“In three days,” said Margaret. “Three nights from now, Henri. Then I shall tell you — whether I choose to leave, or to stay here, always—”
“You promise to have your answer then?”
“I promise!”
The girl raised her head and gently pressed back Zayata’s arm. The man smiled, and waved his hand toward the door that led to the hallway.
“You have seen only part of this place,” he declared. “Why not see more of it — since it may be yours — three days from now?
“Chandra!” The man clapped his hands. “Show Miss Glendenning the temple. I am sorry, Margaret” — his voice was rueful — “that I cannot accompany you.”
The man’s reference to his crippled condition excited the girl’s sympathy. She was about to make a kindly reply when she noticed that Zayata was reclining with his eyes closed. Evidently he was tired. Chandra bowed. Margaret arose and followed the Burmese.
He led her into the hallway. He crossed and began to bow before a brazen door that glowed between crimson curtains. It must be a ceremony, Margaret thought.
The door made her think of that entrance at the end of the hall — the carved oaken barrier that bore the lion’s head. She looked in that direction. To her amazement, she saw the door sliding shut!
Could it have been fancy — the door moving of its own accord? The girl noticed a shadowy blackness beside the door, near a huge, dark vase. Then she heard Chandra speak.