“But why shouldn’t Kasam himself be the lion?” she retorted. “Is he so much inferior to the mysterious Ahmed Khan?”
“The future will decide that,” said Dirrag. “Those who know my master have no fear of Kasam of Raab.”
After remaining a short time to watch the picturesque scene spread out before them they turned their horses to descend the hill. All three were busy with their own reflections, and had nearly reached the foot of the incline, with the walls of Mekran less than two miles away, when three mounted men who had been concealed in a thicket dashed out and, without warning, fell savagely upon the band. Two with drawn swords engaged Dirrag in fierce combat, while the third, coming beside Janet, dragged the girl from her horse, swept her across to his own saddle, and then galloped away with his victim clasped tight in his arms.
Bessie, reining in her horse, sat as if turned to stone, for she recognized in the abductor of Janet their old friend Prince Kasam.
With dull eyes and set face she followed the flight of his horse as he bounded up the hill with his burden, nor could the growls of Dirrag, who was engaged in beating down the swords of his assailants with mighty strokes, distract her from the more astounding sight.
Janet, unable to elude the fierce embrace of the man who held her, did not waste her strength in useless struggles. But after the first surprise of her capture had passed away she managed to find her voice, crying out:
“Release me, Prince Kasam!”
“Never!” he answered, exultantly. “You are mine, now—mine forever! And no earthly power shall ever tear you from my arms.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my tent, beloved, there to become my bride. Don’t you know that I love you—love you—love you!”