Yamina gave a startled exclamation, but after her first impulse of horror she realised that it was the sensible thing to do.

Apart from her own natural desire that her father should be buried in consecrated ground, there was Hamid to consider.

If he was found to have hidden and served two Russians, his life would be immediately forfeit.

Besides, something perhaps Oriental in Yamina’s blood reacted to the suggestion of a funeral pyre!

It was what her father might appreciate, she thought. He had often complained that death was gloomy and funerals morbid.

Once, many years ago, he had said to her,

“I hate the idea of being put in a hole in the ground and, when I saw my father’s coffin deposited in the family vault, that was equally unpleasant. Yet what is the alternative?”

It had been a passing thought, but now the memory of it came back to her and Yamina knew that she had the answer.

She and Hamid would set fire to the house and the flames would leap up towards the sky. There would be nothing left of her father’s body but ashes and there would be no hole in the ground, no gloomy vault where he was concerned.

“You are right, Hamid,” she said aloud. “That is what we must do.”

“Mistress permit, I go now and make arrangements with Sahin. Do not open door until I return.”

“Go and Allah go with you,” Yamina said, giving the familiar blessing of the East and for a moment Hamid’s grave face was lit with a smile.

“One day, Mistress, we will go home.”

“I am sure of that! But whatever happens to me, Hamid,” Yamina said, “you must go back and, when my relatives come from St. Petersburg, my uncle or his sons – my cousins, – to discover what has happened, tell them what you did for the Master and me.”

Hamid bowed and made the obeisance that comes naturally to an Easterner when he is moved. Then, without saying any more he went from the house, closing the door behind him.

When she was alone, Yamina put her hands up to her face.

She could not credit that the conversation she had just had with Hamid had actually taken place.

Had she really committed herself to take refuge in the Sultan’s Palace, to hide in his harem?

And yet she knew that if she could be safe anywhere she could be safe with Mihri.

The beautiful Circassian was a year older than Yamina and had been at the height of her beauty when she had been taken away by the Sultan’s agents.

Only after everyone on the estate had searched for her for three days did they learn the truth and realise where she had gone.