“But,” continued the resident, speaking very slowly, and as if weighing every word he said, “what is very beautiful in sentiment, and very brave and manly if judged according to our own best feelings, young gentlemen, becomes very awkward sometimes if viewed through the spectacles of diplomacy.”
“I—I don’t understand you, sir,” faltered Bob.
“Let me be explicit then, young gentlemen. You both were, it seems, granted leave of absence to-day, for indulging in a little innocent sport, but by your brave, though very indiscreet conduct, you have, I fear, completely overset the friendly relations that we have been trying so hard to establish with these extremely sensitive people.”
“But, sir,” began Bob, “the poor girls—”
“Yes, I know all that,” said the resident quietly; “but slavery is a domestic institution among these people, and to-morrow I feel sure that I shall have a visit from some of the sultan’s chief men, demanding that these poor girls be given up.”
“But they can’t be now, sir,” said Tom Long.
“No, Mr Long, we cannot return the poor girls to a state of slavery; but do you not see into what an awkward position your act has brought us?”
“I’m very sorry, sir.”
“Yes, but sorrow will not mend it. We have been, and are, living on the edge of a volcano here, young gentlemen, and the slightest thing may cause an eruption. This act of yours, I greatly fear, will bring the flames about our heads.”
Bob Roberts turned pale, as he thought of the ladies.