Roses! Roses! Roses! Their scent bewildered her!
Then in a second she saw all, she understood all. Aye! she, the woman in her, had loved the King and she had been ashamed of it. But this--this was different. This was the mortal following the immortal! She was going to death as to a funeral prye, to find herself sexless, beyond the flames.
She stumbled on and on, up and up, every atom of herself forgotten save the deathless desire for Unity which lies behind sex, until, suddenly, some unfamiliarity beneath her feet made her pause.
Had she come too far? She stopped in the mirk darkness to feel the step on which she stood, so, groping felt the wall.
A nail. And something had caught on it. What?
A tiny scrap of fringe. And that was scent--not bewildering scent of roses; but bewildering scent of musk and ambergris--the essences of Satanstown!
Siyah Yamin's paradise!
The thought leaped to her brain; a second or so afterward she stood at the secret door. It was ajar.
But this time the darkness of the roof showed like a black shadow against the diffused radiance from the town below.
"Siyâla" she cried, but there was no answer. She moved forward a step; then, bethinking herself, turned back, locked the door and thrust the key in her bosom. If anyone were there, they would have to meet her face to face.