"I am sorry," Jack answered mechanically. "But where is my wife, Shushan Meneshian?"
"Shushan?" She looked up now, her thoughts diverted for a moment. "You are not the Englishman?"
"Would I were not! No one will kill me. There is a mark set upon me, that none may hurt me. It is the mark of Cain.—Where is my wife? I was told she came here."
"Yes; to see her father, Boghos, who was not here at all. It was all a trick," said the poor woman. "Amaan! do not ask me more."
"Don't cry, dear Effendi," broke in the youngest of the little girls, taking his hand caressingly, and touching it with her forehead. "Mother hid me in the storeroom while the Turks were here, but I looked through the crack of the door and saw—I saw dreadful things. They hurt poor father, oh, so terribly! but they did not hurt Oriort Shushan at all—not the very least. They only took her away with them. I am sure they will be very kind to her, she is so dear and beautiful."
"Hush!" said the next sister, just a little older.
Krikor, the eldest boy, came running in. "Mother! mother! let us all go to the church. The neighbours—those of them who are here—say it is the best thing to do. The Turks will not touch us there."
One loving glance she gave to her dying husband, then she looked at Jack. "Perhaps," she said, "the kind English Effendi would take you children there. And your grandmother—Parooz, where is she?"
"Not one of us will stir a step without you, mother; there is no use in asking us. We live or die all together," the boy said firmly, disregarding the looks and gestures with which his mother tried to stop him.
Then a feeble voice was heard, speaking from the bed. "In God's name, let us all go. I think I could walk—with help."