The other, timidly daring, followed its mate’s example, but settled on the same side.
“See!” cried Jahangir excitedly. “The choice is made. They come back to their fetters!”
“Your Highness will observe that there are two to dispute the vacant place,” interposed Sher Afghán.
The icy distinctness of his words showed that the significance of the little comedy played by Nur Mahal had not escaped him. The girl pouted. Jahangir wheeled about fiercely. A quarrel was imminent, but Queen Mariam stopped it.
“Sher Afghán,” she said, “you, who are a soldier, should not take much interest in this idle playing with doves. As I return soon to the palace, go with the strangers and let them exhibit their wares there after the midday meal. That will better suit my convenience than the customary hour to-morrow.”
Bowing silently, the Persian motioned to Mowbray and Sainton to follow him. He spoke no word, but a tumult raged within, and, at the gate, when a servant was slow in opening it, he felled the man with a blow. Instantly regretting the deed he gave the fellow a gold mohur, but his face was tense and his eyes blazed as he mounted his horse and rode silently with the two Englishmen through the midst of the gay retinue which had escorted Prince Jahangir from the palace. Guessing with fair accuracy the hidden meaning of the scene just enacted, Mowbray did not intrude on the sorrowful thoughts of his Persian friend.
“We are in luck’s way, Roger,” he said quietly. “We have escaped the Diwán and won the door of the Queen’s apartments. If the good lady be as ready to pay as she is to buy, this bazaar to-morrow should ease us of all our goods.”
“In which event we shall turn our faces westward?” asked Sainton.