"You, Paz! Why we've only known each other about fifteen hours. Though I'm glad to hear it, all the same."
"Friends long enough to nearly get killed together to-day," the man replied. "That's one reason."
"And the other--Zara's reasons? What are they?"
Again the man's eyes glistened in the starlight; then he put out his long lithe finger, which, Indianlike, he used to emphasize most of his remarks.
"She hates him. So do I."
"You I can understand. He beat you this morning. But--Zara! I thought she was his faithful adherent."
"She hates him because," the man replied laconically, "she loves him."
"Loves him. And he? Well--what?"
"Not love her. He love 'nother. English missy. You know her."
"I do," Julian answered emphatically. "I do. Now, I'll add my share to this little love story. She, the English missy, does not love him."