She looked up;
again she heard the sound, and then, in a whispered tone, her name----
'Eva!'
'I am here.'
'Hush!' said a figure, stealing into the caverned chamber, and then
throwing off his Syrian cloak, revealing to her one whom she recognised.
'Fakredeen,' she said, starting from her couch, 'what is all this?'
The countenance of Fakredeen was distressed and agitated; there was an
expression of alarm, almost of terror, stamped upon his features.
'You must follow me,' he said; 'there is not a moment to lose; you must
fly!'
'Why and whither?' said Eva. 'This capture is one of plunder not of
malice, or was so a few hours back. It is not sorrow for myself that
overwhelmed me. But yesterday, the sovereign of these mountains treated
me with a generous sympathy, and, if it brought me no solace, it was
only because events have borne, I fear, irremediable woe. And now I
suddenly find myself among my friends; friends, who, of all others, I
should most have wished to encounter at this moment, and all is changed.
I am a prisoner, under every circumstance of harshness, even of cruelty,
and you speak to me as if my life, my immediate existence, was in
peril.'
'It is.'
'But why?'
Fakredeen wrung his hands, and murmured, 'Let us go.
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