CHAPTER XXI

VASSINAG

It was now nearly midnight. Tired, faint, suffering, pursued like a criminal, Takvor paused outside the door to listen; then on that dark moonless night, he set out in search of the two girls, who, if not dead, might still be in the village, or already slaves in some inaccessible harem; or they might be miles away on the wild mountain side, in the stronghold of a brigand. His was no easy task. Not knowing which way to turn, he slowly approached the place where he had seen the soldiers leading the girls away; there again he stopped to think, but his memory could guide him no further. Dicran said the soldiers took them to the mountain, and he left the village by the road to Isnik.

He could hardly find the path before him. He was faint, almost too faint to walk, and the road was rough and full of holes. He stumbled and fell, but arose and dragged himself forward. Again he fell, and almost too weak to rise, he remained on the ground to rest and ease his aching head. Thinking that in an hour or two the moon would appear, he remained lying where he had fallen.

Suddenly he sat upright, greatly excited.

“What was that? Was it a cry of distress?” and he strained his ears to listen.

Again there came a sound like the moaning of a woman. With heart beating violently, he crept toward a distant cluster of bushes. He hesitated a moment, and then lighted a match; in its flare he saw the unconscious form of Vassinag. Raising her head, he wet her lips with the liquor he had brought. Thinking that Armenouhi must be near, he peered into the darkness for the white dress which he remembered she wore, but he could see nothing. He listened, but could hear nothing.

“Armenouhi! Armenouhi!” he called, but there was no response.

He crept about the bushes, feeling through the dark places, but he found nothing. Summoning all his strength, he took Vassinag on his back and started for the village, a quarter of a mile away. The limp form would have been a light burden for a well man, but for him, weak as he was, it was beyond his strength. Once he fell; several times he laid her down to rest; at last, thoroughly exhausted, he staggered into the room where Dicran lay, and placed her on the bed beside him. Neither he nor the old man spoke until he brought a candle to the bedside.

“Poor, poor girl!” sighed Dicran.

Takvor bathed her face and hands until she finally opened her eyes. When she came to herself, she began to weep as if her heart would break.

“Oh, why did you not let me die?” she cried. “Why did you find me?”

Dicran sought to divert her by inquiring for Armenouhi, and from her reply, broken by violent sobs, he gathered that the chaoush had ridden with her to the mountains.