"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
will not give me up to this man?"
"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
you harm?"
"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
your house."
"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
Desmond.
The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
network of conspiracy?
"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
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