Then, again, I thought this over. What was the good of fighting. Granted that my revolver gave me six lives--why should I take six lives? It would not save my own. And, query again: Was my life worth six others? I rode to the workshops and discussed the matter with the engineers, Stewart and Myddleton. They were good fellows; but they did not agree with me. They said they should make a fight for it; that they were worth a good deal more than six Afghans. Anyway, they did not mean to sit down and wait for their throats to be cut like a couple of bullocks. This _did_ rather appeal to my imagination. There was the fierce excitement and delight of battling for one’s life, in place of the sickening emotion of waiting to be murdered. I determined, therefore, to waive the point as to whether my life were worth six others, and discuss it afterwards if we escaped, which, by the way, I did not think very likely. I did not so much mind the idea of a bullet through the brain or heart--it would be a momentary emotion; but a bayonet stab--it does not kill at once; and a cut throat I always had a horror of: I have seen so many. Every night a dinner in European style was brought me, and one day His Highness asked me if I liked fruit. Forthwith, two large trays were brought every night: one of fresh fruit--sweet lemons, grapes, pomegranates, and apples; and one of dried fruits and nuts, far more than any one person could eat; and my servants had the benefit. [Sidenote: The Sultana as a Hostess.] I continued attending the Sultana. She showed me her crowns: they were heavy, of beaten gold, worked in intricate designs, and lined with velvet. One had ostrich plumes on it, another had common artificial flowers tucked in round the top. I suggested that flowers were unsuitable on a crown, and Her Highness tore them out. She showed me her hats and bonnets, handing them to me under the curtain. Most of them were English, of an old-fashioned shape. I said they were scarcely fit for a Queen, but she said that the Amîr liked to see her wear them. One was a fur cap--seal, I think--trimmed with a sable tail. It was very pretty, but artificial flowers had been added. I said that flowers grew in the summer and fur was worn in the winter, perhaps it would look better without the flowers. Her Highness removed them at once. She showed me a photograph album: it contained a few photographs: among them was a copy of a painting of Queen Catherine of Russia. It was a very beautiful face, and the Sultana spoke in admiration of the Queen. Her Highness asked me to choose a photograph and she would give it me. I had noticed hanging on the wall of the room a photograph, framed in wood, of His Highness the Amîr. I said that as I had none of my Royal Master I should like that one, if Her Highness could spare it. At once it was taken down by one of the Page boys and handed to me.