entrance. There were other people, and I was vaguely aware of cries and sobs, but heeded nothing. I wished to get out of the tekhe as if my salvation depended on it. At the outer door I gave a great sigh of relief, and ran on after our Anatolian with his lantern.
I was by no means myself yet, but a feeling of relief came upon me when the cold, damp air of the night struck my face. I was trying to get away from the music, which still clung to my nerves. For a considerable time I walked on until a hand touched my shoulder. Startled, I turned, and by the light of the moon, which had risen, looked into the eyes of a veiled woman who was a stranger to me. Other veiled forms surrounded me, none of whom I knew.
"Hanoum effendim," said the one who had touched me, smiling, "I am afraid you have lost your party, and by mistake have come with ours."
Her words were like a cold but revivifying bath.
"I must have done so," I replied, trying to avoid much conversation. "I will go back."
"Come with us for the night," she suggested.
Thanking her, I took to my heels. I had not paid much attention to the crooked streets traversed thus far, and as I absolutely lack the sense of location I must now have gone in some other direction than that of the tekhe; for after long running back and forth, and hiding in the
