"I don't wish you to die, Duare. You must not die!" I exclaimed.
"I know that you feel that way, Carson, but what are we to do about it?"
"There must be something we can do. How many are there in this house besides Hara Es and yourself?"
"There is no one."
Suddenly a mad hope possessed me. I searched the room with my eyes. It was bare of all except absolute necessities. I saw nothing with which I might carry out my plan. Time was flying. Hara Es would soon return. My eyes fell upon the saronglike scarf that Duare wore, the common outer garment of Amtorian women.
"Let me take this," I said, stepping to her side.
"What for?" she demanded.
"Never mind. Do as I say! We have no time to argue."
Duare had long since learned to submerge her pride when my tone told her that an emergency confronted us and to obey me promptly. She did so now. Quickly she unwound the scarf from about her and handed it to me.
"Here it is," she said. "What are you going to do with it?"