A Noble Queen (Vol. 1-3). Taylor Meadows

is great," she added, soothingly; "and what is given is given. Who ever asks return of a gift?"

      "That is a lie, mother," he said, grimly. "I know that money is in thy waistband in gold pieces, and, by the saints, I have a mind to have thee stripped by the eunuchs, and I would fling it into the river, and thy carcase after it. Dost thou hear, liar and cheat? Thou hadst as well trifle with the devil as with me. Beware!"

      "Ah, my lord, do not be angry with your poor slave!" cried the dame, casting herself before him, and pressing her forehead against the foot that was extended. "Forgive me! I have no refuge but you in this wild place. Do not be angry with me, else I shall die. There is yet one thing I would say, if I were permitted, only I was afraid you would be angry."

      "Well, get up then, and say it," he returned, sulkily; "but, by Alla, if thou try to cheat me again, I will do as I said. May the blessed Koran be my witness;" and he took up the book and touched his breast and forehead with it.

      The woman trembled. She believed Osman Beg to be perfectly capable of doing any violence to her, and he, and his Abyssinian slaves, bore an evil reputation in the little village. The only gossip that Shireen could pick up in the bazaar was that several respectable farmers had sent away their wives and children to villages beyond the river. She must speak now, however, or run the chance of death.

      "My lord, my lord, mercy!" she cried, putting up her joined hands. "The Fakeer's daughter, his child. My lord, forgive me for mentioning one so mean, so far beneath my lord's station."

      "Ha! so she is to be my fate after all," he said to himself; then added, "Is it to be so, dame? Hast thou seen her? She is beautiful!"

      "No," she answered, "I have not, but Shireen has; and says she will be beautiful when she grows up; but she is too young at present to judge."

      "I have seen her," returned Osman Beg; "she will, indeed, be beautiful;" and he sat silent for some minutes.

      "But, my lord," returned the dame, after the silence had grown too long to be safe, "according to my science, which was taught me by the blessed Saint Geesoo Daraz, of Gulburgah, the union would not be propitious, and I warn thee of danger. Thou art water and she is fire, and would consume thee; so let it pass, I say there is danger to thee."

      "Peace with thy jargon, O fool! Am I not burned already by her? Doth she not consume me night and day? By Alla, I believe she is a witch, and the old man a sorcerer, and they have been plotting their hellish magic against me. What care I for thy jargon?"

      "Well, if my lord doth not fear it," she returned, "it can go on. Else—never mind, I did only my honest duty in telling and warning thee. Shall I go down to the Syud, and make my proposal for my lord? I can offer money, rank, dignity, jewels, and my lord's heart, which is already devoured by the flame of love. What girl could refuse all these, much less a Fakeer's child? May I go?"

      "No," said Osman Beg, savagely; "if she is my fate, I will manage it my own way. Begone! when I need thee I will send for thee."

      "What made the unblest woman name her?" he thought aloud "Zóra! her fate is not mine according to the dame's vile jargon; and yet she is my fate, as I have known long, oh, so long. Zóra, so beautiful as thou art, how often have I watched thee, bounding among the rocks like a deer, going demurely through the village to the sick folk, and hearing blessings showered on thee by every tongue! Yet she avoids me, and shudders when she meets me. Dare I ask her of her grandfather? Useless, the Syud was insolent before, and told me the holy brotherhood could not mate with the sons of Turcoman robbers. No, she is my fate, were there a thousand dangers; and I dare it, for I cannot avert what is written. Ho, Johur! art thou without?"

      The huge Abyssinian drew aside the curtain and entered, clasping his hands upon his broad chest, and stood like a bronze statue before him. "Johur," said his master, after a pause.

      "I am here," was the reply.

      "Johur," continued Osman Beg, after a while, "thou knowest the girl Zóra?"

      "I know her—the Syud's grandchild; every one knows her."

      "Does she ever come about the fort as she used to do, gathering flowers or leaves for her goats?"

      "Of course she does, master; no one hinders her; we often speak to her, and she has ever a merry word for me. I pull flowers for her when she cannot reach them."

      "You must bring her to me, Johur; I have much to say to her."

      Johur started; he feared evil to the girl, but he dared not disobey. He well knew that his life would be the instant forfeit, and the rocks his grave, where a fellow slave had gone before him.

      "She will not come readily with me," said the slave, as the tears ran down his cheeks, and his chest heaved.

      "That is for thee to manage. Take Abdulla and Raheem with thee if thou wilt. Else thou knowest what will follow, and that disobedience is death. Go, be wise, and bring her."

      "When? master."

      "It is late to-day, the evening closes; to-morrow, if you see her, is enough; watch and see."

      "I obey," said the man; "your orders are on my head and eyes;" and he withdrew. "But, oh! Zóra! Zóra!" he cried with a bitter cry as he went out, "that it should be I to have to do this deed. I would that I were dead."

      CHAPTER IX.

       TREACHERY.

       Table of Contents

      The next day Zóra was sitting in her little court alone, thinking of Maria, and every now and then the tears welled up in her eyes. She was sad, she knew not why, for all around her was bright and beautiful.

      "She is thinking of me," she said, "and her thoughts are sad to-day, as mine are. Why doth sadness gather about me, while all are so happy? Coo! coo!" she cried; and her beautiful pigeons, rising from the roof of the little mosque, fluttered down into the court and clustered around her feet. "Say, what message shall I send her who loved you, and fed you every day? Yes, I will tell her you love her still; and I will send her one of your beautiful feathers, Zumrood!" she said to one of the birds; "you know she loved you more than any. Come hither, pretty one!" and she stooped and picked it up. "Now kiss me as you used to kiss her, you faithless bird; and let me take one of your glossy feathers for her whom we have lost. Ah! thou shouldst not peck me, darling; it will not hurt thee. And if it does, what matter? Thou shouldst not grudge pain for one that loved thee. Behold, I suffer pain always now—always, always! and there is no relief for it. Now go;" and she cast the bird fluttering into the air. "Go, thou at least art free. Yes," she continued, smoothing down the feather glowing with bright emerald hues, "this will remind her of her pet, and she will put it to her beautiful white throat as she used to put Zumrood's soft breast, and think of me. Yes, her thoughts will come back to us; and though she is far away among great folks, when she shuts her eyes she can see us all as I see her—me, and the birds and the flowers, and the trees, and even the sick children who loved her so. And now I will write. Ahmed will be here soon, and the letter must be ready;" and, bringing out her writing materials, she sat down in the shade of the fig tree and vine, and began her simple letter, which ran thus:—

      "To my sister, beloved in the Lord Jesus and His mother Mary. Greeting, from my heart; and the blessing of Alla, the Most High, and peace be with you.

      "I am not used to writing, and my composition and spelling will be very bad. You must forgive them. But I must write, for my heart is full and sad because I have no news of you, which fills my mind with grief. I used not to be sad; but now you are gone I seem not to be here, but far away with you. And yet I am here, and am sitting under the fig tree, and all the pigeons are cooing about me; and I have just taken a feather from Zumrood's breast, where you used to lay it against your white throat and teach it to kiss you. They all remember you, and we all want you so much to be with us; but we cannot go to you, nor can you come to us, at which our hearts are full of grief, and my tears will fall as I write. Abba is well, but he is sad too. 'When will the Padré Sahib return to Moodgul?'