n, and at a word
from Masouda they separated, falling apart a pace or two, and
stood opposite each other and sideways to Sinan. Standing thus,
they saw the curtains drawn. Through them came four men, carrying
a stretcher covered with a cloth, beneath which they could see
the outline of a form, that lay there stirless. The four men
brought the stretcher to the front of the canopy, set it on the
ground, prostrated themselves, and retired, walking backwards
down the length of the terrace.

Again there was silence, while the brethren wondered whose corpse
it was that lay beneath the cloth, for a corpse it must surely
be; though neither the Lord of the Mountain nor his dais and
guards seemed to concern themselves in the matter. Again the
curtains parted, and a procession advanced up the terrace. First
came a great man clad in a white robe blazoned with the bleeding
dagger, after whom walked a tall woman shrouded in a long veil,
who was followed by a thick-set knight clad in Frankish armour
and wearing a cape of which the cowl covered his head as though
to keep the rays of the sun from beating on his helm. Lastly
walked four guards. Up the long place they marched, through the
double line of dais, while with a strange stirring in their
breasts the brethren watched the shape and movements of the
veiled woman who stepped forward rapidly, not seeing them, for
she turned her head neither to the right nor left. The leader of
the little band reached the space before the canopy, and,
prostrating himself by the side of the stretcher, lay still. She
who walked behind him stopped also, and, seeing the black heap
upon the cushion, shuddered.

"Woman, unveil," commanded the voice of Sinan.

She hesitated, then swiftly undid some fastening, so that her
drapery fell from her head. The brethren stared, rubbed their
eyes, and stared again.

Before them stood Rosamund!

Yes, it was Rosamund, worn with sickness, terrors, and travel,
Rosamund herself beyond all doubt. At the sight of her pale,
queenly beauty the heap on the cushion stirred beneath his black
cloak, and the beady eyes were filled with an evil, eager light.
Even the dais seemed to wake from their contemplation, and
Masouda bit her red lip, turned pale beneath her olive skin, and
watched with devouring eyes, waiting to read this woman's heart.

"Rosamund!" cried the brethren with one voice.

She heard. As they sprang towards her she glanced wildly from
face to face, then