A Noble Queen. Taylor Meadows

the court next to the kitchen court," said Goolab; "and there is no door to it. I went in yesterday by the broken wall, for the servants all use it now, and have made a pathway."

      "Good," he returned; "mind, the third hoot. She must be awake and ready, and fear not. Tell her Runga Naik comes to her for Meeah's sake—would he were here, dame; would he were here. Now go! I shall rest here, and we will get what we can down to the boat as best we can."

      Goolab-bee hastened away, took her bundle of pán on her head, filled her capacious pocket with parched rice, and hied up the hill with all the speed she could. She entered the kitchen court by the gap in the wall, meeting the Nawab's cook, who was one of her gossips.

      "That won't be half enough, Goolab-bee," said the woman, pointing to the bundle of pán; "we are to have the Nika to-night, and more will be wanted. There will be a great feast for my lord's Nika, and you are invited to it."

      "I suppose he has satisfied Zóra-bee, then," she returned, carelessly. "I will bring more pán in the evening."

      "Oh, yes, she is quite satisfied; Shireen-bee told me so. She is quite ready. You know all brides require a little smoothing down. But go and see her yourself; some good fresh pán will refresh her."

      Goolab went into the next court. There was no door between them, only a curtain made of coarse black blanket. She pulled this aside, and saw Zóra sitting in the cloister of the court before the door of the room she had been in. The two women sat by her, and one of the eunuchs stood with his arms folded, at a short distance from them, idly leaning against the wall.

      "Mother!" cried Zóra, in a husky voice, stretching out her arms; "mother, oh, come to me; they will not let me go to thee!"

      "Ah, poor darling!" said Máma Luteefa, "we brought her out here into the cool morning air, for she did not sleep; we watched her by turns all the night, and offered her food and water, but she would not eat or drink. Now if she would take a mouthful of plain kicheri she would be better. Take her in, and speak to her; she knows you, and will tell you we have done all we could; and my lord sent early to know how she had slept, and is anxious about her, as the Nika is fixed for to-night," she whispered, "but don't tell her."

      "Come, my darling," said Goolab, "come with me, I will put thee to sleep, and watch by thee." She led Zóra to the bed where she had been laid the night before, and they were alone. The women sat without, looking in now and then, but did not disturb them.

      "I have not slept, mother, though I feigned to do so. I have not spoken to them. They have been trying to persuade me to submit, but, oh, mother, I hate him! I should die if I remain longer here."

      "Not long, my treasure," replied Goolab. "Runga Naik is come. Now listen, for we must not be seen to speak much; at the third hour of the night he will come and hoot like an owl, and at the third hoot thou art to go out to him by the gap near the kitchen wall. There is nothing to prevent thee. And if thou dost not go to him, he will come to thee. Fear not, and may Alla love thee and keep thee."

      "I will do it," whispered the girl, throwing her arms round Goolab's neck. "If they see me, they will kill me; but I do not fear death. And Abba, how is he?"

      "He is looking for thee." Till then they had spoken in Canarese, now Goolab spoke in the Dekhan dialect of Hindostanee, so that the women could hear. "Now sleep, Zóra; sleep, my darling. I will not leave thee." And she patted the girl gently, and crooned a low lullaby, as she would have done to one of her own children, holding up her finger to the women who were chattering outside. When Zóra's soft breathing assured her that the girl slept, she got up and joined the two women outside. "Zóra sleeps," she said; "she was weary, and in a strange place. No wonder she lay awake. Now, when she wakes, I will get her to eat something."

      "Oh, do!" said the women, in a breath. "We could never do it. Poor child! if she only ate."

      Zóra slept an hour or more, woke, and called to her old friend. "I have had pleasant dreams," she said, simply. "I was with Maria, and she looked like an angel; and he was there," and she hid her face in Goolab's bosom; "and he said, 'Zóra, do not fear;' and, oh! his voice was sweet and tender."

      "Now thou must eat, my soul; I will go to the cook myself. The Nawab's kicheri will be ready now, and it will be certain to be safe." The cook was very amiable, and readily gave what was wanted, with which Goolab-bee returned. "See, she will eat now," she said to Máma Luteefa; "I thought I could persuade her."

      "Thou art a blessed woman," returned Luteefa. "If I had gone on my knees to her she would not have touched a morsel. Let her use my basin and ewer, the water will refresh her!"

      And Zóra ate as much as she could, for she was weak from hunger and violent excitement, and felt strengthened. Her features resumed much of their old expression, but there was a look of determination about the eyes, and in the set lips, which was new to her old friend, who rejoiced to see it. Goolab could not delay longer. "I shall be up again in the afternoon," she said, "and will tell Abba thou art well; meanwhile be not afraid."

      CHAPTER XI.

       SAVED.

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      Meanwhile the day wore on. To the world without in its usual fashion; but to Zóra in inconceivable misery and terror. She dare not ask the women what was going to happen; she dare not even think of her danger, which was an ever-present weight, impossible to throw off or shape into reality. Her mind was indeed in a chaos of thought. She prayed incoherently, sometimes to Alla and the Prophet, sometimes to the blessed Mother of Jesus, of whose tender pity and compassion Maria had often told her, and taught her some brief Canarese prayers. The two women sought to draw her into conversation, but she remained silent; and offered to bathe and dress her, but she refused, and resisted them with a glare of defiance which frightened them both, and they at last desisted. Nothing could induce her to eat a morsel, though their own food was savoury enough. Zóra only took a few grains of her friend's parched rice now and then from her little store, hiding it under her, and concealing her face while she ate them; and the women chattered together, smoked their hookahs, ate pán, and sometimes dozed; but the horrible eunuchs sat at the door, conversing in a low tone in a language which she did not understand.

      The evening arrived at last, and the lamps were lighted in the palace. Zóra had been sensible that something was going on in the hall of audience, for the noise of men's voices and pattering feet came to her sometimes. The Nawab's furashes were in fact decorating the hall with a few garlands of leaves and flowers, and spreading a clean white cloth over the usual carpet, placing lamps in the niches of the wall, and others near the Nawab's seat on the floor.

      Presently the Nawab, after proclamation of his titles by the attendants, came in and took his seat in the usual place. He was gorgeously dressed in cloth of gold, as befitted a ceremonial; but all the usual preparations for a marriage were wanting. No women sang the marriage greeting and blessing, or hung garlands of flowers about his neck. No marriage music was played without. His slaves and attendants stood around in silence, and some of the soldiers of the fort and petty officers came in one by one, saluted the Nawab, and sat down on their heels close to the wall, grimly, and with their swords resting across their knees.

      The abduction of Zóra had become known to all in Juldroog, and all wondered while they deplored it; and those who had assembled were speaking in low whispers. It seemed as if, had any one given the signal, the Nawab's life would be terminated at once; but no one moved, and the Nawab preserved the same gloomy silence. "She is my fate," he murmured to himself, "and I go to meet it. They say that she has neither eaten nor slept; but what of that?"

      "I beg to represent," said Janoo, who was a privileged buffoon and jester, "that these worthy gentlemen are like a court of horned owls; when one hoots they all hoot; and if no one hoots, they sit blinking at each other in silence. Cheer up, brother owls! for here comes the Moolla, and he will hoot to some purpose."

      "Peace, fool!" cried the Nawab, angrily; "is this a time for mockery? Be silent!"