“Which then is the true master—­the Khan of Kaloon or the head of the College of Hes?” I asked again.

“In matters spiritual, the priestess of Hes, who is our Oracle and the voice of Heaven.  In matters temporal, the Khan of Kaloon.”

“The Khan.  Ah! you are married, lady, are you not?”

“Aye,” she answered, her face flushing.  “And I will tell you what you soon must learn, if you have not learned it already, I am the wife of a madman, and he is—­hateful to me.”

“I have earned the last already, Khania.”

She looked at me with her piercing eyes.

“What!  Did my uncle, the Shaman, he who is called Guardian, tell you?  Nay, you saw, as I knew you saw, and it would have been best to slay you for, oh! what must you think of me?”

I made no answer, for in truth I did not know what to think, also I feared lest further rash admissions should be followed by swift vengeance.

“You must believe,” she went on, “that I, who have ever hated men, that I—­I swear that it is true—­whose lips are purer than those mountain snows, I, the Khania of Kaloon, whom they name Heart-of-Ice, am but a shameless thing.”  And, covering her face with her hand, she moaned in the bitterness of her distress.

“Nay,” I said, “there may be reasons, explanations, if it pleases you to give them.”

“Wanderer, there are such reasons; and since you know so much, you shall learn them also.  Like that husband of mine, I have become mad.  When first I saw the face of your companion, as I dragged him from the river, madness entered me, and I—­I——­”

“Loved him,” I suggested.  “Well, such things have happened before to people who were not mad.”

“Oh!” she went on, “it was more than love; I was possessed, and that night I knew not what I did.  A Power drove me on; a Destiny compelled me, and to the end I am his, and his alone.  Yes, I am his, and I swear that he shall be mine;” and with this wild declaration dangerous enough under the conditions, she turned and fled the room.

She was gone, and after the struggle, for such it was, I sank back exhausted.  How came it that this sudden passion had mastered her?  Who and what was this Khania, I wondered again, and—­this was more to the point, who and what would Leo believe her to be?  If only I could be with him before he said words or did deeds impossible to recall.

Three days went by, during which time I saw no more of the Khania, who, or so I was informed by Simbri, the Shaman, had returned to her city to make ready for us, her guests.  I begged him to allow me to rejoin Leo, but he answered politely, though with much firmness, that my foster-son did better without me.  Now, I grew suspicious, fearing lest some harm had come to Leo, though how to discover the truth I knew not.  In my anxiety I tried to convey a note to him, written upon a leaf of a water-gained pocket-book, but the yellow-faced servant refused to touch it, and Simbri said drily that he would have naught to do with writings which he could not read.  At length, on the third night I made up my mind that whatever the risk, with leave or without it, I would try to find him.