By this time I could walk well, and indeed was almost strong again.  So about midnight, when the moon was up, for I had no other light, I crept from my bed, threw on my garments, and taking a knife, which was the only weapon I possessed, opened the door of my room and started.

Now, when I was carried from the rock-chamber where Leo and I had been together, I took note of the way.  First, reckoning from my sleeping-place, there was a passage thirty paces long, for I had counted the footfalls of my bearers.  Then came a turn to the left, and ten more paces of passage, and lastly near certain steps running to some place unknown, another sharp turn to the right which led to our old chamber.

Down the long passage I walked stealthily, and although it was pitch dark, found the turn to the left, and followed it till I came to the second sharp turn to the right, that of the gallery from which rose the stairs.  I crept round it only to retreat hastily enough, as well I might, for at the door of Leo’s room, which she was in the act of locking on the outside, as I could see by the light of the lamp that she held in her hand, stood the Khania herself.

My first thought was to fly back to my own chamber, but I abandoned it, feeling sure that I should be seen.  Therefore I determined, if she discovered me, to face the matter out and say that I was trying to find Leo, and to learn how he fared.  So I crouched against the wall, and waited with a beating heart.  I heard her sweep down the passage, and—­yes—­begin to mount the stair.

Now, what should I do?  To try to reach Leo was useless, for she had locked the door with the key she held.  Go back to bed?  No, I would follow her, and if we met would make the same excuse.  Thus I might get some tidings, or perhaps—­a dagger thrust.

So round the corner and up the steps I went, noiselessly as a snake.  They were many and winding, like those of a church tower, but at length I came to the head of them, where was a little landing, and opening from it a door.  It was a very ancient door; the light streamed through cracks where its panels had rotted, and from the room beyond came the sound of voices, those of the Shaman Simbri and the Khania.

“Have you learned aught, my niece?” I heard him say, and also heard her answer—–­“A little.  A very little.”

Then in my thirst for knowledge I grew bold, and stealing to the door, looked through one of the cracks in its wood.  Opposite to me, in the full flood of light thrown by a hanging lamp, her hand resting on a table at which Simbri was seated, stood the Khania.  Truly she was a beauteous sight, for she wore robes of royal purple, and on her brow a little coronet of gold, beneath which her curling hair streamed down her shapely neck and bosom.  Seeing her I guessed at once that she had arrayed herself thus for some secret end, enhancing her loveliness by every art and grace that is known to woman.  Simbri was looking at her earnestly, with fear and doubt written on even his cold, impassive features.