Some one was coming down the walk:  Footsteps crunched the gravel.

Like a wraith the girl was out of his arms ... in anger or alarm his whirling senses could not know, although it was their passionate concern.  But his last gleam of prudence got him through the gate he heard her locking after.

And then, for her sake, he fled.

CHAPTER III

IN THE PASHA’S PALACE

Nearer sounded the footsteps on the graveled walk and in frightened haste the girl drew out the key from the gate and slipped away into the shrubbery, grateful for the blotting shadows.

At the foot of a rose bush she crouched to thrust the key into a hole in the loose earth, covering the top and drawing the low branches over it.

“Aimee,” came a guarded call.  “Aimee!”

Still stooping, she tried to steal through the bushes, but the thorns held her and she stood up, pulling at her robes.

“Yes?  Miriam?” she said faintly, and desperately freeing herself, she hurried forward towards the dark, bulky figure of her old nurse, emerging now into the moonlight.

“Alhamdolillah—­Glory to God!” ejaculated the old woman, but cautiously under her breath.  “Come quickly—­he is here—­thy father!  And thou in the garden, at this hour....  But come,” and urgently she gripped the girl’s wrist as if afraid that she would vanish again into the shadows of the shrubbery.

Aimee felt her knees quake under her.  “My father!” she murmured, and her voice died in her throat.

Had he discovered?  Had some one seen her slip out?  Or recognized her at the ball?

The panic-stricken conjectures surged through her in dismaying confusion.  She tried to beat down her fear, to think quickly, to rally her force, but her swimming senses were still invaded with the surprise of those last moments at the gate, her heart still beating with the touch of Ryder’s arms about her ... of that long, deep look ... that kiss, beyond all else, that kiss....

Little rivers of fire were running through her veins.  Shame and proud anger set up their swift reactions.  Oh, what wings of wild, incredible folly had brought her to this!  To be kissed like—­like a dancing girl—­by a man, an unknown, an American!

How could he, how could he!  After all his kindness—­to hold her so lightly....  And yet there had been no lightness in his eyes, those eager, shining young eyes, so gravely concerned....

But she could not stop to think of this thing.  Her father was waiting.

“He came in like a fury,” the old nurse was panting, as they scurried up the walk together, “and asked for you ... and your room empty, your bed not touched!...  Oh, Allah’s ruth upon me, I went trotting through the house, mad with fear....  Up to the roofs then down to the garden ... sending him word that you were dressing that he should not know the only child of his house was a shameless one, devoid of sense.”