“Then you are not afraid?” pursued the boy. “I thought Englishmen were all cowards. Wazira Begum says so.” “I fear your sister is prejudiced. Where did she pick up her unfavourable idea of the English?” “Oh, don’t you know? It is your fault that we have to live in the desert, and old Zulika says Wazira Begum ought to be married; but how can a proper marriage be made for her here, where no one ever comes?” “If I were you, I think I should leave that to your parents,” said Major Keeling, much amused by this original reason for hatred. “Your father will make a suitable marriage for your sister when the right time arrives.” “But it is my brother Ashraf Ali who would have to do it. The Sheikh-ul-Jabal is not----” “O Maadat Ali! O my brother!” came from behind the curtain, and the boy realised that the knife-sharpening had ceased, and that his last remark had been audible. He tumbled off the divan, and evidently received urgent advice behind the curtain, to judge by the whispering that went on there, and returning, seated himself in an attitude of rigid sternness, with a frown on his youthful brow, and his eyes fixed threateningly upon the hostage. Major Keeling gave up the attempt to make him talk, and yielded himself to his own thoughts, which were coloured somewhat gloomily by the surroundings and by the absence of daylight. It seemed to him that many hours must have passed, although the shadow had not fully withdrawn from the sun, before the welcome sound of horses’ feet and of opening gates heralded the return of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal. Sir Dugald, who was led in after him by the boy Ashraf Ali, was blindfolded as before; but as soon as he was inside the house, he tore off the handkerchief and sprang at the Commandant. “Thank God you’re all right, Major! I’ve been perfectly tormented with fear lest that little vixen should have attempted some treachery. But the whole matter is cleared up, and the Sheikh will ride down with us to the spot where we were first challenged, that the Commissioner, who has ridden out, may see you and him together, and be able to feel quite certain. Do let us get out of this place!” “Why, Haigh, I never heard you say so much in a breath before. I should like to recover my sword first, if you are not in too great a hurry.” He turned to the Sheikh and repeated the request. “Let Wazira Begum bring the Sahib’s sword,” said the Sheikh, but there was no response. He called again, raising his voice, and this time the curtain was pulled slightly aside and the sword flung through the opening, so that it fell clanging on the floor at Major Keeling’s feet. The Sheikh turned pale with anger, and took a step towards the curtain, but changed his mind suddenly.