"Who asks him to cure me? This divine malady of love is my only joy: and to deprive me of it is to tear out my heart, because it cannot beat at the sound of a drum!"——
At this moment a strange Tartar entered the tent, looked suspiciously round, and bending down his head, laid his slippers before Ammalát—according to Asiatic custom, this signified that he requested a private conversation. Ammalát understood him, made a sign with his head, and both went out into the open air. The night was dark, the fires were going out, and the chain of sentinels extended far before them. "Here we are alone," said Ammalát Bek to the Tartar: "who art thou, and what dost thou want?"
"My name is Samit: I am an inhabitant of Derbénd, of the sect of Souni: and now am at present serving in the detachment of Mussulman cavalry. My commission is of greater consequence to you than to me.... The eagle loves the mountains!"
Ammalát shuddered, and looked suspiciously at the messenger. This was a watchword, the key of which Sultan Akhmet had previously written to him. "How can he but love the mountains?" ... he replied; "In the mountains there are many lambs for the eagles, and much silver for men."
"And much steel for the valiant," (yigheeds.)
Ammalát grasped the messenger by the hand. "How is Sultan Akhmet Khan?" he enquired hurriedly: "What news bring you from him—how long is it since you have seen his family?"
"Not to answer, but to question, am I come.... Will you follow me?"
"Where? for what?"
"You know who has sent me. That is enough. If you trust not him, trust not me. Therein is your will and my advantage. Instead of running my head into a noose to-night, I can return to-morrow to the Khan, and tell him that Ammalát dares not leave the camp."
The Tartar gained his point: the touchy Ammalát took fire. "Saphir Ali!" he cried loudly.