“When last I saw him he was instructing Prince Jahangir in the art of fence,” said Roger, stooping to recover his hat which had fallen.
“Ha, sayest thou? Would that I had given the lesson in his stead! Search for him, I pray you, whilst I conduct this lady to her father.”
Nur Mahal, who stood near, seemed to be in a somewhat subdued mood. There was a new note in her voice as she murmured:—
“Heed me not, my Lord, but look for the stranger. My heart misgives me as to his fate.”
Sher Afghán gave her a quick glance, clearing his eyes in wonderment. Before he could reply the girl darted forward.
“See, here he comes, and with him a prisoner. For my sake, if for none other, let there be no further bloodshed!”
The appeal was timely. Walter, holding Jahangir, whom he had purposely kept in the background until the turmoil had subsided, now advanced. But the spirit of the combat had not wholly left him. When Sher Afghán sprang forward, eager to renew a duel interrupted by the downfall of the elephant, his sword barred the way.
“Not so,” he cried determinedly. “The Prince is unarmed and my hostage. Moreover, I cannot see why two such gallant gentlemen should fight over a worthless woman. Whilst you were defending her and yourself, Sher Afghán, her dagger was raised to strike you dead.”
The Persian stood as though he had been stabbed indeed. He bent a piteous glance on his wife.
“Is it true,” he asked brokenly, “that you would have done this thing?”