"Here, Mirza," he said. "Stand here before me.... Thou lovest me, I believe?"
Mirza answered upon his knee: "My Lord has said it."
"I believe thee.... Rise and take pen and paper, and write, standing here before me." [Footnote: A Turkish calligraphist works on his feet as frequently as on a chair, using a pen made of reed and India ink reduced to fluid.]
From a table near by the materials were brought, and the Emir, again upon his knees, wrote as his master dictated.
The paper need not be given in full. Enough that it covered with uncommon literalness—for the Conqueror's memory was prodigious—the suggestions of the Prince of India already quoted respecting the duties of the agent in Constantinople. While writing, the Emir was variously moved; one instant, his countenance was deeply flushed, and in the next very pale; sometimes his hand trembled. Mahommed meantime kept close watch upon him, and now he asked:
"What ails thee?"
"My Lord's will is my will," was the answer—"yet"—
"Out—speak out."
"My Lord is sending me from him, and I dread losing my place at his right hand."
Mahommed laughed heartily.