Several days passed without affording them a sight of their enemies. The miserable food did not allay the cravings of hunger. The moisture trickling down the walls, the damp, sticky atmosphere, and the lack of refreshing rest nearly made them ill. The slave’s face manifested not a sign of pity. On the contrary, the brothers thought they noticed an expression of malicious satisfaction whenever their eyes met his; but they made no complaint. One day, to their great astonishment, their keeper, who seemed to have forgotten them, entered the room bringing dainty food instead of the usual prison fare. A hot rice soup steamed from a clean dish, regaling the senses and tempting the appetite. The slave’s conduct was also different. A look of sympathy had taken the place of his scornful smile. He invited them to partake of the food, and placed it before them himself, in the most friendly manner, for they were afraid to take it, suspecting that it was only offered to them in malicious mockery. But when he went out and returned with a pair of roasted fowls, they no longer distrusted him or hesitated to accept his repeated invitations. The slave waited upon the table with as much ceremony as if he were serving distinguished company, now helping one, then the other, and urging both to take more. They ate with gratitude to God for making such a change in their master’s heart, but made no conversation with the servant, though he evidently was expecting them to do so. Indeed, the meal closed without a word from them, though the Turk coughed and hemmed and made every sort of hint to them, hoping they would speak. At last he withdrew, but speedily returned with a tankard. “Here is something to warm Christian hearts,” he said with a smile, as if confident they would at last break their silence. “Wine?” said Conrad. “I thought the Turks did not drink wine. What does the Sultan mean?” Though Conrad was only speaking to his brother, the servant answered: “The Sultan? This wine is not from him. It is from Rustan, your servant, young gentlemen.” “Do you mean you have done this without the Sultan’s knowledge?” “As sure as I am Rustan. But, by Allah, the Sultan does not and must not know a word of it.” The boys looked at each other in amazement. “Do not be alarmed, dear young gentlemen,” said Rustan. “You shall know all. Look you! old Rustan loves the Christians though he is a Mussulman. When I was a young man I bravely fought them, for I was incited by the dervishes, the bloodthirsty enemies of your faith. I was wounded, taken prisoner, and nursed by a Christian in his home. I have never forgotten it. I have never fought against them since. Fate brought me to this castle and made me your keeper. The Sultan forced me to treat you harshly. It broke my heart to see you suffering, and I have improved the first opportunity to make you some amends.” Both the brothers were greatly moved by his story, and believed they were doing right to accept his proffer.