"Brother!" she said, "I have heard. Come let us talk it over as in old days. So let me hold thy poor hand as we used to do; for we have ever been friends, Babar-ling--have we not?"
Her voice was calm and steady despite the clamant note of tears that was in every word.
"Talk not of it, sister! I will not have it," he muttered; and his voice was broken, husky. "By God and his prophet! I could strike him dead for the thought that I could be such a cur as even to think of it."
She shrank just for a second. "Many men would think it naught," she said, "but it is because it means much to thee that thou must think."
"I will not think," he cried passionately, "I will not be coerced. I will not be cozened. I, Babar, take the consequence."
He left her, baffled, yet still determined, to return to the charge in a day or two; and in starvation times a day or two means much. So much, that she spoke sternly with finality.
"Wilt thou kill thy mother by thy pride, Babar? Listen! Long years ago I said I would do aught for thee--"
"And I answered I would never ask aught," interrupted her brother hotly; but she went on unheeding:
"And now thou deniest me the right to save thee. I who have so few pleasures. Lo! as thou knowest, my heart is dead for love; and this man--this Shaibâni--is not all bad--I--I know he is not. Brotherling! women have borne more for love than I shall have to bear maybe--for the man must be kind in a way--for--for if it ended, Babar--he could take me--without marriage--so grandmother says--"
Babar started up with an oath. "So she also is against me!"