"We must get out this way! The side door to the courtyard! None
of us can afford to be mixed up in an affair of this sort."

There was more confused movement and a buzz of excited voices--
meaningless, chaotic. Zahara could feel the draught from the
newly opened door. A thin stream of blood was stealing across
the carpet. It had almost reached the fallen rose petals, which
it strangely resembled in colour under the light of the lanterns.

As though dispersed by the draught, the haze lifted, and Zahara
saw Grantham standing by the open doorway through which he had
ushered out the other visitors.

Wide-eyed and piteous she met his glance. She had seen that
night the Look in his eyes. She had saved his life, and there
was much, so much, that she wanted to tell him. A thousand
yearnings, inexplicable, hitherto unknown, deep mysteries of her
soul, looked out of those great eyes.

"Don't think," he said tensely, "that I was deceived. I saw the
trick with the rose! You are as guilty as your villainous lover!
Murderess!"

He went out and closed the door. The flame-coloured cloak slowly
slipped from Zahara's shoulders, and the veils, like falling
petals, began to drop gently one by one upon the blood-stained
carpet.