A cold hand seemed to close about the girl's heart. She knew, now, that Urim had not sent for her; that she was being led into some horrible danger. Worst of all, there seemed no way to prevent this man from doing as he pleased. The street was deserted; and even should someone appear, an appeal for help would probably be useless.
Soon they reached one of the huge gateways in the wall about Sephar. The warrior drew Dylara to a halt as two guards sauntered in their direction.
"Well, Meltor," said one, a tall, languid man of middle age, "what are you doing out in this heat? And with a girl, too; up to your old tricks, I suppose."
Meltor smiled without humor. "This is something else. If I may speak with you privately...."
Dylara, under the watchful eye of the second guard, watched them step away a few paces and engage in a whispered colloquy. Meltor did most of the talking, speaking earnestly and at length. The other nodded from time to time, appearing properly impressed. Once or twice he glanced with interest at the girl.
Meltor had evidently gained his point. He approached Dylara, now, a triumphant curl at the corners of his mouth.
"We must hurry," was all he said. Together the man and the girl passed through the twin gates.
Beyond the open ground Dylara could see the grim forest rising dark and forbidding against the sky. And yet she wondered if it was more to be feared than the city of stone behind them. Danger lurked in the jungle—ah, yes; but it was danger both direct and elemental—not hidden beneath hypocrisy and artifice.
Why had she been taken from Sephar? She was certain this man was not acting in his own behalf; someone else was behind it all—someone who did not want others to know. It could not be Urim. Urim was chief; he need not hide his activities from anybody. Yet who else could it be?