“Frank!”
She spoke his name, and it was the voice he had heard once before in the Square of Tangier. For all that it echoed strangely in that underground place, he was sure that he recognized it.
“Igela!”
He spoke the name softly, so that she might not be frightened.
He saw her start, saw her lean forward doubtfully, her attitude being that of a person who fancies he has heard something, but is not sure.
“Igela!”
He repeated the name.
“Allah be praised!” sobbed the girl, again starting forward. “He answers me! He lives! He is here!”
Then Frank advanced toward her saying:
“I am here, and I am alive.”