadows about the room, flickering in patches of tawdry light upon the gilt of the embroidered hangings, and touching the blades of the ancient weapons which decorated the wall about the couch, scimitars, swords, daggers and spears! Marishka got up and examined them more closely, curiously, as though she had not seen them before. She shuddered a little as she plucked from its sheath a small dagger with a bronzed handle, and found that its blade was very sharp and bright. She reached up to put it back, but as she did so there was a sound from the room beyond the passage, and a knock upon the door. So she slipped the weapon into the waistband of her skirt, beneath her blouse, and went to her seat among the pillows. In a moment the knock was repeated, and in reply to her call, the door opened and she heard footsteps along the corridor.

The man who entered was tall and slender, with a hooked nose, heavy brows, and a beard streaked with white. He wore the turban and bright green belt which denoted the Moslem, and the fingers with which he touched brow, lips, and heart in salutation were covered with rings.

"_Salam 'alaikum_," he muttered, bowing.

Marishka knew no reply to this and made none, waiting in some trepidation for him to proceed. He was a villainous looking creature, but comported himself with an air of some dignity. In a moment he spoke again in excellent German.

"I hope that Excellency has been able to make herself quite comfortable in my poor house."

As he spoke, Marishka remembered that this was one of the voices of her dreams, the gruff voice which talked with Goritz.

Something was required of her in reply, and so, with an effort,

"Yeva has been very kind, Effendi," she managed.

"Yes. Allah has been good to me. Yeva has a heart of gold."

"You are the Beg of Rataj?" Marishka asked.

He salaamed again.

"Will you tell me, then, what has become of Herr Hauptmann Goritz?"

The man's face wore a sudden crafty look of incomprehension.

"Goritz, Excellency?" he asked coolly. "There is no one of that name in my acquaintance."

Marishka accepted the rebuke and ventured timidly, "I mean, the--the Excellency--who brought me here----"

"Ah! Lieutenant von Arnstorf! He has gone, I think, upon a journey,"

said the Beg.

Marishka was silent a moment, thinking.

"That is strange. It is very necessary that I should see him."

The man smiled up at the lamp above his head, revealing a void where teeth should have been.

"I need not say that he has directed that everything possible shall be done for your comfort--and it is my pleasure to obey Excellency's orders, in so far as my poor house can afford. And even were these not Excellency's instructions," he added with a grin, "it is an honor for the house of Rataj to have beneath its roof one so noble and so beautiful."

A wave of nerves swept over Marishka for the admiration in his glance was unmistakable, but she knew that any possible chance of safety for Hugh--for herself--lay in the favor of this man. And so with a shudder of repugnance which she concealed with difficulty, she motioned to him to be seated. His small eyes appraised her eagerly for a moment, and then he sank upon a cushion near her, and without asking permission, took out a cigarette.

"I--I shall not forget your kindness, Effendi," said Marishka, struggling for her composure. "Already Yeva and I are good friends."

"Ah, that is fortunate, for it was upon the question of the future of Yeva that I have come to talk with you."

"In what may I serve you, Effendi?"

He sighed deeply.

"Times change, Excellency. In the days gone by, the Begs of Rataj were reckoned among the rulers of Bosnia, high in the counsels of the Janissaries, feudal lords of great domains. But I, alas! the last of the Begs of Rataj, whose father even held the sway of a king, have been deprived of my tithes, and reduced to the low condition of a merchant in rugs, a dealer in antiquities, dependent upon the good will of tourists from the West, reduced perhaps one day to sit in a stall in the Carsija.

It is not so much that I am no longer rich, but it is my pride, the pride of race which suffers under misfortune."

Whither was the man leading? Much as she distrusted him, her curiosity was aroused, and she listened, watching him intently.

"You will perhaps understand," he continued gravely, "that all this is very hard upon Yeva, the star of my heart, with whom Allah has blessed me. The West has flowed in upon the East at Bosna-Seraj, and engulfed it. We are no more a simple Moslem city with the tastes of our fathers; and our women are no more satisfied to remain as they were, childish, ignorant, and unlettered. The spell of the Occident is upon the land.

Vienna, Berlin, Paris, have come to Bosna-Seraj. Our women sigh for the things which are beyond the mountains. The peace of the home is invaded and our women are unhappy, because their lords and masters have no money to procure for them the things that they wish."

Money! Thank God! This man could be bought!

"And Yeva?" Marishka asked, trembling in fear for the new hope that had risen.

"It is the same with her as with the others, Excellency," he shrugged despairingly. "She is but a child. I have been foolishly liberal with her--as liberal as my poor means allowed, and she has come to know the value of money--the dross for which men perjure their souls, and die if need be. Yeva, alas! wishes jewels, the pretty clothing of the women of fashion. And I, as I have related, being a mere dealer in rugs, Excellency, have not been able to give them to her. It has made unhappiness come into my household; it has made me, the Beg of Rataj, hereditary ruler of thousands, ashamed to raise my head or my voice in her presence--I, Excellency, her lord and master!"

He wagged his head to and fro with an air which might have been comical, had not Marishka's need been so desperate. But she read him easily, a vile, blackmailing rogue who held no allegiance higher than what he got from it--a man who, for all his fine flow of talk, could be dangerous as well as unscrupulous. But Marishka met him fairly.

"I have taken a fancy to Yeva, Effendi," she said quietly. "She will tell you perhaps that I have already given her several trifles which she fancied. Perhaps I can do something to solve your problems. In my own country I am considered wealthy and I can be generous with those who treat me with kindness."

"Ah!" The Effendi's eyes sparkled hungrily. The Austrian countess was no fool. She had already begun to understand him.