'Yes.'
The hand that grasped the rags to keep them together pressed desperately against her heart. While Rustan could have counted ten, there was silence. Twice again she looked towards the bed and then, with infinite precaution, she slipped out the wooden bar that kept the door closed. Once more she drew her rags over her, for they had fallen back when she used both her hands. She opened the door a little, and saw Rustan muffled in a cloak, his eager face and black beard thrust forward in anticipation of entering. But she stopped him, and held out one hand.
'My mother has fallen into a deep sleep,' she said. 'Give me the money and I will go with you.'
Without hesitation Rustan placed in her outstretched hand a small bag made of coarse sail-cloth, and closely tied with hemp twine.
'How much is it?' she whispered.
'One hundred and fifty gold ducats,' answered the Bokharian under his breath, for he knew that if he did not wake the sleeping woman there would be less trouble.
At that moment Nectaria came back from within, with the pan of coals. Zoë caught her eye and held out the heavy little bag. The woman stared, looked at Kyría Agatha's sleeping face, set down the pan upon the floor, and came forward.
'He has brought the money, a hundred and fifty ducats,' Zoë whispered, forcing the bag into Nectaria's trembling hands. 'It is the only way. Good-bye—quick—shut the door before she wakes—tell her I am asleep in the straw—God bless you——'
'Eleeison! Eleeison!' came the wail of the mad woman on the wind.
Before Nectaria could answer Zoë had pulled the door till it shut behind her, and was outside, barefooted on the hardening mud, and scarcely covered. She said nothing now, and Rustan was silent too, but he had taken one of her wrists and held it firmly without hurting it. The fleet young creature might make a dash for freedom yet, foolish as that would be, since he could easily force his way into the ruined house and take back his money if she escaped him. But he had nearly lost a young slave once before, and he would risk nothing, so he kept his strong hand tightly clasped round the slender wrist, though Zoë walked beside him quietly in the deep gloom, thinking only of covering herself from his gaze, though indeed he could scarcely see the outline of her figure.