Again he studied me, and again looked down.
“Why didn’t the king let us build boats, and leave?”
He gave no answer, but was very busy with the twigs. I wondered if I were rash in some of the things I was saying. Clearly the moment of confidence had not arrived. The boy was studiedly cautious.
“Beelo, go to your sister and beg her to come and see me. She will trust me more than you do. I know she is our friend. She would tell us what fate is awaiting us.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” firmly interposed the boy.
“She would, because she is sweet and kind.”
“No, she loves her people, and you might do them harm.”
“But she sends you here to disguise us as natives and to train us in the art of deceiving and outwitting them.”
Had his smile not been so winning I could have slapped him for his insolence; but it was soon evident that a mighty struggle was proceeding under his assumed carelessness. If I could only guess at its nature I might know how to proceed.
“Bring Lentala to me, Beelo. She would be safe with you, and she will understand and will trust me.”