Churi shrugged.
“Now I already see the feat performed. Shall I explain it to thee?”
“I am a listener, Asra.”
“Then hark. Between the hours of twelve and two, the zenana is guarded by one that is a kindly man. At the hour of his watch this fellow, for just the shadow of an instant, falls asleep. Lo! The way is open!” Fidá smiled delightedly.
Churi, however, turned on him a solemn look. “Truly thou hast little regard for the life of the ‘kindly one’. Knowest thou not the penalty for a guardian that sleeps?”
Once again Fidá sprang to his feet. “Name of Allah, man, why hast thou brought this message then? Was it to drive me mad? Am I a fool to be mocked at? What meanest thou?”
Churi’s color changed perceptibly. “I mock thee not,” he said, in a voice that rang untrue. “I mock thee not. Behold, thou demandest of me my safety, my fidelity, my life. Is that so small a thing to ask—as a gift?”
“A gift! Ah! I see.” Fidá’s head sank upon his breast, and, for a moment, he was lost in thought. Then, looking Churi straight in the eyes, he said: “I am a slave—thou knowest that. What wilt thou have of me? Wilt thou take my life when once I have done the bidding of—the beloved?”
“Thy life is useless to me.”
“Killing me, thou couldst save thine honor.”