Sultána's smile showed that she understood the tall stranger. She only said, however, "I will bring something, but not now; I cannot stay, I am wanted," and she vanished into the dark recess from which she had just emerged.
But it was as if in these few minutes the fairy had scattered a whole shower of blossoms over the path of the sanguine and volatile Denis. The love of romance, which was strong in him, was gratified, and his excessively sanguine spirit built an airy fabric of hope on the smile of a child. Sultána would aid his escape, he knew it; he would win the little one's heart,—it was a pity that she was only a child. Denis had unbounded confidence in his own powers of persuasion if only he were able to speak; but who could plead effectually with a vocabulary so limited as his! For hours Denis did nothing but ask Walter to translate words and sentences into Pushtoo. The Irishman learnt eagerly and with rapidity, his anxiety to speak quickening his apprehension, and strengthening a memory naturally good. Denis was proud of his own progress, and impatient to make use of his new acquisitions. Why did not Sultána return? Was she, the beautiful child, also a faithless, ungrateful Afghan!
About sunset a furious squabble arose between two Afghans outside the fort, who were evidently likely to come to blows. The outer gate being not yet locked, as it invariably was at night, most of the inhabitants of the Eagle's Nest thronged out to see the tamasha. The court-yard was clear, save of a few old women, and children too young even to enjoy the sight of a fray. As if seizing her opportunity, from a different recess from that in which she had at first disappeared, came forth little Sultána, her speed only checked by the necessity of carrying something with care. She climbed the ladder with the agility of a cat, not needing to make use of her hands. Wrapt up in what Denis recognised as a silk handkerchief of his own, was something which the child eagerly placed in the hands of Walter. "It is good, eat it—and quickly," said the girl.
The handkerchief contained a large portion of a delicate kid, cooked to perfection on hot stones placed in a hole, a fashion of Afghan cooking which was quite new to Denis. The captives, it need not be said, had no knives or forks, dishes or plates; but to men who had starved for two days on black bread, no accessories were needed. Sultána stood by, smiling to see how the meal was enjoyed. Denis was too busily engaged in eating even to make use of his newly-acquired sentences in Pushtoo. His appetite was worthy of an Afghan.
"Do you know how I got that for you?" asked Sultána of Walter, who was the first to end his repast.
"You coaxed your father to send it."
"No, my father would send nothing," said the child, "though I begged him until he was angry. I will tell you how I got it," she went on, in a low confidential tone. "Mir Ghazan was baking his kid, but I determined that some one else should eat it. So I ran up to him, and said, 'Oh! Mir Ghazan, I saw just now a fine cheetah outside the fort; I think it's hid in the jungle; if you're quick you may shoot it!' for I knew that he wanted a cheetah's skin; he told me so a few days ago. Up jumped Mir Ghazan," continued the girl, mirth dancing in her blue eyes; "he seized his gun, and off he went, and I ran away with the kid."
"O Sultána! if I had known this, I would not have eaten the kid," said Walter, in a tone of gentle reproach.
"Why, didn't you want food?" said the little Afghan.
"Do you remember, dear Sultána, that when we were in the jungle together I taught you that God is love?"