"Mir Ghazan, my friend," and again Walter's arms enfolded a burly-looking Afghan, "never forget the promise—Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life."
Mir Ghazan responded to the embrace, but uttered no word in reply.
Then Walter turned to the aged woman, and reverentially raised the withered hand to his lips. "Bless me, mother," he said, gently; "the hoary head is a crown of glory. We shall meet, if not in this world, in a better." The old widow melted into tears.
Oriental propriety forbade even a parting pressure of the hand between the Englishman and the younger women. But Sultána followed her spiritual guide as far as the gate, there to bid him farewell. She did not weep, but her pale cheek and quivering lip betrayed her emotion on the departure of him to whom she owed life, and what she valued much more than life.
"The God who guided you here, and guarded you here, and made you a blessing to us all, be with you wherever you go!" she faltered. Sultána added in a softer tone, "You will not forget your Afghan children when far, far away?"
"Forget you, Sultána? never! night and day my prayers will rise for you all."
"And you will come back to the Eagle's Nest?" said Sultána, with a sad, wistful look in her blue eyes, as she raised them to Walter's face.
"God permitting, I will surely come back," said Walter. He could not trust his voice to say more, but turned and rapidly strode down the hill in silence, which the sympathising Chaplain did not attempt to break. He noticed that Ali Khan and some of the Afghans were following at a little distance, to see the last of their English friend.
At the last point from which the Eagle's Nest was visible from the road, Walter Gurney paused, turned, and looked up. On the roof of the fort, in her white garments, stood Sultána; a cloud crimsoned with the sunset glow behind her head showed like a glory. It would hardly have seemed strange had white wings expanded behind her.
"A child of light!" murmured Walter Gurney. He stood still for a few moments as if fixed to the spot; not another word passed his lips, but his soul was pouring forth his silent thanksgiving. How marvellously had the fiery pillar, of which that cloud reminded him, led him through the dark night of affliction, suffering, and danger! His trials had turned into blessings; his troubles had worked together for lasting good. Walter Gurney had left memorials behind him on his pilgrim-path through the desert, living stones of priceless value that should, through all eternity, find a place in the heavenly city above.