CHAPTER XXII

THE ANSWERED PRAYER

Takvor left Dicran and Vassinag to care of each other, though both were helpless, and felt his way from the house to continue his search. Again he left the village by the road to Isnik. He passed the group of bushes where he had found Vassinag, and hastened up the mountain path, he hardly knew whither. Again and again he asked himself why the chaoush carried Armenouhi away on a horse, if he did not intend to take her to a distance. Unable to answer, he hurried on as fast as his strength would allow him, constantly calling, “Armenouhi! Armenouhi!” and hearing only the echo of his own voice. Higher up the mountain the moon rose above the horizon, lighting his way. At the summit he stopped at the spring, and throwing himself down beside it, quenched his thirst. He lay down a moment to rest. His eyes closed, and he fell fast asleep.

The sun was already high in the sky when he was awakened by the bleating of sheep crowding about the spring. He inquired of the shepherd if a soldier with a girl riding a single horse had passed that way. The rough mountaineer, whose intelligence hardly equaled that of the sheep he was tending, merely shrugged his shoulders, and Takvor started down the southern slope of the mountain. He asked the same question of the shepherd’s wife, whom he saw at the hut, but to no purpose. Although she refused to give him information which might incriminate a soldier, she saw his need and brought him a dish of curdled milk. It was noon when he dragged himself into Isnik. To his inquiry if a mounted soldier had entered the village, the passing people gave a toss of the head and a cluck with the tongue, which was equivalent to a gruff and emphatic “No.” He loitered about the inns, sipping coffee and conversing with the idle Turks, hoping to obtain some clew. He wandered about the narrow streets, staring into the courtyards of the houses, but in vain. He crept into the dark recesses of the old walls,--walls built when Isnik was the ancient Nicaea,--for the chaoush might be hiding there. He entered beneath the great arches of the amphitheater, where in early days the wild beasts of the gladiatorial contests were confined, but he met with no success. The ruined church of Saint Sophia was the only spot in the village he had not searched. Entering the dismantled nave, and peering into its darkest corners, he saw nothing but a crippled Moslem beggar lying fast asleep.

In despair he sat down on a fallen marble column to collect himself. Night was approaching. In the solitude of the deepening twilight his thoughts, suggested by the ruins about him, ran over the historic associations of the ancient place. On the very spot where he was sitting, Constantine, the first Christian emperor, and the bishops of the Christian churches met in council and formulated the Nicaean Creed, which since that day has been repeated by millions of people. In that very building another council of the early church declared that the Holy Virgin interceded for mankind, and that her image should be worshipped. If the Holy Virgin listened to the petitions of suffering humanity, on what spot could he more fittingly seek for her mediation than in the church where her worship was sanctioned? Raising his eyes, he prayed Heaven to protect Armenouhi, and lead him to her; then he covered his face with his hands, and burst into passionate weeping. At last he returned to the inn and asked for a room; and climbing the rickety stairs, wearily threw himself on the bed.

Bright sunlight was streaming through his window when he awoke, but the despair of the previous night had not vanished with the darkness. He tried to collect his thoughts, and to form some plan for the day, but how hopeless it all seemed! The evidence that Armenouhi had been taken to Isnik was very slight, and after all he might be following the wrong trail. His eyes were suddenly attracted by the light from a small object in the bedclothes, and he reached out his hand to take it. How his heart beat! It was an enameled pin similar to one he had given Armenouhi. Leaping to his feet, he hurried down the rickety stairs to the landlord, and asked who had occupied the room the night before.

“What business is that of yours?” growled the surly Turk.

He ran to the stable, and calling the boy, held a large silver coin before his eyes.

“Tell me what I wish to know,” said Takvor, “and it is yours.”

“What do you want?” asked the boy, opening his eyes at the prospect of possessing the money.

“Who slept in my room night before last?”

“A Turkish girl.”

“How was she dressed?”

“In a black firadji.”

“Are you sure she wore a black firadji, and not a white one?”

“She wore a white dress beneath the black one. I saw it when the soldier lifted her from the horse.”

“Did they come on one horse?”

“Yes.”

“Where did the soldier sleep?”

“At the head of the stairway, in the passage before the door.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I watched him.”

“Where was he going?”

“He said he was on his way to Brusa with his sister.”

“Which way did he take?”

“He went toward Yeni Shehir.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“By the beard of the Prophet, and now give me my money.”

Takvor had learned enough, and tossing him the silver piece, rushed to the innkeeper to order the fastest horse in the village. Encouraged by the hope of finding Armenouhi safe, he ate a hearty breakfast, sprang on the horse, and dashed through the western gate. At noon he was in Yeni Shehir; and to his inquiry if a chaoush and his sister had passed that way, he was told that they had started for Brusa early that morning. The moment the horse had finished its grain, he again hurried on to overtake them. He reached Brusa fully two hours after the chaoush had imprisoned Armenouhi in his harem.