Babar swayed towards the voice. "I have prevailed," he muttered. "I have borne it away--" threw up his arms blindly, staggered and fell in a dead faint on to sobbing Târdi-Beg's breast. The rest crowded round, awestruck, curious.
"He is dead--God hath accepted the sacrifice," they said.
The face of Babar's best friend worked; of that, who could say, but for the present it was not true.
"Not he!" he cried roughly. "Give him air! 'Tis but the strain on him, and what that has been all these years, fools do not know. Here, slaves! Carry him to his chamber! Nay! Madam Mother! there is no cause for anxiety! H'st! no noise, you there, lest you disturb the Prince who in good sooth seems coming to himself!"
And it was true. The nameless change which comes to a fever face when the crisis is passing showed clear upon Humâyon's.
"Her Royal Highness had best stay with the invalid," went on Târdi-Beg, "I can attend the Emperor in this passing indisposition."
But a veiled white figure rose quietly. "I go with His Imperial Majesty," said Mubârika-Begum. "There is no fear, sister; as the gentleman says it is but a fainting fit. The Emperor hath been over-anxious."
So when Babar came to himself, which he did rapidly, he found the Blessed-Damozel bending over him.
"My son?" he asked faintly.
"The prince is better," she replied. "The fever hath gone--he will recover."