'And fortunate it was for you,' Mahmoud resumed after a time, when his chibouque was brought him, 'that your hour had not come; but come it will, and how will it fare with you then? The paradise which is promised to the pious is not for you,' he continued, plunging at once, as usual with the Afghans, into the Koran; 'therein are rivers of incorruptible water and of milk, the taste whereof changeth not; rivers of wine, pleasant unto those who drink; and of clarified honey; and therein shall be fruit of a thousand kinds, and a pardon from the Lord. Shall the man for whom all these are prepared by the Lord of the Daybreak, be as he who must dwell for ever in the fires of hell, and will have boiling water given him to drink, which shall burst his bowels?' And ever and anon Colville was treated to quotations much to the same purpose. Seeing him one day gazing at a photo of Mary Wellwood, the sirdir became at once full of curiosity. 'One of your wives?' he asked. 'No; but one who is to be my wife, I hope.' 'She cannot be of rank--she has no ring in her nose. Is she moon-faced?' (_i.e._, handsome.) 'Very; as you see.' 'And you love her very much?' 'I do indeed.' 'Better than your best horse, your camels, and all your fat-tailed sheep?' 'Better than all the world.' 'Inshallah; perhaps you may see her soon again.' 'Please God, I shall.' 'Do you keep her locked up--in care of your father, or who--as you are absent, and gone to the wars?' 'Why should I do so?' 'Many of our people, if of rank, lock up their wives when they travel.' 'Why?' 'They may be false and artful.' 'And what do you do then?' He only smiled grimly, and touched the carved silver hilt of the charah in his crimson shawl girdle. 'You treat them with a spirit of selfishness,' said Colville; 'but I know that even Christian men do the same, by making more severe laws for women than themselves, forgetting that by so doing they raise them above themselves.' But the sirdir knew not what to make of this idea, and so remained silent. Nearly three weeks had passed since Colville became a prisoner in the fort of Mahmoud Shah, and no tidings had reached him of what was doing in the world of India, beyond the Kyber and other passes, or of what was transpiring in the city of Cabul. He knew that tidings of the massacre then must have been flashed home by the electric telegraph long since, and that poor Mary would now be mourning for him, as one who was no more! CHAPTER VII. THE FUGITIVE. Ignorant that Taimur, the Usbeg Tartar, the Guide soldier, was preceding him, Robert Wodrow--full of longing for dire and terrible vengeance on those who had destroyed his comrades and friends, among them more especially Leslie Colville, as he never doubted--trod resolutely on to reach Lundi-Khana Kotal, or any outpost at the head of the Kurram Valley.