She was holding the dagger out towards Hugh, while he looked at her, astonished, as I was, by the quick and varying moods of this strange and fascinating girl.
“Do it quickly,” she said, “lest I repent; for, believe me, it is not of my own free will that I have asked thee to kill Sen-tur. I would sooner see him kill every one of my slaves,” she added naïvely, “than that harm should come to him.”
Then, as Hugh would not take the dagger from her, she placed it quietly at his feet, then threw her arms passionately round the panther’s neck, while great tears fell from her eyes onto his fur.
“Farewell, Sen-tur, my beauty, my loved one,” she whispered. “I know that thou art not afraid to die, for thou, like Neit-akrit, dost long for that glorious land which lies beyond the valley of death. Come back, Sen-tur, to me at nights, and tell me what thou hast seen. Sen-tur is ready, oh, beloved of the gods,” she added; “thou needst not fear, he will not even struggle. Make haste. I wish it.”
“Dost really wish me to kill Sen-tur?” asked Hugh at last.
“Yes, really! I wish it.”
“Why?”
“Because Sen-tur has sinned grievously, and sinning, will surely sin again. He hath tasted the blood of a slave, he liked the taste and will wish to drink again.”
“But will it not grieve thee to see Sen-tur die?”
“More than thou canst conceive,” she replied earnestly. “Sen-tur is my only friend, but it would grieve me even more if thou didst leave my presence now with evil thoughts of me in thy heart.”