"I—I don't want to go back, but I think it must be very late, so———"
They were standing near the chapel with the granite altar as she spoke, and had turned to retrace their way when she flashed her light upon a flight of steps.
Strange is the fascination and desolation of steps leading to an empty dwelling and almost as mysterious as the door ajar in an empty house.
She stood in the little room and swept the light across the walls upon which are represented the animals and flowers brought from Syria century upon century ago.
Then the light, which had been growing dimmer and dimmer, went out.
And it was the man this time who tackled the situation.
"I am your guide. I know the way in the dark."
He spoke in English as he swept the girl into his arms, carrying her like a feather down the great temple where perchance he had held her against his heart century upon century ago, even when the flowers and animals had been brought from Syria.
"May I drive you home? I should love to," he said, as he placed her on her feet near the car. He spoke in English, with an eagerness out of keeping with the trivial request, and which was merely the expression of a desire to be with her under commonplace circumstances.
"Please do. I don't think I could—I am so tired."