Ahmed answered at last. ‘What dost thou require?’ he said.
‘Come here, I would speak to thee secretly.’ He arose and crossed the hut; it was a good sign. He seated himself close to Herbert; perhaps he had too been thinking of the escape.
‘Ahmed,’ said the young man, ‘thou hast been kind to me: I love thee, for thou hast spoken to me: thou art my friend. Wilt thou then aid me?’
‘They say you English are deceitful and faithless,’ replied the man.
‘They wrong us—by thy head, they wrong us. Our enemies alone say so; we are faithful even to death. Wilt thou trust one, and that one me?’
The man moved, but spoke not.
‘Wilt thou aid me?’ continued Herbert, for he perceived he was listened to. ‘Behold, I trust thee in thus speaking to thee, and am utterly in thy power; if it is thy will, thou canst denounce me to thine associates even now. See how I trust thee—thou wilt not betray me. For years I have languished in captivity. I have a father, mother, brethren, sisters—one other, too, even dearer than they. They think me dead, and the old have long mourned with bitter grief, even the grief of parents for a firstborn and beloved. Hast thou no heart for this to plead for me within thee?’
Again the man writhed, but spoke not.
‘Hast thou no tenderness, that I may appeal to it? Hast thou no father—mother—wife—who, if thou wert dead, would mourn for thee, but who, living, rejoice for thee?’
‘I have all,’ was the reply.