Hastily conquering his air of dejection the younger nobleman signed to the Englishmen to approach. They obeyed, without haste or awkwardness. Grasping their sword hilts in their left hands and doffing their hats with the elaborate courtesy of the age, they stood bareheaded before the elder pair, and certainly the kingdom of James I. had no cause to be ashamed of its latest representatives in the Mogul capital.
Roger Sainton had not his equal in height, in thickness of bone or strength of sinew, in all the wide empire governed by the most powerful of Indian monarchs, while Walter Mowbray’s splendid physique was in no wise dwarfed by the nearness of his gigantic comrade. They were good to look upon, and so the girl found them notwithstanding her jest.
She herself was beautiful to a degree not often seen even in a land of classic features and exquisitely molded figures. Her deep, violet eyes were guarded by long lashes which swept rounded cheeks of ivory tint, brightened by little spots of color which reminded the beholder of the gold and red on the sunny side of a ripe pomegranate. Her lips were parted, and her teeth, dazzlingly white, were so regular and large that they appeared to constitute the chief attraction of a singularly mobile and expressive mouth. Again she laughed, with a musical cadence that was quaint and fascinating:—
“May it please your Majesty,” she said, addressing the Sultana, “these are not merchants but courtiers.”
“May it please your Majesty,” said Walter, instantly, “we would fain be both.”
His apt retort in high-flown Persian was unexpected. His eyes encountered those of the girl, and they exchanged a glance of quick intelligence. She was pleased with him, and he offered her the silent homage which every young man of proper spirit pays to a beautiful and sprightly woman.
Her brilliant orbs said: “I will befriend you.”
In the same language he answered: “You are peerless among your sex.”
And such was the manner of the meeting between Walter Mowbray, son of him who fell on board the San José, and Nur Mahal, the baby girl who was saved from death in the Khaibar Pass twenty years earlier.
It was a meeting not devoid of present interest, and of great future import, yet it is probable that if Nellie Roe had witnessed it she might have been greatly displeased.