Then in came Maga, through a window, with self-betrayal in manner and look of having been watching us ever since we entered.  She went up to Will, who was squatted on folded skins by the chimney corner, and stood beside him, claiming him without a word.  Her black hair hung down to her waist, and her bare feet, not cut or bruised like most of those that walk the hills unshod, shone golden in the firelight.  I looked about for Peter Measel, expecting a scene, but he had taken himself off, perhaps in search of her.

She had eyes for nobody but Gloria, and no smile for any one.  Gloria stared back at her, fascinated.

“You married?” she asked; and Gloria shook her head.  “You ’eard me, what I said back below there!”

Gloria nodded.

“You sing?”

“Sometimes.”

“You dance?”

“Oh, yes.  I love it.”

“Ah!  You shall sing—­you shall dance—­against me!  First you sing —­then I sing.  Then you dance—­then I dance—­to-night—­you understan’?  If I sing better as you sing—­an’ if I dance better as you dance—­then I throw you over Zeitoon bridge, an’ no one interfere!  But if you sing better as I sing—­an’ if you dance better as I dance—­then you shall make a servant of me; for I know you will be too big fool an’ too chicken ’earted to keel me, as I would keel you!  You understan’?”

It rather looked as if an issue would have to be forced there and then, but at that minute Gregor entered, and drove her out with an oath and terrific gesture, she not seeming particularly afraid of him, but willing to wait for the better chance she foresaw was coming.  Gregor made no explanation or apology, but fastened down the leather window-curtain after her and threw more wood on the fire.

Then back came Kagig.

“Where the devil’s Monty?” Fred demanded.

“Come!” was the only answer.  And we all got up and followed him out into the chill night air, and down over three roofs to a long shed in which lights were burning.  All the houses—­on every side of us were ahum with life, and small wonder, for Zeitoon was harboring the refugees from all the district between there and Tarsus, to say nothing of fighting men who came in from the hills behind to lend a hand.  But we were bent on seeing Monty at last, and had no patience for other matters.

However, it was only the prisoners he had led us out to see, and nothing more.

“Look, see!” he said, opening the heavy wooden door of the shed as an armed sentry made way for him. (Those armed men of Zeitoon did not salute one another, but preserved a stoic attitude that included recognition of the other fellow’s right to independence, too.) “Look in there, and see, and tell me—­do the Turks treat Armenian prisoners that way?”

We entered, and walked down the length of the dim interior, passing between dozens of prisoners lying comfortably enough on skins and blankets.  As far as one could judge, they had been fed well, and they did not wear the look of neglect or ill-treatment.  At the end, in a little pen all by himself, was the colonel whom Rustum Khan had made a present of to Gloria.