Her eyes sought mine, and then the medicine-chest.
Then she looked back at me, and I made a gesture inviting her to speak.
"You told me," she said at last, "that you have poison in that box that would reach down to hell and slay the ifrits.

Give me some of it." _"Ya sit Ayisha._ I need it all for the ifrits," I answered.
"I will make no trouble for you," she said; and for a moment I suspected she meant to kill herself.
"You are young and beautiful," I told her.

"The world holds plenty of good for you yet." At that she flashed her white teeth and her eyes blazed.
"Truly! Allah puts a good omen into your mouth, _miyan!_* Yet little comes to the woman who neglects to plan for it.

Give me the poison.

I will pay." -- ----------- * _Miyan:_ the rather contemptuous form of address that Arabs use toward Indian Moslems.
-- ----------- I was about to refuse abruptly, being rather old-maidish about some things and not always ready with a smile for what I don't approve; but Narayan Singh interrupted in time to prevent the unforgivable offense of preaching my own code of morals uninvited.
"Tell us who is to be poisoned," he demanded.
"That is none of your business," she answered calmly.
"But the poison is our business," said the Sikh.