“I was struck down,” he muttered.
It was morning. In the East was a gray light that was spreading and growing rosy. It was the blush of the newly risen day.
In a short time the boy gathered his scattered wits. He remembered all that had happened—remembered that Igela had aided him to escape—remembered that the heavens had seemed to crash upon his head just as she was about to lift her veil.
And he had not seen her face! To him she remained a baffling mystery.
Who struck him down?
What had become of her?
Then came another question that puzzled him more than all.
Why had he not been slain?
He looked around. Near at hand was a small door set in the bare white wall. It was firmly closed.
“We came out of there,” he told himself. “Some one must have been in that nook near by. We were seen, and I was knocked over. Then she was dragged back.”