Maia

They waited, eight or nine of them crammed into the little room. The smell of unwashed, sweating men was overpowering. Her wrists smarted where the cord had chafed

them. I can't stand much more, she thought. Reckon I'll faint in a minute.

"Stuffy in here," remarked Mendel-el-Ekna suddenly. He pulled open the wooden shutters, wrenched them off the hinges and threw them out into the yard. "That's better." One of his men caught Maia's eye and winked.

"Will you be needing an escort?" went on the captain. "You and your friends-where are you going?"

"I just want to get them out of Bekla," she answered. "Anywhere'll do for now."

He frowned, puzzled. "Were you going to return to Lord Randronoth alone, then, across the city?"

"There was a man with me before I was arrested by the Palteshis-a man and another girl-only in all the confusion we got separated, see?"

"So you came in here by yourself? That must have taken some courage."

"She's the Serrelinda, sir, ain't she?" said one of the men.

"We'll escort you as far as the Blue Gate," said the captain. "I've got to go back there, anyway."

Before she could reply the door opened and two of the three soldiers returned. With them were Bayub-Otal and- and-O Cran!-her heart missed a beat and she actually staggered, clutching at the captain's arm for support. Yes, it was indeed Zen-Kurel.

If the sight of Zirek had caught her unprepared, the sight of Zen-Kurel utterly overwhelmed her. She stood crushed and shattered by the recognition, tears streaming from her eyes.

Not infrequently it happens that a person-or even a place-deeply loved and lost, becomes in memory more an idea in the heart than a precise visual recollection. It is as though what has been clung to and valued were not the outward semblance, the visible form-that is only the shell of a nut-but rather what it signifies. Thus, the memory of home is less the actual look of the place than the recollection of security and of being cherished. To a girl, the memory of her lover may well transcend his bodily and facial appearance-left far below, as it were-to signify rather the delight of love-making and of being understood and esteemed more deeply than she had ever believed possible. Actually to set eyes on him once more in the flesh often has an unexpected impact, for in absence the

mind had retained only vaguely the details of features; yet now these, which during separation were confined in some shadowy kennel of the memory, come bounding forth, pell mell, like released dogs jumping on a homecoming master and stopping him in his tracks.

Yet Maia's case, though of this nature, was in addition grievous and horrifying beyond expression. What she felt was like the infliction of a wound. Her first, spontaneous association was of a ballad that old Drigga used to sing- a ballad which, when she had been a little girl, had more than once frightened her to tears. It was the chilling tale of Terembro, the dead lad who returned to visit his former love by night. The very words came back to her; she could hear them, sung in old Drigga's quavering voice.

"O my dear heart, my dearest lover, Where's that color you'd some time ago?"

"O the grave has worn me and the clay has torn me; I'm but the ghost of your Terembro."

Bayub-Otal, tall and raw-boned as he had always been, looked more or less as she remembered, though plainly suffering from cruel privation. But Zen-Kurel; her beautiful Zenka, the handsome, light-hearted, devil-may-care young officer who had made her laugh for joy at nothing, had teased her out of absurdity and then teased her back into it, in whose secure arms she had lain in tears of happiness! Ah! gods! nothing in her life had ever remotely approached what she underwent in the moment that she recognized this groping, helpless wreck of her former lover. It was not possible, she thought, to suffer like this. It was beyond the frame of the world and the order of things appointed: the gods must surely intervene to stop it. Yet they did not.

Zen-Kurel was hollow-faced and very pale, skeletal in appearance, breathing in gasps and shivering continually. His eyes were half-closed, his cracked lips dry and his mouth fallen open. The soldiers had each drawn one of his arms round their necks and were gripping his wrists; otherwise he would have fallen. His knees were bent and his head hung forward on his chest. He did not look up as he was brought into the room, and seemed unaware of his surroundings.

The sight shocked everyone present. One soldier uttered an exclamation of horror, cut quickly short. After a few

moments Mendel-el-Ekna said to Maia, "You say you mean to take them out of the city-both these men?"

With a great effort she controlled herself. "Yes; I must."

"Well, it's for you to say, saiyett: I'm at your orders. But that man-he's a Katrian, isn't he?-do you think he can do it? He's very bad indeed: anyone can see that."