“I—I thought you’d given them to him as—as a special favour,” I stammered.
“I told you last time you tried thought-reading that, if any one wanted my favour, he’d have to take it. Your memory is very poor.”
“It will be good in future, Shahzadi,” said I humbly. “I’m glad the camels are dead.”
Aryenis busied herself with her work once more, ignoring my last remark. Presently she said, without looking up:
“The day after to-morrow, the doctor says you can try and walk a little with a stick and an arm. Will you trust mine?”
“I’d trust your arm, Shahzadi, more than any arm in all the world. Just as I’d trust you with my whole soul and my hope of a life to come.”
She made no reply to that, but I could see a tiny flush run into her cheeks, and a little happy quaver at the corner of her mouth. We relapsed into a long silence after that, but I think a contented one. Mine certainly was. Suddenly she lifted her head, listening:
“Horses! I wonder who it is so late? I wonder if it’s news from the army.”
She went out, and presently Wrexham’s unmistakable tread came ringing down the passage, and he entered with a clank of war-gear, flinging his steel cap on to my bed.
“Good to see you out of bed again, Harry,” he said, pulling up a stool and putting his feet to the blaze. “Aryenis says you’ll be walking in a couple of days.”