“I trust that I should know also how to control my love,” broke in Martina sharply. “Come, waste no more time in talk. Let us search.”
Then she took me by the hand and led me to where she had last seen Heliodore.
“She has vanished away,” she said, “here is nothing but rock.”
“It cannot be,” I answered. “Oh! that I had my eyes again, if for an hour, I who was the best tracker in Jutland. See if no stone has been stirred, Martina. The sand will be damper where it has lain.”
She left me, and presently returned.
“I have found something,” she said. “When Heliodore fled she still held her basket, which from the look of it was last used by the Pharaohs. At least, one of the cakes has fallen from or through it. Come.”
She led me to the cliff, and up it to perhaps twice the height of a man, then round a projecting rock.
“Here is a hole,” she said, “such as jackals might make. Perchance it leads into one of the old tombs whereof the mouth is sealed. It was on the edge of the hole that I found the cake, therefore doubtless Heliodore went down it. Now, what shall we do?”
“Follow, I think. Where is it?”
“Nay, I go first. Give me your hand, Olaf, and lie upon your breast.”