He nodded again—a little irritatingly, for he had a tongue.
“Why?” I asked.
He raised his eyes and regarded me steadily. Then, perhaps not seeing all that he sought, he made no answer, and returned to the twigs.
“I want to understand, Beelo, and you must trust me. Many things come to me now. Your sister’s conduct at the feast meant that she wished us to obey the king. She showed us sincere kindness in every look and act. And her great difference from the other people,—her sweetness, her grace, her beauty, her brightness of mind, her altogether adorable charm,———”
Beelo blazed in a way that stopped my rhapsody. He had raised his face; his lips were apart; his eyes glowed with a proud light that moved me strangely.
“You like my sister?” he softly asked.
“Who would not?”
“But you!” The boy impatiently tossed his head.
The little gesture was so pretty that I involuntarily smiled. Beelo misunderstood. He flashed angrily, and resumed the twigs. I could only grope.
“I don’t understand why the king sent us here. We are prisoners, and that is something which brave men won’t stand. We would rather die fighting.”