A Noble Queen. Taylor Meadows

      "I have said it," he replied; "and did I wait for her consent, I should not fulfil my destiny. I cannot recall spoken words. See ye to what ye have to do; why need she know? When the Moolla has spoken the Nika, she is mine, and cannot escape. See ye to it!" and he went out haughtily.

      "What can we do? what can we do?" cried Máma Luteefa, whimpering, and wringing her hands. "If it were known in Moodgul that I had any hand in this violence, I should lose all my practice, and my honour, and my respect"—and she counted these upon the tips of her fingers—"and my wealth, and my reputation. Yes, I knew they were five. But I never had a hand in anything like this before; and I will tell it in the bazaars; I will cry it from the house top; yea, I will sit in the gate of the mosque and cry it to the faithful as they go to prayers," exclaimed the dame, by way of climax. "I will even go to Queen Chand's feet, and tell it there. What do I care?"

      "Beware! Máma Luteefa," said Shireen-bee, with her finger on her lips; "those unblessed eunuchs are always prying about, and might hear thee. Let us take the girl in from this cold place; and, I think, if we sent for Goolab-bee, who knows her, she might be of use; Zóra would speak to her!"

      Now Goolab-bee was the seller of pán. Her husband kept the only shop in the village. Of course she knew Zóra perfectly. It was her hour for coming, too; she never failed, for she must deliver her parcel before sunset, that she might get home again before dark.

      Zóra had recovered from the faint, and had sat up, looking wildly about her. Her mouth was so parched that she now drank with avidity the water that was offered to her, and held out the cup for more. She would not speak, but covered up her head in the sheet that had been thrown over her. Máma Luteefa, thinking that a familiar name would rouse her, said kindly, "Do not fret, my fairy, Goolab-bee will be here directly, and you can talk to her."

      "Goolab! where is she? Oh! bring her to me if ye have any pity!" cried Zóra; and, almost as she spoke, the voice of the woman was heard without, and she was called in as she entered. Zóra rose from the bed, and rushed into her arms. "Oh! save me, mother! save me!" she cried; "take me away, they have brought me here by force, and I shall die!"

      No one in the village had yet heard of the outrage; the old man only fretted that his child was away so long.

      "Zóra," said the woman, bursting into tears, "thou here! My child! my child! this is no place for thee. Come away with me. Abba will be missing thee, and grieving sorely."

      "She cannot go," said Máma Luteefa, grimly. "She is to be the Nawab's bride. This is only the usual shyness, and thou canst explain all to her."

      "Leave us alone, then," said Goolab. "I wish to hear all from her own lips;" and the others, thinking this but reasonable, left them alone.

      And Zóra told all—how she had been carried off by the slaves; how the Nawab had threatened her, and how she feared the worst. "The two women are kind," she said, "but I cannot trust them. How can I escape, mother? he is merciless."

      "There is no hope from him; but do not live without hope, my child. Alla, the Most High, protects the orphan. I will go to my husband, who is a wise man, and can advise us. I will take him to thy grandfather, and tell him too. If he consent, all may be well."

      "No! no! no!" cried the girl. "I would sooner die!"

      "Wait, then. I will persuade Máma Luteefa to put off the Nika, and I will come to thee early to-morrow. Thou art quite safe to-night; but eat nothing. As you live, do not trust them. Here is some parched rice. As I left the shop I filled my pocket from the basket, to eat as I came up the hill. There, tie it in the end of the sheet; there is enough to stay hunger till I come again. And now I must go, and I shall need a torch as it is. Fear not, my child; you have more friends than you wot of."

      "Oh, tell him all, mother!" sobbed the girl, as she clung to Goolab's neck. "Indeed, indeed, I had no thought of this! Oh, mother, I had no thought! I was taken unawares, and tried to leap from the bastion into the river; but Johur held me, and I had no strength to escape. Tell Abba all. I have no wish to live: my honour is gone, and I can but die; and even the river is kinder than he is, for it will hide my shame."

      "No! no!" sobbed the woman. "Wait, and put thy trust in the Lord, and do not think of death."

      "Have you pacified her?" asked Máma Luteefa, anxiously. "Will she be quiet?"

      "Yes, if you do not meddle with her," was the reply.

      "And you will come to-morrow?"

      "I will," replied Goolab, and hastened away.

      CHAPTER X.

       HOW THE NIGHT PASSED.

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      The evening wore on, the golden sunset faded, and the stupendous mass of the fort became grey and dim; while on the uppermost towers the light lingered, as if loth to leave them. Still the old man hoped and hoped, and his old servant comforted him, or tried to do so, though she could not conceal her own sad fears. Had Zóra slipped and fallen into the river or into a crevice of the rocks? Had she and Ahmed been attacked by the panthers, which began to growl as the day declined? Whom could she send to see? She dare not venture herself or leave her master. Then the night fell on all suddenly; and the old man, blind as he was, knew the change from day to night had come. He was very restless, groping his way into the courtyard, and feeling in every room and corner with his staff. "Zóra! Zóra! Zóra!" he cried almost unremittingly, "where art thou? Come to me, come to me! I bid thee not delay. Oh, I shall die if thou comest not." Then he went into the little mosque, cried the evening call to prayer, and waited, but no one came. "Why had all deserted him, and Zóra too?"

      When he had finished his prayer he got up and went into the house, and sat down in his usual place. "Where is Zóra?" he asked of the old servant; "hath she not come?"

      "No," replied Hoosein-bee; "I daresay she is with her sick children. One is very ill, she told me so this morning; perhaps it is dying, and she is with it." It was a poor attempt to satisfy herself and calm the old man's fears, and it was all she could do to check her own sobs.

      "It is night now," said her master, in a trembling voice; "the pigeons have ceased to coo, and the air is chilly. Why delayest thou, Zóra, Zóra, Zóra?" and the piteous, wailing cry began again, as he rocked himself to and fro. Sometimes he thought the panthers had killed her; again that she had fallen between the frightful crevices of the rocks and was lost. "Oh, child! so beloved, art thou dead? Dead! and the old man living? Nay, there is no justice in it. Why did Alla let her die?"

      "Peace!" cried Hoosein-bee, rebuking him; "art thou accusing God? I loved the child as well as thou didst, but if the Lord hath taken her, dare we refuse her to Him? What does it matter for us, who are old and will soon die? Peace! someone will find the child and bring her in, then it will be time enough to weep."

      "I have sinned," returned the old man, submissively; "I will not complain: whatever her destiny was, I could not avert it, Ameen! Ameen!" and he rocked himself to and fro as before. "And yet," he muttered to himself, "her horoscope was fine, and there were happiness, and honour, and children, and wealth in it. And I believed that; but it may have been a deceit of Satan; and I shall never hear her sweet voice again, nor feel her soft hands about me, alas! alas!"

      "I see a torch coming from the village gate," cried Hoosein-bee, who had been watching from the door. "There are a man and a woman, and the torch-bearer. Master! master! they come hitherwards; they will surely have news. Let us vow offerings to the saints if Zóra be safe! Oh, Syud, dost thou hear?"

      But the old man could not speak; he only rose and tottered to the door. "Are they come?" he asked, tremblingly. "Hoosein-bee, who are they?"

      "I see them now, master," she said; "only Peeroo and his wife Goolab-bee."

      "What can they know about the child?" he returned, peevishly. "Why do they come when I am in grief?"

      "Be quiet, master," she replied; "they