“That is in God’s hands.”
She became deathly white at that.
“No,” she burst out in an agonised voice, “it is not in God’s hands! If it were, I should not be afraid! It is in the hands of those who stole my soul!”
She covered her face with both arms, fairly writhing on her chair.
“If the Yezidees have actually made you believe any such nonsense”—he began; but she dropped her arms and stared at him out of terrible blue eyes:
“I don’t want to die, I tell you! I am afraid!—afraid! If I reveal to you what I know they’ll kill me. If I turn against them and aid you, they’ll slay my body, and send it after my soul!”
She was trembling so violently that he sprang up and went to her. After a moment he passed one arm around her shoulders and held her firmly, close to him.
“Come,” he said, “do your duty. Those who enlist under the banner of Christ have nothing to dread in this world or the next.”
“If—if I could believe I were safe there.”
“I tell you that you are. So is every human soul! What mad nonsense have the Yezidees made you believe? Is there any surer salvation for the soul than to die in Christ’s service?”