"Nay, not despair, my lord," said the young Eagle, her eye still bright though her wan cheek and parched lip told of physical suffering; "a wild fit of madness has seized the tribe. Mustapha has cast over them an evil spell; but the madness may pass away and the spell be broken. Let my lord be assured that some true hearts are with him still. Yar Mohammed will never forget who saved his life when the bear was clawing his face; nor Sadik Khan who nursed him, as a brother might, in his sickness. Hossein Ghazi—I could answer for his truth; he served my father and my father's father—he never will forsake their daughter. Let us but gain a little time till the first frenzy has spent its force, and then appeal to the honour and loyalty of our gallant Pathans. Wot not, my lord, how our friend would sway our fierce warriors by his powerful words, till eyes that never before were wet, eyes wont to look on bloodshed unmoved, were dim with strange tears, and proud spirits were bowed like trees when the wind sweeps past?"
"The Feringhee spake with power," said the chief; "his words were like the bullet from a gun aimed with skill, and sent with force—the bullet that strikes, and down falls the deer! My words are like the bullet thrown by an unskilled hand—it either falls short of the quarry, or if it reach it would not ruffle a hair. I never knew how to use any argument but one—the strength of my own right hand, and of that my new faith deprives me. Ha! what is that sound! they are at us again!" he exclaimed.
Mustapha perhaps thought, like Sultána, that the wild rage of the men whom he had seduced from their allegiance to their brave chief, might be like some mountain torrent, though furious quickly spent. He would leave them small space to consider. About two hours before sunset, when the greater number of his followers had awoke from their drunken slumber, Mustapha again led an assault up the ladder. He now applied other means to burst open the door. A strong ruffian, by his orders, wielding a heavy hatchet, dealt blow after blow on the wood. Every thud was echoed by a faint shriek from Mir Ghazan's terrified wife.
Ha! a portion of the wood gives way, a splinter flies into the room, a breach is made—not large, but wide enough to admit the muzzle of Mustapha's pistol, and long enough to let him take aim.
"I have him now! Dog of a renegade, die!" exclaimed Mustapha, aiming the pistol at the head of Ali Khan, who was not two yards' distant.
"'I have him now! Dog of a renegade, die!' exclaimed Mustapha,
aiming the pistol at the head of Ali Khan."
Sultána sprang forward, and interposed her own form between the deadly weapon and her husband. "Fire!" she cried, "but your bullet will only reach the heart of a woman!"
"Give up Ali Khan! we thirst for no blood but his!" cried the savage Mustapha.