Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

FOOTNOTES:

[8] The respectful title of a son—literally, "lord's son."

[9] Huzrut Syud Geesoo Duraz—"Prince of the Long Locks"—the name of a celebrated Mahomedan saint, whose tomb at Gulburgah is esteemed the most holy, as the saint is the greatest favourite of all, perhaps, in the Dekhan.

[10] Market-place.

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[CHAPTER XXVIII.]

The young Ashruf ran lightly along before the party, leading them, by narrow lanes and streets familiar to him, direct to the spot where the occurrences of the night had taken place; and under such guidance—for the boy's speed never flagged for a moment—Afzool Khan and his men arrived at the building where Fazil was waiting, almost ere the sun's rays were sparkling upon the tall minarets and domes of the city.

He had looked anxiously for their coming long ere dawn broke; for he had awakened as usual for the morning prayer, in which he was joined by the Duffadar and several other devout members of the guard: and since its conclusion he had been sitting on the step of the guard-room, or watching Bulwunt, who slept heavily but restlessly, and speculating on the reason of his young messenger's delay. Truly cheering was it, therefore, after hearing from a great distance the rapid advance of a body of horsemen borne on the still morning air, to see the well-known band of spearmen, led by the young Ashruf, turn the corner of the street, and immediately following them the tall figure of his father, and with him perhaps fifty of the Paigah.

A few moments served to bring the party to the spot. As his father strove to alight rapidly, Fazil sprang to aid him with a joyful cry; and when the old Khan could disengage himself from his stirrup, a hearty embrace followed, to the no small wonder of a crowd of neighbours, whom the unexpected appearance of a well-known nobleman and his dashing escort had collected: and who could not understand the warm greeting and embrace between what appeared to be a Hindu beggar, still much besmeared with wood-ashes and paint, and so gallant a cavalier as Afzool Khan.

Led by Fazil into the apartment we have already mentioned, the Khan submitted to be seated upon a carpet; and the room being partially cleared, he proceeded to inquire into the circumstances of his son's detention, and of the fray of which Ashruf had informed him. Upon Bulwunt, the sound of the old Khan's voice acted like a charm. Weakened by loss of blood, he had fallen into a dreamy kind of doze rather than sleep, which the trampling of the horses, and exclamations from their riders as they arrived, had converted into an imaginary battle-field, on which he lay wounded and helpless; but when the well-known voice of his lord was no longer doubtful, he was aroused, and, raising himself feebly, earnestly requested his master to come to him to hear, as he thought them, his last words.

"He is not in fault, my lord," he said faintly, and pointing to Fazil. "They would have made out that he wounded me—may their tongues rot! He will tell you all that happened, and how the enemy of my house, Tannajee Maloosray, has given me my death-blow."

"Not so, brave Bulwunt," said the Khan, cheerfully; "there is no fear of thee, methinks. Thou art weak, and thy sight fails thee; but keep a good heart, friend, thou will strike many a blow yet for Afzool Khan; a few days' rest, and this trouble will be forgotten."

"Has he told you all?" asked Bulwunt.

"Not yet, not yet, friend; but I shall hear it ere long."

"Track him, track him, my lord," continued Bulwunt; "Maloosray cannot be gone far. He is even now in the city, at one of the Mutts or Serais. He could not escape if the gates were watched. He might even be found at——"

But speech suddenly failed the poor fellow, and, exhausted with his effort, he sank back, fainting, on the pillow.

"What did he say, son?" asked the Khan, quickly; "what of Tannajee Maloosray? Him of Pertábgurh—the friend of Sivaji Bhóslay?"

"Even so, father," replied Fazil. "I did not mention him, as there were so many listeners, and the matter was for your private ear; but, as Bulwunt has said it, no matter now. Would that we knew his haunts! Perhaps he knows, but he is too exhausted to speak."

"Tannajee Maloosray here!—in Beejapoor!" exclaimed the Khan, "and hath done this deed! O that we knew where the villain were hiding! Nevertheless, the gates shall be well guarded; that was a good thought of thine, Bulwunt. Ho, without there! One of ye ride to each gate of the city—tell those on guard there, that Maloosray hath been seen within the city last night, and all that pass out are to be well looked to. Do ye hear?"

"Jo Hookum," cried a number of the men who heard the order; and after a brief consultation together, single horsemen dashed away to the several places to which their errands tended.

"And now change thy dress, son," continued his father; "this disguise is hardly seemly to thee. Here is a suit, and there will be water outside."

"If the Duffadar here have no objection," returned the young man. "You forget, father; I am his prisoner of my own free will."

"Chut, chut, boy! thou art no prisoner—be quick," cried the Khan.

"The saints forbid," interposed the Duffadar, "that any one of such exalted faith as the son of Afzool Khan should be ever suspected of being an infidel. When——"

"There, there, Fazil! go!" interrupted the Khan, laughing; "I have no eyes for thee in that abomination; let us see thee in thy proper shape."

"Then follow me, father, into this apartment," replied Fazil; "I have that to say which will not bear witnesses—much that is marvellous."

"That I doubt not, son. I will follow when Bulwunt is cared for; I see they have brought up the palankeen."

So saying, the Khan tried to raise the wounded man, while he spoke cheerily to him. Again, at the sound of his lord's voice, the spirit of the retainer rallied, but it apparently hovered between life and death; for, after another faint attempt to speak, he fell back exhausted.

"It is of no use," muttered the Khan; "he will die, I fear, and we can ill spare him. Ho, without! bearers or spearmen! Come in some of ye. And look ye," he added, as several entered, "take up Bulwunt Rao, carefully, as he lies, by the corners of the blanket; put him into the palankeen, and take him home at your easiest pace. He is to be lodged in the private apartment of the Khilwut. Get a bed from the house, and send for our physician directly, and the surgeon of the palace.... Now, begone."

Carefully and gently the men raised him up, and bore him out. He groaned heavily as he reached the open air, yet it seemed to revive him, for he looked around. Some of his comrades who crowded round spoke cheerily to him, and he recognized them and smiled. He was at once placed in the litter, and the bearers, at a rapid but easy pace, proceeded homewards.

"I dare not have spoken to thee, my son," said the old Khan, when he had joined Fazil, who was busily engaged washing the ashes from his face, neck, and arms, "before those people, though I was burning to do so. So thou hast really discovered something by the night's adventure. This Tannajee,—what of him? Tell me quickly?"

"Alas! father," returned the young man, sadly, "I know so much, and of such weighty matters, that my soul trembles under them. I would almost that I had not gone out last night, or that other lips than mine had to tell thee a tale of treachery and wrong-doing."

"Son! I see it in thy face. The Wuzeer!" exclaimed the Khan, starting.

"He is false, father—false," continued Fazil.

"Ah, I feared so; but speak, boy, how is it? Who told thee?" cried Afzool Khan, impatiently.

"I need not say more to confirm it than that the King knows it," returned Fazil; "and that he has papers now in his possession which leave no doubt of Khan Mahomed's treachery; Mirza Anwur Ali and the Shah took them last night, and paid for them."

"Ya Alla kureem! and where was this? By the Prophet, tell me, Fazil! My soul eats your words! speak, boy, quickly."

Then Fazil rapidly sketched the scene of which the reader already knows the detail, while the old Khan listened in silent amazement, his forefinger between his teeth.

"Ya Khubeer-o! and hath all this been so easily found out?" he exclaimed. "Ah, Khan Mahomed! often has your poor friend warned you; but in vain. Now you are lost, alas, alas! and for that insane ambition which would not be repressed."

"We must save him, father!" cried Fazil; "he must not perish. At the risk of my own life would I do aught possible to avert the danger which threatens him. What can we do? Implore the King to spare the ancient friend of his house? or write and warn him? Ah, father, you are his most valued friend, and his son is as a brother to me! Speak; what can be done?"

"Alas, I know not yet, son," he replied, sadly; "but tell it again; all, Fazil—all that the King said. I will think it over. Wishing to save, we must not destroy."

Fazil again narrated what he had seen, and, as well as he could remember them, the contents of the letter which the Lalla had repeated. But the Khan thought long and deeply on the whole matter ere he could see his way to action. At last he said to his son—

"What I have determined upon ought to suit both parties. I will go instantly to the King, and try if his purpose as to the Wuzeer can be discovered. I must take the papers he gave me in any case. Do thou, Fazil, go to thy friend—it may be that he knows all; but, if not, he can be warned of the danger. Timely submission may alone avert it; but the peril is fearful."

"Alla is just, and it will be as He wills," returned his son, devoutly; "but we must not forget that Lalla; his presence may be of moment, and it were well he were cared for; his wound was a mere scratch, and he may be able to ride; let us send for him."

So a messenger was despatched to bring him, or to ascertain, at least, whether he could ride; as, if not, a litter would be provided. To the vexation of Fazil, however, and his father, the messenger returned, saying that a litter had already been sent by the Kótwal's orders, about the time of morning prayer, and he had been taken away to that officer.

"Jehándar Beg is faithful," said the old Khan. "He is as true to the King's salt as I am myself, else I should have feared the result; but who can hold the Lalla's tongue?—that is what I dread, Fazil."

"And he did not appear over-discreet either, father," replied Fazil; "however, the best thing we can do is to follow up the information, and go to the Kótwallee; it is my duty, too, to see the worthy old Duffadar safe through the matter, for truly he did what he could."

"True, son," returned Afzool Khan; "and I will accompany thee. Jehándar Beg may not have forgotten some matters in which I have been able to befriend him now and then. No; that Lalla must not slip through our hands, Fazil."

By this time Ashruf had saddled his father's ambling pony, and stood waiting without, so the cavalcade was soon ready. The Khan's men were all mounted, and a few of the Duffadar's guard attended as escort to the kullal, for whom his own pony had been provided, so that there was no delay; and as Fazil and his father stepped from the guard-room, the young man's appearance was the signal for a shout of congratulation from all, which being duly acknowledged, Fazil turned with a smile to the old Duffadar, and told him "his prisoners" were ready.

"If I can but assist ye, noble gentlemen," said the old man, respectfully, "in this matter, it will be a happy thing; and if my son——"

"Bismilla!" exclaimed Afzool Khan, mounting his horse, and interrupting him; "we are no evil-doers, to fear justice. Move forward!"

The building where the Kótwal's morning court was held, was at no very great distance, in the city itself; the other court was within the fort, not far from the King's palace; and they proceeded to the former at a rapid pace. By-and-by, as they drew nearer the place of their destination, a horseman dashed on to give notice of the near approach of the Khan, in order that he might be met, and greeted in a manner due to his rank.

"What can bring Afzool Khan, the pious and true, here?" asked one of the under-officers on duty at the entrance guard-room of the outer court. "He is no brawler or intriguer."

"Who knows, Meer Sahib," replied the person addressed. "In these days the world is turning topsy-turvy, and one has to see and believe strange things. There is already a report that the young Khan is in fault, and has wounded the man who was brought in a little while ago upon a bed, and killed another; for a body was found this morning near a temple beyond the fort. I was at the Bazar mosque at early prayer, and they said there it would be a bad business. What matter? Afzool Khan has plenty of cash, and a sharp fine will set all straight."

"I pray it may be no worse, friend," returned the first speaker; "but I have heard Jehándar Beg swear upon the holy book to spare no one if blood hath been shed; and here is one man dead and one wounded to be accounted for. A bad business, friend—a bad business; but we shall see. God grant it may not lead to that!" and he pointed to the corner of the court, where lay a hand in a pool of blood—a ghastly evidence of summary justice on a criminal but just performed. "But we shall see; the Khan is heavily attended, and methinks it would be as well to let him alone."

"Ay, friend, he is one of the old stock, well tried and trusted; the peace of God and the Prophet be upon him and his; and that is a brave boy, 'tis a pity he should be in any trouble. Would we had more of them about the King! Truth is lie, and lie is truth, friend, in these days; and men whisper that Jehándar Beg is no friend to Afzool Khan, nor the Wuzeer either, and they are of the same party; but we shall see. What will be, will be."

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[CHAPTER XXIX.]

Almost as they spoke, the Khan's retinue approached, and, preceded by its band of spearmen, some horsemen, and the party of the old Duffadar, swept round the corner of the adjoining street. Very conspicuous among the cavalcade were the figures of the father and son riding together; the Khan in his morning suit of heavy cloth-of-gold, which glittered richly in the sun; his son, plainly dressed in white muslin.

Fazil rode a led horse of his father's, which he sat with perfect confidence and control of the fiery animal; but his countenance expressed anxiety which he could not restrain. In truth, he felt, notwithstanding his assurance to his father, that if he were subjected to a strict examination, he should be ill able to account satisfactorily for the various events of the night without compromising others. In regard to Maloosray, he had one witness in the kullal; and there was nothing to implicate him in the occurrence at the temple, in case it should form subject of inquiry. No, he could not now recede.

As to the old Khan himself, no thought of fear disquieted him. He considered that he was only humouring a whim of his son's in accompanying him, that he might insure the Duffadar's being freed from blame. Suspicion of aught affecting the safety or honour of his house had never entered his mind; and he had ridden along gaily, causing his fine war-horse to caracole and bound, free from all thought of uneasiness, except what might result from the delay.

As the party entered the gate, they were met by several persons deputed to receive them, and returned the respectful and hearty greetings of the soldiery on duty, to whom they were well known. Dismounting at the end of the court, they passed through to the next, where already many suitors and complainants were assembled. There, too, on a bed which had been placed in a side-room, lay the Lalla, with a sheet drawn over him, which Fazil saw was stained with blood. The Lalla had covered his face; but the pink colour of his turban, and its peculiar tie, were not to be mistaken. So, passing all, and receiving and returning salutations, they entered the room of audience, where, surrounded by a few Mutsuddees, or scribes, sat the Kótwal himself.

Jehándar Beg was a Persian by birth, a man of some learning and much cunning, but really intelligent. Those were times when the service of Indian princes was eagerly sought for by Persians, Turks, Affghans, and even Abyssinians; and adventurers often rose to princely rank and honour in their service. Jehándar Beg was one of these. When young he had accompanied a relative to the Dekhan court, the prince of which was a Sheea—his own faith—and where, among others of his countrymen, the historian Mahomed Kasim Ferishta had been distinguished. He had risen steadily in the King's service, and proved himself brave in the field, as well as sagacious and trustworthy. Having attained to his present office, he was, in the main, respected, and was the dread of all night brawlers, sharpers, and thieves, whom he punished heavily; but he was fond of money, and it was whispered that, in grave offences, he had his private price. After all, what mattered that? Occasionally a great person was fined, or otherwise punished, and so men's mouths were stopped, and the Kótwal believed to be a great man.

Jehándar Beg's appearance was magnificent. He always wore the peaked lamb's-wool cap of Khorassan, and the Persian robe; and his rich brown complexion, and dark-brown curly beard, grave features, and large soft black eyes, combined to render his face a remarkable one, not easily forgotten. The expression seldom varied; nothing ever caused him to laugh in his court—rarely to smile—nor did he ever express anger. Happen what might, his habitual gravity never relaxed for a moment, and there was no man who could tell a lie, conceal a fact, or change an opinion—or, in the course of duty, order the torture, and look upon it, with such perfect imperturbability as he did.

His office was at once arduous and difficult, but he was not restricted in power. In cases of life and death, perhaps, and if the criminal were of importance, reference might be made to the chief legal authority or to the King; but, as far as minor punishments were needed, the lopping off of an arm, a hand, or a foot,—torture and imprisonment, or the like,—no one questioned the Kótwal's acts. As chief magistrate of a city which contained a large proportion of lawless population, he often found it necessary to make sudden and severe examples in order to check disorder and crime: and, recently, the city had been agitated by conspirators: parties ran high; and duels and brawls, generally attended by fatal consequences, were frequent.

The old Duffadar was right when he told Fazil of the Kótwal's oath to punish severely the first brawler who should be apprehended, and he trembled for the consequences of the inquiry into the night's disturbances. Here were two men wounded, and, as far as he knew, another who had been taken off, or who had got away; and one dead body, found near the temple of Bhowani among the tamarind trees, was fresh, though torn by wild animals, and the blood had been traced back to the temple wall, on the top of which some stones had been displaced.

Altogether, matters had an ugly appearance; and the old man could not help thinking that Fazil was concerned in both affairs. "May God be merciful to him," he said to himself, "for he is a brave youth, son of a gallant father; better a hundred battle-fields, and a fair chance man to man, than the crooked ways of this court, and the merciless character of Jehándar Beg. Be wary, my lord," he whispered to Fazil, as, having made his obeisance and report, he was falling back to get free of the advancing parties; "Jehándar Beg's looks are not pleasant this morning, and you need to be careful. I should not warn you without there were need; be careful in what you say, and I will guide you by my looks from time to time."

But Fazil had no fear. Unused to such scenes, he could only feel that his word would pass him free from all suspicion, and that his father's rank and good faith were above question.

To the old Khan, the Kótwal's greeting was one of respectful deference; and the seat of honour was assigned to him. To Fazil, however, he maintained a stiff reserve—so pointed, that the Khan could not but notice and remark upon it.

"That is my son," he said, after an awkward pause which no one apparently dared to break, "and I would have you acquainted with him, Meerza Sahib. Shookr Ulla! he is not utterly unknown among the ranks of those who are true to the King in Beejapoor, though he is but a youth."

There was no reply, however, given to this speech, and the embarrassment of all grew more painful. The clerks and guards looked from one to another, and the old Khan to them in succession, with increasing indignation at their demeanour.

"By the Prophet!" he exclaimed at length, ironically, "ye seem marvellously engaged, gentlemen," as, on hearing him speak, every one looked away, or into the papers before them, "that a civil greeting does not obtain a civil answer. Your politeness, Meerza Sahib, is proverbial in the city; but it seems to have deserted you on this occasion, or is reserved for thieves and loose women. Come, my son—come; we intrude here. Jehándar Beg has his own private work to do, no doubt, and does not need our company."

"Hold!" cried the Kótwal; and, as he spoke, several of the armed attendants closed up the doorway with their long broad spears, while others without blew the matches of their guns. "Hold! Thou mayst go, Afzool Khan, for what may follow may grieve thy brave heart; but there is blood on thy son's sword, and it must be inquired into. Young man, what is this they say against thee? A man killed in a drunken brawl in the worst quarter of the city? Was this to be expected from the son of Afzool Khan? Speak, and speak truly, before God and his Prophet." The Meerza's eyes flashed and dilated as he spoke; and as they rested upon the young man, who had not seated himself, they were met by a gaze as bold and fearless as his own.

"I am no brawler, Meerza Sahib," he exclaimed, in reply. "Astagh-fur-oolla!—nor drunkard either. Peace, father! sit quiet; let me answer for myself—I am not afraid," he added, as the Khan attempted to rise, and was evidently provoked beyond endurance. "Ask the Duffadar who accompanied me, and the man in whose house it happened, whether I am to blame. Their statements will suffice."

"There are two matters to answer for, Meah Sahib," said the Kótwal. "Were you not in the dress of a Gosai last night, and another with you? Nay; no denial!"

"I have nothing to deny, Meerza Sahib," returned Fazil. "My father knew of it, and I went by his permission."

"Good. Now, Peer Sahib, what happened to you?" asked the Kótwal of another officer present.

"My lord, it was just before midnight," he replied, "when two men, Gosais, brought a third person, who was slightly wounded, but complained much of his neck. He is a foreigner, for he speaks the Delhi language. They said he had been robbed, and told us to keep him safe till the morning, when they would come for him; and as the man was very helpless, we put him on a bed in the guard-room, and have brought him here. Again at dawn, some of the men were going towards the temple of Toolja Bhowani, when they saw the dead body of a man, with a deep wound in his back and a stab in his breast—a Hindu, for he had on a Brahmun's thread, so he may be a Rajpoot; but no one knew him. Several mohurs were picked up by him and others between this place and the temple:—the Mutsuddee has them—eleven, I think,—and there was blood all the way along. It was a desperate cut; and how the man could have run at all with those wounds, it is hard to say."

"He was murdered, then," thought Fazil; "would I had not struck him! yet there is one traitor and robber the less."

"And the man who was brought in, what of him?" asked the Kótwal.

"He moaned and groaned, my lord, worse than a woman; said he had been robbed at the temple; spoke of Pahar Singh who had wounded him, Maun Singh who had throttled him, then of the Shah's secretary—may his name be honoured!—and some ten thousand rupees. In short, noble sir, we could make nothing of the matter, for he began to weep if we spoke to him, and told us to take him to the King without delay. So we brought him here, and must speak for himself. It appeared to me like the dream of some opium-smoker," continued the speaker to those about him; "we could not understand it at all."

"Shouldst thou know the men who brought him?"

"Well, my lord, I can't say for certain," replied the officer, "but one of our people said they were not what they seemed; and he thought one was Bulwunt Rao, who is a Silladar of the noble Khan yonder, and who goes about bazars at night, sometimes; the other's face was tied up, and he did not speak."

"I was the other, Meerza Sahib," interposed Fazil, quietly.

"I thought as much," said the Kótwal, drily. "Were they armed, Peer Sahib?"

"Yes, to be sure, my lord," he replied; "would any one go about in those quarters at night without being armed? Yes, they had sword and shield."

"Where are the weapons?"

"Here, my lord," replied the other Duffadar, who now interposed, "in my keeping; the young Khan gave them up to me. He has another sword now."

"Yes, there is blood on the blade, and here are cuts, fresh ones, on the shield," said Jehándar Beg, examining Fazil's weapons. "How, young sir, do you account for these?"

"I will reserve what I have to say; it is no use speaking now," returned Fazil, who had observed his old friend shake his head, and who again nodded approvingly.

"Bring in the wounded man," cried the Kótwal; and the bed on which our poor friend the Lalla lay, was carried in and set down; "we must confront the parties."

"Get up, good man," said an attendant Mutsuddee; "this is the Kótwal; make your reverence, and tell what happened to you."

"Ah, protect me, befriend me. I have been robbed and murdered.... I cannot get up.... I am a poor man and a stranger. Look at my blood," gasped the Lalla by turns to all about him.

"Who did it? and who art thou?" cried the Kótwal. "Where hast thou come from?"

Now, it might be awkward for the Lalla to answer these questions. He knew he had a few gold coins left, enough to keep him for some time—for he had been used to poverty, and could endure it—if he could only get free. Any man with quick wits, could do something for himself in the city; and had he not done good service? These thoughts passed rapidly through his mind ere he spoke.

"Asylum of justice!" he said, in his most humble tones, "I don't know who did it, but I was robbed in the temple."

"Of ten thousand rupees? Speak truly."

"Ah no, sirs. What would a poor Khayet like me do with ten thousand rupees? No, but of what I had in my humeana."

"And Pahar Singh? they tell me he was mentioned by thee."

"Ah, noble sir, I am a stranger and a foreigner; what do I know about Pahar Singh, or anybody? I am very weak," added the Lalla, in a feeble voice; "will no one help me?" and he lay down, as well to escape further questioning, as to excite pity for his misfortunes.

"This will not serve thee, whoever thou art," returned the Kótwal; "answer truly, where art thou come from, and what took thee to that lonely temple at night?"

"My lord, I am a poor Khayet from the north, seeking service; and I fell among thieves who decoyed me thither and robbed me. See, they wounded me also, and tried to strangle me. What more can I say?"

"That is not enough, friend," resumed the Kótwal; "we must know how it happened, for others here appear concerned in the matter, and murder hath been done."

"Murder, my lord!" cried the Lalla, again raising himself; "there was no murder, though perhaps they thought they had killed me when they took what I had."

"Who, Lalla? be not afraid," said Jehándar Beg, soothingly.

"A seeming Jogi and another. They ran away, and left me senseless. Then two Gosais came and raised me up, and gave me water, and took me to the guard-room. May the gods recompense them, for they bound up my wound!"

"Two Gosais—ah, this may be some clue!" said the Kótwal; "this agrees with the other statement. Then thou art one of them, Meah Sahib?"

"I have already said so," replied Fazil; "and my retainer, Bulwunt Rao, was the other."

"What took you there?"

Fazil considered for a moment. What he had been witness of could not now be related, and he replied, "It was a matter, Meerza Sahib, in which I am not bound to answer you. If those it concerns are to hear of it, they shall know otherwise."

"Beware, young sir!" said the Kótwal, gravely; "there can be no secrets here."

"Nevertheless, I cannot answer. It is enough that I have told my father of it," returned Fazil.

"Yes, Jehándar Beg," said Afzool Khan, "he has said enough to prove he was no robber, and that ought to content you."

"Yet there was murder done, my friend," replied the official, quickly; "blood was on the wall of the court, and a corpse not far from it, and there is blood on this sword of your son's. He should clear himself of this horrible suspicion. But stay; there is the other affray to be accounted for,—that in the wine-shop—a drunken brawl, I fear."

"I am no brawler, Meerza Sahib, nor drunkard," exclaimed Fazil, indignantly. "The man is present in whose house it occurred; let him say what happened."

"Let him be brought forward, and let Fureed Duffadar state what happened," said the Kótwal, authoritatively. "Till then be silent, Meah."

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[CHAPTER XXX.]

The old Duffadar's account was clear and circumstantial, and the Kótwal listened attentively. When it was finished, the Kullal was called, and, prostrating himself, began by imploring protection, which was granted.

"It is a weighty matter, my lords," he said, "and needs much inquiry. May it please you to listen," he continued, after a pause, as if to collect his thoughts. "Your slave would represent that he heard a conversation between the young Khan there and a man whose name may hardly be mentioned in Beejapoor, Tannajee Maloosray."

"Maloosray!" echoed the Kótwal. "Protection of God! thou art not mad to say this? or drunk?"

"May I be your sacrifice!" continued the man, evidently observing that his words had made an impression, "I am not mad, and I have an oath against wine. I swear by the King's salt, that he spoke with Maloosray."

"And he was disguised like a Gosai, Fureed?" asked the Kótwal of the old Duffadar.

"Khódawund! what did he tell you himself he was?" replied the man. "He changed his dress when his father came. Even now the ashes may be on his body."

"What said the young Khan to Maloosray?" asked the Kótwal of the Kullal. "Speak truly, or I will have thee flogged through the bazar, and all thy property confiscated for irregular hours in thy shop."

This was what the man feared from the first. Had Fazil appeared in favour he would have appealed to him for explanations in regard to the affray, for which he dreaded he should be punished; but Fazil seemed already unable to help himself, so he had determined to take his own course in the opposite direction.

"Why should I tell a lie?" he replied, holding up his hands humbly and with a gesture of supplication. "I swear by your feet it is true." Pointing to Fazil, he continued—"He said he knew Pahar Singh was at the temple, and they sent a man for him; and if he did not come, that they should meet again. Then Maloosray said something about Sivaji Bhóslay, and the Moghuls, and the Shah Aurungzeeb, and armies, and there was another message to Pahar Singh. Then another man struck a blow at the Maloosray, and they fought, and I screamed out for the guard, and Maloosray ran off; but I secured him," and he pointed to Fazil.

"O base-born!" exclaimed Fazil, "thy mouth is full of lies——"

"Hear him," interrupted the man; "he had me tied up till the blood nearly burst from my fingers, and made me promise not to reveal this. Behold, my lord, the marks of the cords, and how my arms are swelled. By my child's head, it is true, noble sir, it is all true. How could I, a poor seller of ganja and bhung, have dreamed such things of Tannajee and Sivaji? Do not men tremble at their names? Search the young Khan, he has papers which Maloosray gave him. I saw them myself——"

"Alas, it is but too clear to me," said the Kótwal, interrupting Afzool Khan, who was about to speak, "that there is deep treachery here. Deep plots are being laid, but this poor servant of God has a clue to one at least. Inshalla! it will be sifted to the bottom. Enough of suspicion was there against you, young sir, on the other matter, but this is graver still. Yield, therefore, Afzool Khan, and you, Meah; resistance is vain, and I would fain spare blood."

As he spoke, the soldiers and attendants, who had gradually gathered round them, closed in so near that they could have been seized or overpowered at once, if the old Khan's sword had not been drawn by him the instant their movement was made. Now, as he stood prepared to meet any attack, his eyes flashing and his tall figure drawn up to its full height, no one ventured a step towards them, nor offered to seize his son, who, on his part, made no attempt at resistance.

"Draw, Fazil, draw!" cried the Khan; "let us see which of these sons of vile mothers will first die. O that we had a score of our fellows with us, this insult would not have happened. Draw, boy! a few good strokes will see us clear of this gang of executioners, and there are enough men without to carry us through the city. Come on, in the name of God! Bismilla!"

Saying this, the old man advanced a step, while those before him, so sudden and determined was his movement, fell back as though they would have allowed him egress. Fazil, however, saw his father's danger, not only from the chance of a sword-thrust or blow in the struggle which must ensue, and the certainty of an attempt at rescue by the men without if they heard of it, but in the disgrace and suspicion which would fall upon them if the inquiry were forcibly interrupted.

"Father, father!" he cried, passionately, "do not stir. I implore you, move not. You know how false this base charge is, and I beseech you not to let it be said that we feared to meet it, and evaded justice. Yes, let it be first done on this lying dog, who has misled Jehándar Beg. See, for one, I surrender myself and my weapons;" and, as he spoke, he threw his sword and dagger on the floor, which were eagerly secured by an attendant.

"Degenerate!" cried his father. "Dost thou fear death, boy? When did an Affghan ever surrender his weapons but with his life? Fie on thee for a coward, to hesitate to strike a blow for me!"

"Coward!" exclaimed the young man, sadly. "Father, you know not what you say. Why such bitter words? is this a time for contention?"

"Khan Sahib," said Jehándar Beg, who had risen with the others, and now advanced, "listen to your son's words of peace and reason. You are alone, and, though one or two might fall, there would be no escape. The blood of Afzool Khan, or his son, should not flow in a court of justice, but against the King's enemies. Put up your weapon, and wear it, Khan; and you, noble youth, yours. Appearances are against you both; and these plots have been so long hidden from us, that your poor servant, the slave of the King—may his splendour increase!—has no alternative but to detain you till the pleasure of the Wuzeer is known."

"Father, I beseech you to listen to reason—to advice kindly given and well meant," cried Fazil; "consider what is at stake, and that the moment we have speech of the King there will be no fear."

Afzool Khan looked from one to the other and around him irresolutely, and the tears rose to his eyes, and fell over in large drops. Any advance would have decided him to an act of desperation; but his son saw the struggle in his mind, and, throwing himself before him, grasped his feet.

"Father, save your honour," he cried, earnestly; "save your life by my example. Shall it be said that Afzool Khan died a traitor, or that a breath of suspicion rested upon the truest, most loyal name in Beejapoor?"

A moment the old Khan hesitated, but his sword-point dropped, and he dashed his hand across his eyes impatiently. "My spirit chafes at the thought of restraint, Fazil," he said; "yet for thy sake, boy, I submit. But I pray thee, Jehándar Beg, let thine errand to the Wuzeer be done swiftly, or, by the Prophet, there be those in my service who would reck little of a rescue. Stay, I had better write; that will assure them more."

A few lines were hastily written by Fazil, and sealed with the Khan's private signet. One of the escort was called up, and the note given to him by Fazil himself, with an order to take the men home, and a caution to be discreet. The soldier looked about him incredulously.

"Do you remain of your own pleasure, my lord?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the Khan; "we have business here for to-day which cannot be deferred. Keep quiet, all of ye; but be ready," he added, in an under-tone; "when I need ye I will send word."

"Very good," cried the man in a loud voice, in order to cover the Khan's whisper, "very good; I understand; it shall be done."

"You had better withdraw to the private apartments, Khan," said the Kótwal, respectfully. "I know too well the honour of a Puttán to question you. Stay there till I return. Refreshment, too, shall be provided; and I pray you to consider this poor house as your own while you stay in it. The Wuzeer was at Almella yesterday, and is expected this evening."

Afzool Khan hesitated, but his son whispered, "We shall be better there, father, than amidst these curious gazers," and drew him along gently. He did not resist, but followed passively. "Stay, however," added Fazil to the Kótwal; "where is Fureed Duffadar? I would speak with him."

The man advanced a few steps. "I am here, my lord; what are your orders?"

"None from me," returned Fazil; "but look you, Meerza Sahib—for the sake of justice ask of this good man what that Kullal told us; for it is in the law that the word of a true believer is better than the oath of a Kafir. And, pardon me, Meerza, but my father and myself, in the name of the King, hold you responsible for the custody of that man. How came Maloosray into his shop, or to remain there while a King's guard was within ear-shot? Ah, liar," added the young man, as the Kullal was advancing, with joined hands, and about to speak, "no more; thou hast told enough lies for the present; by-and-by there will be other questions. Beware of them."

So saying, he passed with his father into the door which the Kótwal himself held open. It was a quiet, secluded place—a small apartment supported upon wooden pillars and arches, which opened into a court shaded with trees. Carpets and pillows were there in abundance, and the place was cool and neatly furnished.

"The papers, whatever they are, Meah, remain with you," said the Meerza. "Shall we examine them here privately?"

"They will be shown to the King only," said Fazil, dryly, "for they concern no one else; meanwhile I am responsible for them."

"Then I will leave ye, noble sirs," returned the other; "be pleased to rest yourselves."

"O for a moment's speech of the King!" cried the Khan, as they were alone. "Now it is too late, and Khan Mahomed is lost. Nay, son, 'tis a pretty court, and not unlike our own Khilwut; but I cannot breathe freely. Canst thou, Fazil? it chokes me."

"Fear not, father; all will be well, I trust," replied his son. "Unobserved, I gave a message to the lad Ashruf, who seems faithful, to be delivered to Kowas Khan. If he comes, all will be well, for he can warn his father. No harm can happen to us except from the Wuzeer, and he may——"

"He dare not," cried Afzool Khan—"he dare not think of us; he will have enough to do to save himself. If the Shah acts—acts firmly—as—as—I would, son, were I in his place and were it my dearest friend—he should die. O Khan Mahomed! O friend!" exclaimed the old man bitterly, "how often have I remonstrated and implored, but you have not listened! He spoke me fair, Fazil, always,—see what is in his heart. But what is written, is written. Let it be; we cannot prevent it."

"Ameen, father! we can only do what is possible to save——"

"I tell thee, boy," resumed the Khan, interrupting him, "I doubt whether it would be meet in us to interfere with God's designs, and to help treachery to escape its deserts. The danger is too great to the King, and, next to God and the Prophet, he is to us dear and honoured. I tell thee, son, we had better not interfere; it may not be good for us."

"Nay, father," said Fazil, "so long as we speak friendly truth and warning, there can be no fear; and what is written in the Wuzeer's destiny will be fulfilled."

"Thou wilt see to that door with thy life, Nasir," whispered the Kótwal to one of his chief attendants, a burly Abyssinian slave. "See that no one passes out or in without my orders. If violence is attempted, strike,—dost thou hear?—to the death! Proud as Afzool Khan is, he may yet lower his head, perhaps with his life. And they have papers, which we must take, Nasir—forcibly, if we cannot otherwise get them:—ere the sun sets, too, or he passes hence."

"Are we strong enough to keep the Khan, my lord?" asked the man doubtingly.

"Ay, true; we need be stronger; send this ring," and he took off his signet, "to the Wuzeer's son. Say we need five hundred men to reinforce the guard. Yes, we should otherwise be too weak, if those mad Affghans were to attempt a rescue. Return here when the messenger goes."

"On my head and eyes be it," replied the slave; "no one shall pass hence save over my dead body."

---

[CHAPTER XXXI.]

Maloosray had too much at stake to risk aught by delay, and he and his companions fled from the back door of the house already described, screened by the rain and thick darkness, leaving, however, one of the scouts to inform their companion of what had happened, and with directions for both to join him at their place of concealment as quickly as possible. They proceeded at a rapid pace, leaving the suburb, and striking across the open plain, eastwards, in the direction of the small hamlet of Allapoor, bearing the wounded man with them. Heretofore, in his stealthy visits to the city, Maloosray had found shelter and concealment in a Mutt or monastery of Jogis, who, in their annual pilgrimages, had become known to him, and assuming their garb, and even joining them in their morning perambulations in search of alms, he had been enabled to visit those persons in the city with whom his intrigues were being carried on. Now, however, the Jogis had warned him that their Mutt was no longer safe. Jehándar Beg had received information which led to several visits by his men at night; and though not interfered with, or even aware of the reason of suspicion, the Jogis knew they were watched.

But they were true to his interests, and had prepared a place more secure, because without the walls, and more secluded, than their own Mutt, which was the resort of travellers and devotees from all parts of the country. This was the cloister of an old Hindu temple which stood by itself in an unfrequented part of the plain, and which, either by some act of desecration, or because of its inconvenient situation, had been long neglected. The cloister round it was, however, in good repair, and a little plastering with clay, and cleansing of the chamber from the accumulated dust of years, made the place comfortable enough; and one of the Jogis attended in turn, brought provisions, and acted as cook to the party.

It was easy from thence to reach the city unobserved. Not far distant was the small hamlet of Allapoor, yet sufficiently far to deter prying persons from coming to see who lived in the deserted temple; and if any one were observed, it was, to all appearance, only a Jogi. When, therefore, the Patel, or chief elder of the village of Allapoor, was told by the shepherd boys that some mendicants were repairing the cloister of the old temple and staying there, he bade no one interfere with them; and his goodwill was by-and-by secured by an occasional present from time to time. No one suspected the place or its inhabitants; and few frequented the plain about it, which, being hard and stony, was uncultivated, as it still remains, and was used here and there for cemeteries; but the greater part was left to nature, and to flocks of hardy sheep and goats, which picked up a scanty subsistence.

It was not without some apprehension that Maloosray had first trusted himself to the new shelter; but in the course of several visits he had become accustomed to it, and found that he was at once freer and safer there, than in his old quarters inside the walls. The horses, too, were excellently provided for in the crypt of an adjoining Mahomedan tomb, which had never been finished, nor had any use been made of it. Below the foundation terrace was a spacious arched vault, above which the walls of the mausoleum had been partly carried; and the entrance was so overgrown with matted creepers and bushes, that it could not be seen unless examined very closely. Within, three horses, and as many stout ponies, found excellent shelter and concealment; and Maloosray's scouts—who were, in fact, his retainers and escort—lived with them and tended them.

To this place Maloosray proceeded as fast as the wet ground and the rough by-paths would permit—supporting his companion when needful, and helping him over stony places. The wound was not dangerous, yet it had caused considerable loss of blood, and the hardy mountaineer was more weakened than he liked to admit. Once they emerged upon the plain, the temple was soon reached; and, after having the sword-cut dressed and bound up, the wounded man was left to his repose.

Maloosray's next care was for his horses, and he proceeded to the crypt. Safe now from observation, for it was long past midnight, the men there were busy with preparations for the morning meal—for they could cook only at night. Two were grinding millet-flour in the hand-mill, which they always carried with them; another was kneading dough in a wooden trough; a fourth shaping portions of it into cakes, which he patted between his hands into the desired form, and a fifth was baking them upon a large flat iron pan or griddle—which held several at the same time—and removing them to the side of the fire to harden, as fast as baked.

A goodly pile of bread had already accumulated; and in two earthen pots simmered messes of vegetables and split-peas, from which a strong, and not unsavoury, smell of onions and garlic proceeded. The fire, fed by dry sticks from time to time, lighted up the space around, resting upon the rough stone arches and heavy massive groins of the crypt; and upon the forms of several men lying asleep, wrapped in their strong cotton sheets or rough blankets, while others reclined lazily, talking occasionally to those employed. There were three horses—two lay asleep among the men, the other, a powerful silver-grey mare, was feeding, and looking round occasionally to the man baking bread, expecting, with a low whinny, her allowance of buttered cakes.

The scene was peculiar and striking: for the gloom of the vault was so deep, except around the fire itself, that every object seemed to stand out in sharp relief as the light caught it. Just then, too, a brighter blaze than before rested upon the coat of the mare, and, shining on the soft glossy skin, caused the graceful outline of her form to project from the deep gloom behind it in a remarkable manner.

"What! awake, and no one guarding the door? Ah! would ye have the Kótwal's men upon ye, my sons?" cried Maloosray, entering unobserved. "Beware, all of ye, the risk is great."

"Master, we had the watch set," answered a man, standing up and making a clumsy salutation, while others started to their feet. "I only came in for a moment to see to the mare, for the rest were busy."

"Has she not slept?"

"O yes! She just now woke, got up, shook herself, and neighed. That was what brought me in; I thought she had no fodder, and that the others might be asleep."

"Then she is fresh for a journey, in case we have a rapid one, Ramjee?"

"Ay, master; you may be at Poona in three days if you will, or at Pertâbgurh either. She will do it."

Maloosray approached the animal: she stretched her head towards him with a low whinny, and rubbed her nose and eyes against him. "Yes, Rookminee," he said, caressing her, "thou wilt have sharp work, perhaps. Art ready, lass?"

There was another low whinny in reply, as she licked the hand held out to her. She at least understood the caress, and responded to it. He passed his hand over her sleek coat, which glistened like silver in the firelight, and down each leg, and taking up each hoof, narrowly examined every shoe and nail in it in succession.

"Ah! if you can find any fault there, master, you may do as you please with me," said Ramjee. "No; Balla at Jutt knows his trade too well to allow a nail to slack, and he knows, too, whose mare he is shoeing! What does he say? When Sivaji Bhóslay comes with a hundred thousand horse, then I will ride with him on his raid to the south, and not a horse shall drop a shoe, be the journey ever so long."

"And he shall, Ramjee," cried Maloosray, laughing. "The fellow is a braggart, but he is useful."

"Ah! master, that was a rare meeting. Was it not curious that so many horses wanted shoeing that day? Well, so thought the royal horsemen stationed there; and they went about twisting up their moustaches, and swelling themselves out as you never saw, my lord. Many good fellows there were, who would not have cared for a chance with some of those gallants in the open plain. When are we to begin, master?"

"Ay, when?" echoed a number of the men, who ceased their occupation for a moment, or raised themselves on their elbows while the answer was given.

"Not yet, my sons, not yet; we bide our time. And now for work," answered Maloosray. "Go thou, Ramjee, to the Paigah of Afzool Khan early, and see if that dog Bulwunt Rao is dead. Well was it that I tied chains in my turban folds last night, else he had cloven me to the teeth. I have vowed a silver horse to the shrine of Khundôba at Jejoori, for the deliverance."

"And was he slain, master, at last?"

"Nay, that is what I want to know," he replied. "But I had a fair blow at him, and I rarely miss. Go, and bring news quickly."

"Master," said Ramjee in a tone of entreaty, and reverentially touching Maloosray's feet, "I will go. Let there be no risks like this again. What would the Maharaja do without you, and what is there to be gained here that is worth such peril?"

"Ah, yes!" added another, "what if ten thousand such as we are were expended, it would be nothing were Tannajee safe. Only that two of us in the lane behind Rama's, misdirected a party of the King's men, ye had been beset, before and behind; and if the King had got hold of any of ye, the kites and crows of the 'Goruk Imlee' would have had full bellies by this evening."

"Well, it was not of my seeking," returned Maloosray; "for Bulwunt Rao was reported dead—killed in battle two years ago; so, at least, we heard. It was like fighting a spirit, my sons; and I missed my blows.... Hark! who is that without? Netta? What news, brother?" he continued, as a slight, active-looking man entered hastily. "Didst thou find Pahar Singh, the old robber?"

"Maharaj!" returned the man, "there was no Pahar Singh. We found a fire burning in the verandah of the temple, and I took a lighted brand and looked about. All we could discover was a little fresh blood on the floor and three gold pieces among the ashes. But there was blood on the wall too, and we tracked it for a few paces, when the torch went out in the rain, so we went on and heard a man moaning in a nullah, and some jackals were standing by him as we went up. Dost thou remember Maun Singh, who is with Pahar Singh always? Well, we could hardly see, so Limba went back for another brand, and brought it under his blanket, and then we saw the man's face. He was terribly wounded, and could not speak sensibly, but one or two names escaped him, one of which was Pahar Singh, and Limba knew his face."

"Ye did not let him live, the foul traitor and liar?" cried Maloosray, excitedly. "O that it had been 'the Lion' himself! Ye did not let him live?"

"Master, he will speak no more, nor yet tell lies. I have made that sure enough," said Limba, approaching and touching the feet of Maloosray. "I knew him after what happened in the old Gosai's Mutt at Tooljapoor, and Moro Punt would have had me kill him then and the other too, only I could find no opportunity. They had some fifty horse with him, and were as shy as deer. Now I have settled that account."

"Good, my son," replied Maloosray; "but what had happened, Netta? Was there no further trace of them?"

"None, Maharaj; we were fairly puzzled. We returned, and stayed in the temple by the fire, in hopes that Pahar Singh might come back; but it was no use. Then we went and listened behind the guard-house, and heard there was a man wounded in an affray—a 'Gosai'—and there was a barber dressing his wound."

"Then he did not die? I had hoped he did."

"Holy Mother! was this thy work, master, and all of us away?" cried several of the men.

"No; Ranoo remained with me," replied Maloosray, "and has got a scratch; but what of the man wounded? What think ye of Bulwunt Rao, my cousin, dead long since, as we thought, but come to life, Netta?"

"My curse on him! And he escaped you, Tannajee?"

"I am going to see if he be dead, brother," interposed Ramjee; "the master's blows are not little ones."

"You see, friends, they—those two Gosais—as they appeared, must have met Pahar Singh, who directed them. I see it all now—the villain's attempt to decoy us into that trap by the temptation of news of the Wuzeer. Depend upon it, he has been bought over, and is not to be trusted; and he set them on our track."

"He never was," cried both the men; "he has only one king and one god—that is money," added Netta; "and he has gone where he could get it."

"Yes, friends, those men knew us," continued Maloosray; "and to my mind the place is no longer safe: so we had as well be ready. If they have given the alarm—and Bulwunt would do so if he had any sense—we shall have horsemen scouring the plains to-morrow, and that fine lad, Fazil Khan, at the head of them. So away, some of you: watch the gates; let the horses be kept saddled all day; and let them have bread as fast as they can eat it. I would go at once, Nettajee," he added to that person, taking him aside; "but the Wuzeer must be seen and spoken with first. He was at Almella yesterday, and will be in the city by the afternoon. Without having speech of him, I dare not show myself before the master; and the object of our journey would be incomplete. I think we may trust him."

"Alas! I fear not," replied Nettajee; "ye are too sanguine, you and the Maharaja. Khan Mahomed will not league with us; he leans to the Moghuls, and calls us 'Kafirs of Hindus,' and kills cows wherever he can. I know it. Why do ye trust him, when he is faithless to his own salt? Suppose he chose to turn round and hang up Tannajee Maloosray to the 'Goruk Imlee tree,' would not that keep him fair in his master's eyes, and blind them to his intrigues with the Padshah? Ah, brother, trust him not: one who will deceive the master who has raised him to what he is, will deceive you. A slave born, he will be one to the last; and he is not fit to strike in with free men like us! Leave him to the Moghuls, to whom he will be a slave, as he was to Beejapoor: we have our own road between both. But come now to Ranoo: is he fit to travel?"

"He will be better after he has slept. We were owls, Nettajee, not to see through those flimsy disguises," returned Maloosray.

"Bulwunt Rao is better living than dead, brother; and we may yet bring him round," said Nettajee.

"I tell thee, O Netta," interrupted Tannajee, fiercely, and grinding his teeth as he spoke, "I would cut him down with my own hand at the feet of the Maharaja, rather than he should have speech of him. Never name him to me, else we may differ."

"Ah, that blow of his still rings in your head, Tannajee," replied the other, laughing. "But come; if you don't need sleep, I do. He sleeps," he continued, as they entered the cloister where the wounded man lay; "that is well; and I will do the same, Tannajee;" and so saying, he took down a sheet from a cord on which it was hanging, and, wrapping himself in it, lay down, and was soon snoring loudly.

But Maloosray could not sleep, and after a while, got up, and ascending the steps to the roof of the terrace, looked over the plain suspiciously. All, however, was still. To the east, lightning was playing about the tops of the clouds in dim flickering flashes. Everywhere else the sky was clear, and the stars shone with great lustre. A few jackals howled in the distance, and their cry was answered successively in many directions. Then the drums and horns of the several guards at the gates and on the outer walls and bastions of the city, sounded deep and shrill one by one, and were taken up by those in the "Ark" or citadel of the palace, and so died away in the distance.

His eye followed the line of towers and battlements, and narrowly watched every light which might betoken a stir among the troops within; but there was none. The huge dome of the mausoleum of Mahmood Adil Shah, not long completed, stood out in a dark heavy mass against the clear sky: and beyond it the outlines of the Palace of the Seven Stories—the great Cavalier—and a confused mass of trees and buildings intermingled; nearer, too, the massive walls and arches of the tomb of the mother of the late King, then, as now, unfinished.

All was still. High up in the palace a light twinkled now and then faintly, on which Tannajee speculated dreamily. Was the King awake? the light was in his private apartments. What could he be doing so late in the night? for the drums and trumpets had sounded the third watch. O that he would join heartily with his master, and defy the Moghuls! Would no one tell him this was his best policy? Better a thousand times to secure the fidelity of a large portion of his own subjects by timely concession, than to defy and coerce their chieftain. Now, too, though the Moghuls had been once beaten off, it would not be so again. They were resting and gathering strength, and one by one the independent kingdoms to the north had fallen before them.

How long would this remain?—this, the most extensive, most valuable, and most heretical. Better far, then, to secure the Mahratta people, than to lose all by a double war with them, and with the Moghuls. "Will no one tell the boy this?" thought Maloosray. "We do not wish him evil; but the master must be free, and will be free. The people will assemble at the Dusséra, and the King can then have his choice between a lakh of Mahrattas and a lakh of Moghuls, or both combined; and yet this old family should not pass away—it should not pass away at our hands."

But we need not follow his thoughts further: better to transport ourselves to that twinkling light high up in the Seven-storied Palace, and see who sit beside it, and hear what they say.

---

[CHAPTER XXXII.]

The Palace of the Seven Stories still exists as one of the most noble and picturesque ruins of the Fort of Beejapoor. Of the Seven Stories, only five are now traceable; the two upper have been destroyed, perhaps by lightning, or have fallen from decay and disrepair; and it is only in the third that the remains of the beautiful chamber still existent there convey an idea of the effect of the whole structure when it was perfect. Even this has been much damaged. The gilding of the walls, of the groins of the arches and fretted roof, and of its delicate arabesque borders, has all been scraped off, and the fresco paintings are so destroyed by exposure, that but little exists to tell the history of the beautiful Bhagiruttee, the mistress of the monarch who built the palace for her.

Enough, however, remains to show what the general design and execution of the work were; enough to prove the exquisite taste which had directed its completion, and the skill and boldness of the architect who had raised the dizzy tower so high. Then, the spacious arches and oriel windows were filled by richly carved panels and shutters of teak wood, which admitted sufficient light and air: now, these are all gone, the windows are open, and the rain and sun and wind are rapidly causing decay and destruction of what remains. The upper stories are so broken that they cannot be ascended; but in the one of which we speak, the traveller will be tempted to sit a while looking over the masses of ruins beneath him: and over the still perfect walls of the citadel. Beyond, the undulating plain studded with mounds, shows lines of streets, with broken arches, minarets, and some still perfect mosques, mausoleums, and palaces, which have withstood the effects of time and the spoiler, and remain as proofs of the splendour which once prevailed.

At the period of our tale all these were perfect. The city spread away to the south and west, covering many miles of plain with those streets and houses of which the lines of mounds alone remain. They are interspersed with villages, which are probably portions of the old city, never entirely deserted, and to which the descendants of the population of those days have clung through all vicissitudes. To the east and north, after looking over the greater part of the citadel, the eye followed the plain beyond—the proper esplanade of the fort—and the undulating rising ground to the north-east, from which the Moghul batteries had so recently poured a storm of shot upon the defences, yet happily with no effect.

The King's apartment opened to the west; and, like Afzool Khan about the same time, he sat courting the breeze, which played gently round the rich clustered mullions of the oriel window, and refreshed and soothed him. The storm had died away, and the night was clear and fresh; while, from the garden below, ascended the mingled perfume of champas, limes, tuberoses, jessamine of various kinds, and other sweet-scented flowers, which loaded the air almost to excess.

A silver lamp, on a tall silver stand, stood in a recess sheltered from the open casement, and its seven wicks burned brightly, illuminating the chamber, and by their strong light causing the gilded roof, arches, and groins, with all their delicate colouring of rose-colour, yellow, light-green, and blue enamel, to assume a soft harmony of effect—different from the light of day, yet perhaps more beautiful.

Furniture there was none; but in the space enclosed by the oriel window, there was spread a rich, soft, Persian carpet, which filled its area, on which, in the corner near where the young King was sitting, lay a thick quilted mattress of green satin brocaded with gold, and a large pillow of the same material, both covered with fine muslin. This had been the King's seat, and it was thickly strewn with papers—some Persian, some Mahratta—which, to all appearance, had been under examination, and he had evidently just left it and placed himself by the casement which he had opened. He was alone, but, by the frequent glances towards the doorway, which was covered by a heavy curtain, some one seemed impatiently expected.

The events of the night had aroused unusual energy in the young King; nor, since his accession to the throne, had any occurrence excited him like the discovery of treason in the man he had, perhaps, most trusted—his prime minister, Khan Mahomed. It was so unprovoked, so undeserved. Early in life great ability and aptitude for business had been remarked in the Abyssinian slave, Rehân, by the late King; and he had risen, as favourites among Asiatic princes often do, rapidly to rank and wealth, with every honour which an attached and grateful prince could bestow upon him. Finally he had reached the rank of prime minister or Wuzeer, as we have already mentioned, and, amidst all the distractions and intrigues of faction, had succeeded in preserving his monarch's attachment.

In this position he was maintained by the young King on his accession to the throne, notwithstanding the insinuations of many that the Wuzeer was unfaithful. The King had not heeded these suspicions, nor, indeed, beyond mere rumour, was there anything which could lead to confirmation of them; and as the Wuzeer desired it as a proof of his fidelity, the Abyssinians under his command had been pushed on to the north to watch the Moghul armies; for it was better to submit to the turbulence of the Dekhan chieftains at the capital, who could be controlled by neutral forces like those of Afzool Khan, than to risk the possible misconduct of the others. Again, the Dekhanies could not be trusted with the frontier; and the King, impressed with the fidelity of Khan Mahomed, had left him at has post.

At this period the Dekhanies and Abyssinians were rival factions in the state. The latter were more amenable to discipline than the former, who were descendants of those Mahomedan warriors—Toorks, Tartars, and Affghans—who, at the close of the thirteenth century, under Alla-oo-Deen, had invaded the south of India, and wrested the territory in which they had settled from the Mahrattas of Deogurh and the Canarese dynasty of Beejanuggur. They had founded, and maintained the dynasty of Gulburgah, against the attacks of powerful Hindu states, and, when they separated from it, had attached themselves to the founders of other dynasties, which rivalled, and, indeed, exceeded in splendour, the parent one.

Those who were in Beejapoor had joined Ibrahim Adil Shah, when he declared and established his independence of the Bahmani dynasty of Gulburgah, and they had risen to rank and wealth with the state. They had been led to victory by that monarch and his successors; they had conquered province after province from the infidels of the southern Hindu states, and they had at last finally subdued and overturned the ancient Hindu monarchy of Beejanuggur, which, for several generations, was their bitter enemy and rival. Was it wonderful that they at length became arrogant, and that, to maintain an equipoise against them, another element, the Abyssinian, was admitted into this state? It is the old story in the history of the world of exclusive military power; the old play which has always been played out when the characters are brought together.

There were proud names among these old Dekhan families, which still exist, Tartars and Toorks, who ill brooked the control of slaves like Abyssinians. They were free, and held themselves equal in rank to their own king—proud barons in fact, who seldom accepted administrative service, and were rarely fit for it; men "who could fight, but could not write," as they boasted; turbulent, arrogant, quarrelsome among themselves, split into as many factions as they were families and tribes. The "Dâgtorays," "Alla-ool-Moolks," "Bhylmees," "Kalla Chuttrees," "Saféd Poshs," and a host of others, were faithful to their own state, while they were an unceasing source of anxiety, and often distress, to its administrators.

So long as the Moghul armies had threatened the capital, or there was employment daily in the field to meet a common danger, these tribes and their chiefs had found occupation against the common enemy, and had fought valiantly and successfully. The best cavalry of the Moghul army was no match for these fiery Dekhan cavaliers. Reckless of life, well mounted, each tribe and appellation vying with each other, whenever there was a chance in their broad plains, they had not neglected it, and were ever in advance of the more disciplined though slower moving bodies of Abyssinian horse and foot, whom they despised as slaves.

Between the extremes of party were those who, like Afzool Khan, belonged to neither, who held a common interest and faith in the dynasty they served, and whose arms had often been turned against Abyssinians, and against Dekhanies, whenever revolts or mutinies of either rendered it necessary.

Among these contending factions, and ever present rivalries, the course of the young King had been difficult and devious since his accession; but respect to his father's memory and experience, for he had been a wise prince, a successful administrator, and a valiant warrior in the field, had, in the end, induced him to continue the predominance of the Abyssinian element in council; and to allow the Dekhanies scope for their ambition in military commands and active service in distant provinces of the kingdom, retaining those only at the capital who would prove a counterpoise to the Abyssinians, in case of need. Influenced by personal esteem, and even affection, for the man who had been his father's most trusted counsellor and friend, he had retained Khan Mahomed in office, notwithstanding the evil reports of his Dekhan officers; and under these circumstances the distress, and even dismay, of the young King at the discovery of the treachery, which had long existed, was hard to endure. It was his first bitter lesson in life, and there were few to fall back upon for advice or consolation.

In his extremity his thoughts had turned to Afzool Khan first, perhaps, of all: but again, his known intimacy with the Wuzeer; the report that the families would soon be united by the marriage of Khan Mahomed's son to the old Khan's daughter; the notorious friendship of the young men; and, above all, a certain reticence in Afzool Khan's expressions whenever the Wuzeer's character or actions were discussed—recurred to the King, and his thoughts turned from Afzool Khan to others in succession, yet finding rest nowhere.

Of all his officers, on whom could he depend? Jehándar Beg, who should have been his executive in any arrest of the Wuzeer, was known to be his dependent: and thus speculating on each, he estimated bitterly how really weak he was in personal adherents.

At first all appeared to be decided in his favour, but gradually requests were made under one pretext or other, which disclosed the true objects of his courtiers, and the young King had sufficient discernment to estimate their professions at their full value. It was these experiences which threw him back upon himself, and upon the Wuzeer, who was, at least as he thought, moderate and unselfish. Moderate, certainly, to him; yet, at heart, more grasping and more treacherous than any.

There was no doubt of that now. Again and again had the King taken up the letter we have before read, and examined it closely, and had each time laid it down with increased conviction that it was genuine. There could be no doubt either as to the seal or the writing. Khan Mahomed's own hand was too peculiar to be imitated; yet he had doubted—still doubted. It is hard to admit conviction of guilt when one's affections are pleading innocence, but here it was not to be resisted; and, as most generally follows such conviction, those very affections were fast becoming the most unrelenting judges.

"Let them but confirm this," said the King, aloud, as he looked out, and again turned to the papers, selected the letter, looked over it, and hastily put it down with a shiver. "Let them but confirm it, and then——O, my father! wert thou here it would be the same, and your son will not flinch from the necessity, be it what it may."

---

[CHAPTER XXXIII.]

As yet the King's thoughts had admitted nothing definitely; the blow had been too sudden, the provocation too great, for aught but a numbness of perception which checked conclusive determination; but this was passing away fast, and it was becoming still more apparent that, if Khan Mahomed's plan had succeeded, he must, if he survived it, be the dependent of his own slave and his father's. Were the other letters, which they had looked over hastily, true also? Men's tongues had before been busy with the Wuzeer's reputation, and now were so again—the same subject and the same man; and it was—"true, true!"

Unconsciously he had spoken aloud in his reverie, and the word seemed to come as if an echo of his own thought.

"Who spoke?" he cried, looking round—"Who spoke?" His very question seemed to make the silence more impressive; and, as he strained his eyes into the gloom of the chamber, there was no sound but the gentle sough of the night wind, laden with moisture, among the trees below and the open latticework of the windows. "The spirits of the dead are around me to-night," he continued to himself, shuddering. "Listen, O father! Listen, sweet mother! O Prophet of God, on whom be peace, assist and hear me! O thou fountain and dispenser of justice, make me true and bold; make me, as I should be, thy agent among thy people. If I have been a child till now, forgive me—that is past.... He writes to the Emperor, that I am a boy!—that I am a boy! Inshalla! No! that is past!" As he spoke, the sound of voices below, and of footsteps ascending the narrow stair were distinctly audible, and he paused to listen. "It is they at last, and the Meerza has not delayed. Enter," he cried, as the steps appeared to reach the landing-place and doorway—"enter, I am here."

The heavy quilted curtain was pushed aside, and three persons advanced—one the Meerza or secretary we have before mentioned; the other two we have not yet seen; but they had been often employed as confidential advisers by the King, and he had now sent for them. When they returned from the temple, the King and his secretary had examined the papers they had obtained, with great care and anxiety, and they proved to be far more voluminous and important than even our friend the Lalla had imagined.

The dates of the letters extended over several years. Some, of later date, within the year, had evidently been sent secretly, for they were rolled up into the smallest possible compass, in lead, and so that they could be put into the mouth, or otherwise hidden; the handwriting was disguised, and several were written in cypher; but the most recent were not disguised at all, and the seals were perfect. The whole formed a series, and they had hastily put them together. Each letter confirmed the other, or seemed to do so, and yet, considering the issue at stake, neither cared to trust their own judgment: and the papers needed confirmation, as well of their authenticity as of their reference to former occurrences and dates.

Of the Mahratta documents, however, they could form no opinion, as neither could read the character; but the secretary was familiar with the seal, and even the rude signature, of Sivaji Bhóslay; and these letters might throw some light on the subject of reputed intrigues with the Emperor, and prove a guide to future proceedings.

The two persons who had been summoned so hastily to the night council were, in the first place, Peer Dustageer Khaderi, a holy Syud, or descendant of the Prophet, of the purest lineage, and the head of a religious house or establishment of Durwaysh, or, as we familiarly call them, "Dervishes," which had been largely endowed by the State, and for whose ancestors, buried in the precincts of the shrine, miracles were now becoming ostensibly claimed. As a consequence, the holy influence of the "Peer" was decidedly on the increase; and as he had been chosen as religious instructor to the King, he was at that time his "Moorshid," or spiritual guide; and being a shrewd, well-educated person, possessed of deep local experience, and, from his position, able to obtain information of a trustworthy nature, he was frequently consulted. To give him due credit, the Peer had proved, on more than one occasion, to have rendered valuable service. Him, therefore, had the King named as the person best fitted to be intrusted with the secret they had obtained.

The other was an old Brahmun, who entered leaning upon a long stick with a gold head, yet not so as to evince weakness, and was as remarkable in his degree as the person whom he accompanied. Neelkunt Rai Pansay, in the outset of his life a humble Karkoon, or clerk, in the revenue department of the State, had served, in succession, three generations of its kings, and, at upwards of eighty years old, was still clear-headed, astute, and faithful. He had risen to the rank of "Peshcar," or finance minister, by his valuable services in that department; and though an "infidel," as he was termed by the Peer, was beloved and respected, and consulted on occasions of more than ordinary solemnity or embarrassment, more particularly in regard to the affairs of his own people, the Hindus of the kingdom.

While the secretary advanced to the King, the others stood at the further end of the apartment. Neither knew why they had been summoned, and the hour of the night, the, to them, strange fact of being together in the most private apartment of the palace, and in the King's presence, caused them to look at each other wonderingly.

These were not persons who could ever unite in private friendship; for the Peer, a bigoted follower of Mahomed, and a holy saint to boot, was one of those who, as warriors of the faith, would have led armies against the infidels, and utterly exterminated them. That king of Gulburgah, Feroze Shah, was in his eyes a true Moslem, and now surely enjoying Paradise, who, in pursuance of his vow, had slain a hundred thousand of the infidels of Beejanuggur, and made pyramids of their heads at the gate of his city. If the kings of Beejapoor had been such it would have been well; but, alas! in his eyes they were degenerate. Here was a proof: the infidel minister sent for to confer with him! the Syud! "Astagh-fur-Ulla!" (God forbid it!) gurgled in his throat, and he edged away and gathered up his garments with a gesture decidedly contemptuous.

This did not escape the old Brahmin's notice, but it was no time to resent it, for they were called forward. A word from the secretary had decided the King to have the Mahratta letters first examined. Aroused from his sleep, and in the presence of a Brahmun, the Syud was not likely to discuss any matter temperately with one; nor, indeed, in a subject in which Mahomedan honour was involved, was it politic, perhaps, to reveal particulars to a Hindu; but the fact or otherwise of Sivaji Bhóslay's attachment or treachery so affected the Wuzeer's position, that it could not be concealed from one who, whatever his faults of religious arrogance might be, was at least a firm friend of the young King and of his government.

"Salaam-o-alykoom! Khoosh amudeed! (you are welcome)," said the King, using the Persian salutation to the Syud, and rising as he advanced.

"Salaam-o-alyk!" returned the holy man, advancing, as was his wont, in a peculiar but characteristic manner; that is, he bent his head forward, so as to assume a stoop which might be supposed reverential, but which was, in fact, patronising in the extreme; stretching forth his arms in an attitude of benediction, and, having set his feet nearly at right angles, he shuffled with short steps towards the edge of the carpet on which was the King's seat. "My lord's health is sound, and his brain is clear?"

"I am well," returned the King; "be seated."

The Peer looked for a place as near the King as possible, and, with another wave of his hands, settled himself upon his heels with two motions—first, to drop on his knees, and second, to subside upon his heels, very much after the fashion of a camel when it is to be loaded. This done, he joined his hands together, and smiling blandly, again ventured to ask whether "My lord and prince were well."

"By your favour and the mercy of God," replied the King, "I am well."

"Ul-humd-ul-illa! (Praise be to God!) Shookr! shookr! (thanks, thanks!)" ejaculated the Peer devoutly, as he settled himself more comfortably; then, taking his rosary from his waist, began to tell his beads with great rapidity, as the old Brahmun, following to the edge of the carpet, and making a humble and reverential salutation, stood awaiting the King's pleasure.

"Be seated, Neelkunt Rai," said the King kindly; and as the old man stooped to the ground, supporting himself by his stick, the secretary compassionately put his hand under his arm, and let him down gently. The scowl from the Peer at this unwonted act of courtesy was lost upon the secretary, but not upon the old man himself; nor was his look of thanks to the person who had assisted him unremarked by the Syud. "I will watch them," he said inwardly: "these two seem to understand each other."

---

[CHAPTER XXXIV.]

The King spoke first, breaking a silence which, though only lasting for a few moments, seemed interminably oppressive.

"I have called you, Neelkunt Rai," he said, "to examine and read to me some papers which have come into my possession. There is no one about me from whom I can expect more true fidelity than from you in a delicate matter. Give him the papers, Meerza; they are before you."

"May my lord's favour and condescension increase," returned the old man, bowing humbly. "I have never deceived the State, and am too old to begin; and as the grandson is now, so were the father and grandfather always towards me; true confidence is rarely disappointed."

The King sighed. "Alas," he said, "would it were so! Read and judge for yourself."

Neelkunt Rai took the papers, cast his eyes over a few lines, put them down, fumbled in his pockets for his spectacles, which finally were found in a fold of his turban, put them on, and looked first at the end of the paper.

"The letters are from Sivaji Bhóslay, my lord. Doubtless some renewal of his former excesses, and his usual apologies for them. Shall I read them."

"If that were all, Neelkunt Rai, we could forgive them," replied the King; "but read; we may perhaps be in error about them, though truly our vassal grows in power, and heeds not warnings or advice."

"It is only a few months since he took the four forts," interposed the Meerza, "and the letters given to Afzool Khan mention that he is repairing and putting grain into them, and that Pertâbgurh, where he lives, is now impregnable, and that——"

"Let him read, Meerza Sahib," said the Peer ironically: "one so high in the favour of the King should not be interrupted;" and he stroked his beard gently with one hand, while the beads of his rosary passed rapidly through the fingers of the other, and his lips repeated the particular invocation of the divinity which suited every bead. "Let him read; my lord is already listening."

Neelkunt Rai proceeded. He had been deceived by the address, which was that usually written to his own sovereign, and had read the letter through unsuspiciously; but as its purport became evident, it was clear, by his change of countenance, that this was no ordinary communication, and after a while he stopped suddenly.

"It is not fit for my lord to hear," he said excitedly. "This is treason!"

"Be not afraid, Neelkunt Rai, we would know the worst," replied the King.

"Yes, my lord should know who are true and who are false," added the Peer, pompously. "It is true wisdom!"

"As you will," returned the old man, bowing to the King, and not noticing the Peer; "your servant is not responsible for what is written, and you must be patient with it;" and he read and translated as he went on.

There could be no doubt that the treason was unmasked and unconcealed. The wrongs of his father, wrote Sivaji, who for four years had been imprisoned in the dungeon of the citadel of Beejapoor, near the gate, called for revenge; the wrongs of the people, suffering under endless local oppression and exaction, called for redress, which it was hopeless to expect at the hands of a boy, priest-ridden and under the domination of bigoted and ignorant ministers. The conclusion was characteristic of the writer. All he desired was confirmation of his ancestral rights, and permission to serve, with his forces, in the imperial interest.

Letter after letter was read, all much to the same purpose; those of the latter dates being more particular, perhaps, than the former.

"Enough," cried the King at last, "we are weary of these details. What dost thou think, Neelkunt Rai?"

"My lord," said the old man, joining his hands, "mine are not the words of flattery; nor is my advice given without reason. I cannot control men's tongues, nor can I hinder the actions of such as Sivaji Bhóslay; nor yet am I a soldier, to estimate whether his means are proportionate to the end he proposes to attain. If I may speak, I will do so truly, and as one who is near death now; but my lord must not be offended, else I am silent."

"Be careful, and do not transgress the bounds of propriety and respect," said the priest.

"Let him speak as he will, Syud," cried the King, hastily; "do not interrupt him. Fear not, Neelkunt Rai."

"I fear no one, because I have no reason to do so," returned the old man simply, and looking steadily at the priest. "What I have to say is this: the disaffection of Sivaji Bhóslay may spread, but it has not yet become dangerous. That it will be so, if not checked, there is no doubt, for the whole Mahratta people are with him; and there are many signs among them that he will be great——"

"That he will be great?" echoed the King.

"My lord," interrupted the Syud, "I know all about that. Some of my disciples who live at a distance, have come to me from time to time lately, and told me of the damnable doings of the infidels; and how this Sivaji is supposed to have revelations from their gods; but they are but stones—they are but stones, and gold and silver. Now, what saith the blessed Prophet, on whom be peace, about such infidels?"

"Spare us, good Syud," returned the King, interrupting him gently, "we know the passages; but God hath seen fit to give our house subjects of this faith; and they are all our children—they—as well as the true believers. We can see no difference."

"Astagh-fur-oolla! No difference!" cried the Syud. "Is it not written in the holy book, how they shall be burned in the fires of hell, and thou sayest there is no difference! Some one hath surely bewitched thee with sorcery, my son, and I will say exorcisms for thee—and——"

"Enough," returned the King, coldly; "we have not time to waste in discussion on such matters now. Proceed, Neelkunt Rai."

"The Syud is a holy man," said the old minister, "and he and his house are venerated, and he should be merciful and considerate to all; but as he, too, hath heard the rumours in regard to Sivaji, my lord will believe them. And it would be well not to disregard them entirely. A people's enthusiasm is not to be trifled with."

"There is but one cure for it, if they are infidels, and that is the sword," murmured the Syud. "What saith——"

"We cannot suffer these interruptions," interposed the King, haughtily.

"Peace, Meer Sahib," whispered the Meerza, laying his hand on the other's arm, as he was about to rise. "Peace, and be still. In what will come afterwards we have need of thee—much need; be still."

"My prince," said Neelkunt Rai, endeavouring to rise, "I have done what was needed, and beg leave to depart in peace. My King knows the worst. What his servant would advise will not now be listened to, were he even to speak."

"Say on," cried the King, interrupting him; "thou hast a right to speak. Say on; we will not prevent thee."

"But he will," returned the Karkoon, pointing to the Syud.

"If he speaks no irreverence against the people of the true faith, he may talk till morning," said the Syud, with a wave of the hand. "I shall be dumb and deaf."

"I have little to represent, my lord," replied the old man. "It is hard to say whether rebellion such as this, should be crushed or forgiven. If I should advise the former, can it be done? If the latter, I maybe suspected of partiality. Ah, my prince, if you gird up your loins to fight Sivaji, it will but be trying to grasp the wind; and your best troops will be taken into his mountains, leaving their places empty for the Moghuls to occupy, and that were a dangerous risk. No! send your royal 'kowl' to the Bhóslay—invite him here—ennoble him—treat him as your ancestors treated the Beyder chief of Suggur, and you will secure him. If a time of trial should ever come, which may the gods avert, the old Brahmun's words and cautions for the adoption of a merciful policy will not be forgotten. May I depart?"

"Yes, you have permission to depart, Neelkunt Rai," said the King, interrupting the Syud, who was about to speak angrily. "It is even as we suspected in regard to those letters, and the Bhóslay's treachery to the State. We would ask one thing more:—what force hath Sivaji in reality?"

"My prince," returned the Brahmun, rising and leaning on his staff, "what shall I say? Have you no reports? Were not letters given to Afzool Khan to read? Ask him; he knows that country better than I do—far better. Ask the Syud what his disciples tell him."

"No, no; I will have your opinion," interrupted the King. "Speak! what do your people, the Brahmuns, say about it?"

"May I be forgiven, my lord, if it prove untrue. Yet I will speak as I hear," replied the old man. "My prince knows that I am not of this country, nor of this people; I have no interest in them except as Hindus; but you may be assured there is not a Mahratta breathing who will not follow Sivaji, and the divine call he is believed to have received. No man who can wield a sword or carry a gun, or who has a horse to ride, that will not go to the places of meeting when—'the fire is on the hills.' How many there may be, the gods only know! Lakhs! lakhs! who can count them? Beware of them, my prince, and secure their chief ere it be too late."

"What has passed here is secret, Neelkunt Rai," said the King. "Thou mayst go; we will send for thee again in this matter ere it be concluded," and with a deep reverence to the King, and salutations to the others, the old man retreated a few paces backwards, then turned, and passed out of the chamber.

"Blessed be God and the Prophet!" exclaimed the Syud when he was gone. "The air was defiled by his breath! Ul-humd-ul-illa! a Kafir and a traitor, may he——"

"Peace, Meer Sahib, we have dismissed him, and that is enough," said the King. "Our father, on whose memory be peace, trusted him, and so did his father,—so also do we."

"As my prince pleases," returned the holy man, with a humble gesture, and checking the volley of curses he had prepared to hurl after the old Brahmun. "In this matter it seemed to me that his counsel was cowardly and dangerous. How say you, Meerza? Was Feroze Shah afraid of infidels when he and his true believers slew them by lakhs, and the pyramids of heads stood by the gates of Gulburgah? And is our prince less than he was, or are these Mahratta Kafirs more powerful than those of Beejanugger? Speak, man!"

"My opinion would be little worth," said the secretary, "even did my lord desire it, and there are others more capable of judging of the power of this Mahratta robber than I am. What you have to advise our master upon is another matter, Syud."

"Explain it to him, Meerza," said the King, sadly: "I am sick of treachery, which seems to be closing round me like a net on all sides."

"God and the Prophet forbid!" exclaimed both in a breath. "Treachery known, is soon disposed of. That which sits crouching in hidden places is alone to be dreaded," continued the Syud. "Ere I hear the detail, I have my fears."

"Nay, read thyself and judge," said the King. "Give him the letters, Meerza."

"I have compared the seals," said the secretary, "with those letters recently received by the King, and the writing also. Judge for yourself before you read."

The Syud obeyed. He examined and compared the seals, the superscription, and the paper of all, with much care and evident interest, as expressed in various ejaculations of wonder, and appeals to the divinity under various appellations suited to the circumstances, which may be spared. "No doubt, no doubt," he said, after the scrutiny had been concluded, "no doubt of these, nor of the superscription. They only confirm what hath long been in men's mouths, yet was undetected."

"Read," said the King. "Satisfy yourself."

---

[CHAPTER XXXV.]

"It is finished, my lord," said the Syud, looking up, after an examination of the papers which had appeared interminable, and as he spoke, the cry of the Muezzin of the Royal Mosque arose in the invitation to morning prayer, sonorous and musical, "Alla hu Akbur! Alla hu Akbur!" "It is finished," he continued, "and it is the will of Alla that morning prayer should come with the last words. Come, my lord, let us do this service, and ask a blessing on our deliberation. Come to the terrace in the fresh morning air."

We need not follow them. As they returned and seated themselves again by the oriel window, the first blush of dawn was stealing over the sky, paling the stars, and the gentle breeze of morning rustled softly among the leaves of the gardens below. The ceremony he had performed, the ablution, and the air of the terrace outside to which they had adjourned, had refreshed the King after this weary night.

"Speak, Syud," he said, as they resumed their seats. "What is it to be?"

"I need not, my lord," replied the Syud. "What Alla hath put into thy heart I now see in thine eyes, and so be it! Ameen! ameen! ameen! It is his destiny. He is not fit to live; let him die, perjured and faithless as he is. My lord, he had sworn on the holy book to me to be true. He had touched my feet and my neck as witness to his oath. Yet see, since then, nay, within a few weeks, this letter—worst of all—was written. But O, my prince! there must be no mistake. Even at the last, let not the blood of a guiltless man be on our heads."

The Syud's resolution had wavered for a moment, but was rallied by the secretary as the King shook his head, but did not reply.

"Meer Sahib," he said, "we have had the same doubts, my lord and I. Considering how we obtained the letters, can there be uncertainty?"

"God forbid!" replied the Syud—"God forbid! it is enough. I see in this revelation the hand of the All-wise, and we, his creatures, should not resist His destinies and His justice. We cannot do so even if we wished," and he bowed his head reverently over his beads. "Hark! what is that?"

"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! (If God give I will take! If God give I will take)" was suddenly shouted in an outer court of the palace by a powerful voice, and interrupted the priest for a moment.

"Listen!" he continued, grasping the Meerza's arm. "What is that cry, so strange, and so early?"

"It is but one of the city beggars," said the King, looking across to his secretary with a peculiar glance of intelligence, "who perhaps has not slept off his night's potions. One of thine own disciples, perhaps, Huzrut."

"I will go and listen," said the secretary, rising; and he proceeded to the terrace where the morning prayer had been performed.

"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" arose in clear deep tones, now unchecked by the heavy quilted curtain of the royal chamber. It was a common form of cry of fakeers or other beggars; but there was something in the rough tone of the voice which seemed to strike familiarly upon the Meerza's ear.

"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!"

The last cry was followed by a remonstrance from the soldiers below, who, belonging to the guard of the private apartments, had evidently stopped the intruder.

"Gently, O Syn," cried one; "what dost thou here so early? Do not bawl so loud, friend, else they will be awakened up yonder, and thou wilt be whipped and put in the stocks. Come and sit here, and rest thyself if thou wilt."

"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" was the only reply.

"Nay, but thou canst not enter here, Syn. This is the private court of the Hareem, and thou must be silent," continued the soldier.

"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!"

"The fellow is mad or drunk. Here, Jemadar," cried another voice; "what is to be done with this Fakeer?"

"Who can this be?" thought the Meerza. "This is no common cry. I must see the worthy Syud out, and get speech of the crier."

"Ulla dilâyâ——"

The Fakeer's cry was broken off abruptly, and there was a noise as if of a scuffle below. Could it be any one in the Wuzeer's interest, seeking for information, or perhaps with deadly intent. "Ho there!" cried the secretary; "what noise is that so early, disturbing the King?"

"Some drunken Fakeer, my lord," returned one of the guards, looking up, "who has intruded, God knows how."

"Keep him, and I will come down presently," answered the Meerza, not waiting for the reply, but re-entering the chamber.

"Some Fakeer, my lord," he continued to the King, but answering his look of intelligence, "whom I have ordered to be confined till the Darogah of the palace can deal with him for his insolence."

"If he be one of my men come after me," said the Syud, "he shall be punished. And now, my lord, have I permission to depart? Delay not in this matter; and may God give you a safe deliverance from a traitor!"

"You may go, Meer Sahib," said the King; "and we thank you for this visit; but shall need you at noon."

"Your servant will be present without fail," returned the Syud, humbly. "Would that his power were equal to his devotion in the King's service!"

"Return directly," said the King, in a whisper, to his secretary, as the holy man waddled slowly to the door. "I know who it is; bring him hither at once. Hast thou forgotten the Jogi of the temple?"

"Hither? that fearful man!"

"Yes, and at once—any excuse—say he does exorcism—anything."

The secretary hesitated.

"At once," continued the King, positively, "and without fail. I feared him not then, when I was in his power and helpless, neither do I now. Go, take this with thee," and he slipped his signet ring into the Meerza's hand.

"I will have him searched at any rate," thought the Meerza, as he descended the narrow stair. "Take care, Meer Sahib, the light is uncertain. Ah, here we are. Who is that, Abdulla, that was crying out?" he said to a eunuch, who, with others, kept guard at the foot of the stairs.

"I know not, my lord. He is some drunken Fakeer, no doubt; and they have tied him up, I hear."

"He may be wanted above," whispered the Meerza. "Let him follow me, and without notice or hindrance. Some exorcism is needed—you understand—within——"

The man stared, and only bowed assent over his crossed arms. "Who dared question royal secrets?"

"Coming, Meer Sahib; I only looked for my shoes," cried the Meerza to his companion, who had advanced a few paces.

Hearing the secretary's voice, several persons emerged from the guard-room, holding the Fakeer tightly. His face was distinctly seen in the morning light, and there could be no mistake.

"He is not one of my children," said the Syud, blandly, looking at the man, and seating himself in his palankeen, which had been brought up; "some drunken brawler, no doubt, who deserves a whipping. Send him to the Kótwal, my sons. I am departing, Meerza Sahib."

"Khôda Hafiz! (God be with you!)" returned the secretary. "At noon, you remember!"

"Of course, Meerza Sahib, the royal commands are on my head and eyes. Go on, my sons," and the bearers shuffled along at their usual pace.

"Shookr Oolla! (thank God!)" ejaculated the secretary, who had doubts of the priest, as he had of most others. "Who art thou, fellow?" he added to the prisoner.

"Bid them loose me," said Pahar Singh, for it was he, "and I will tell thee. Hast thou forgotten so quickly?"

"My lord," said one of the soldiers, "let us turn him out into the town."

"How he got in here," added another, "no one knows; yet he is not drunk, and he has done no harm beyond bawling and struggling. He has the strength of a fiend."

"Loose him, my friends; he is an exorcist, and there has been some trouble within," replied the secretary. "I must take him into the presence. He has no arms? Behold the royal seal."

"I have the amulet which shall restore health to the sick," growled the pretended Fakeer; "it is sorely needed, and time presses. The planetary conjunction is passing."

"Come, Syn; I will lead thee in," said the secretary, taking his hand.

"He has no weapons—we searched him well; but he will answer no questions," said several men, speaking together.

"Ah, my friends," replied the secretary, gravely, "those who cast out evil spirits are not to be questioned. Come, Syn, follow me."

The men shrugged their shoulders incredulously. What could it mean? To all except the Meerza the entry of such a character to the private apartments at any hour would have been impossible—but now, and under the King's seal? How had he entered the citadel? The guard at the gate had not seen him pass; and this mystery, with the fact of his having been expected, furnished plentiful cause of speculation to those who had seized him.

---

[CHAPTER XXXVI.]

"What is it?" asked the Meerza anxiously, as they passed into the inner court. "Why hast thou come, Pahar Singh, thus early?"

"Is he above—Ali Adil Shah?" asked the robber; "what I have to say is for him alone. And thou hast recognized me, O Meerza?"

"He is," replied the Meerza; "follow me and be silent. I will tell him. Yes, I knew thee, and he trusts thee."

The eunuchs of the lower guard bowed their heads on their folded arms as the two men passed and ascended the stair together. When they reached the terrace, the Meerza stepped on and drew aside the curtain.

"He is come, my lord," he said in a low tone—"he—the robber."

"I thought so," replied the King; "bring him in."

As Pahar Singh entered, the light of the lamp shone full on him, and revealed a haggard anxious face; his large eyes were gleaming wildly from among the heavy masses of his matted hair, now hanging about his shoulders; but the disguise as a Mahomedan mendicant was as complete as that of the Hindu Jogi had been. He made no lowly reverence, but advanced boldly—defiantly, as it were—to the edge of the carpet, and the King involuntarily grasped the hilt of the short sword lying beside him.

"The King might kill me," said the man, observing the action; "a word, and the head of Pahar Singh is struck from his body by those eunuchs yonder. There is no escape hence—is it not so? Yet I have trusted thee, O King, and do not fear thee, even as thou didst not fear me. I am here, true to thy salt; and what I have to tell thee is as true as I am."

"Fear not," said the King, "and speak freely; thou art safe here."

"Does he know all?" asked the robber, pointing to the Meerza.

"All, friend. Was he not with me, and are not these the letters?" returned the King. "Else——"

"I believe thee, Adil Khan," said Pahar Singh. "Now, listen: time is short, and much has to be done ere thou art safe."

The King started. "Safe?" he cried.

"Ay, safe, my lord. Khan Mahomed was at Almella yesterday, and is on his way hither now. He will be here about the third watch of the day, or sooner. What brings him, think you?" said Pahar Singh, rapidly.

"I sent him a letter of assurance, and he believes it," said the King.

"Believes it, King? He?" exclaimed the man derisively. "He? Thou art but a simple boy to think so. No, he has understood it rightly, and in reply has brought some hundreds of my men with him. What for?—it is in thine eyes to ask—what for? I will tell thee. Ah! thy heart tells thee now: there is no need for me to speak."

"Then his designs are evil, friend," said the King, with a slight shudder.

"King! without that letter he was not to be trusted. After he received it he knew his fate," returned Pahar Singh. "We—I—have an evil reputation, they say: and he believed I would do anything for money. He sent an express messenger for me from Nuldroog. I had come here with those letters, but my son went. Money was offered to him: rank—an estate—whatever he pleased. Money? yea, much money. A lakh of rupees—more. Why? thou already knowest. Yes—to kill thee, O Adil Khan, thou wert not to live over to-day. My son pleaded fatigue and my absence—time also to collect the men. That is why Khan Mahomed did not arrive yesterday. That is why he is at Almella now. My son is shrewd and wise—he secured all he could of the Wuzeer's money; and then—ah, blessed boy!—he rode on to meet me last night. Ha, ha! they thought he had gone to Itga to hurry on the men; but he is a good youth—he knew what to do. A gallant horse is that which that Lalla left with us; thy life was on its feet, O Prince! and my boy was in sore temptation. So he reached me last night, just as I had gained my hiding-place, of which he knew. Ah, I was sick at heart, for my brother was dead——"

"Dead!" cried the secretary; "God forbid! he was with thee, and well."

"Ay, dead, Meerza," continued Pahar Singh. "Yes, murdered—perish the cowardly hand that struck the blow in the dark. We were attacked by robbers, who had watched us, and he was struck down in the fight. I went for assistance to carry him, and when I returned he was dead, and a knife-wound in his heart. Enough, master," continued Pahar Singh, dashing his hand roughly across his eyes. "He died in thy service. Enough for him."

"And then?" asked the King.

"My son had consented to do the work; and that slave, the Wuzeer, believed him. The boy told me he pretended to hate the King, and that there was a death feud between our house and thine, Adil Khan—was it not good? O, he is a clever youth that. It was he who got those letters, too: and now he has received money from the slave. Enough! Speak, O King. Is the slave to be delivered into thy hand alive, or wilt thou give him to me—to me, Pahar Singh? Dost thou doubt me? I ask no money—no reward from thee. Thy house—thy very life—is in peril: Pahar Singh can save both, and ask nothing but to be held true to his master's salt. Nay, do not interrupt me," he continued, waving his hand, while he wiped away the foam which, in his excitement, had gathered on his lips. "Think, Adil Khan, was thy royal house ever so threatened before? Hath not the Wuzeer prepared the enemy to make his last swoop upon thee, even as a falcon on a hare; and wert thou dead, with no son to rally men around him, and Khan Mahomed holding the power,—could thy kingdom be preserved? Are the Moghuls idle? Is Sivaji Bhóslay indifferent? Above all, could thy royal armies have saved thee had I been a traitor?"

"Come hither," cried Adil Shah, from whose eyes the tears were welling fast as he thought upon his defenceless state, the deep treachery which had been meditated, and the rough earnest devotion of this strange man. "Come hither: let me put my hand on thy head."

Pahar Singh advanced. The squalid mendicant covered with rags—to all appearance what he seemed, so complete was the disguise—trod boldly upon the royal bed of satin and velvet; but he bowed his head to meet the hand which the King extended and laid upon it gently.

"As thou wilt, true servant," said the King, "for there is a stern and fearful necessity to be encountered. Whatever reward thou mayst claim hereafter is freely bestowed upon thee—all thou hast ever done against me or my people is forgiven. Take that slave for thine own if thou wilt, to deal with as it seemeth good to thee."

"Remember," cried Pahar Singh, seizing the King's hand and detaining it upon his head, "these words cannot be revoked. Whatever happens, I do but thy bidding, O King; and, only for the need for thee to know it, I had done the same even though I had not seen thee. Now I go, whither ye cannot trace me, but ye will hear of me ere the day is past."

"Go," replied the King. "I have no fear of thee or of thine acts. Alla and the Prophet direct and keep thee, O true friend, whom he hath sent me in my need. Go!"

"Only be careful," continued the man, withdrawing the King's hand from his head, kissing it reverently, and then releasing it—"only be careful! Stir not beyond the fort till the news comes to thee. The guards on the gates and within are of the true party, and thou art safe with them. Care not for revolt; the Wuzeer brings no men with him but my own. My son prevented those he brought from coming on, and they returned to Nuldroog from Almella. None of his party here dare stir. Yet, if there be any movement, send for Afzool Khan and his son Fazil; they are my bitter enemies, but they are true to thee. Nay more, the Wuzeer's son is not with his father in this matter, and is true to thee, O King, because of the young Fazil. And now I go. Send me beyond the gate, for I must not depart as I came."

"I am ready to go," said the secretary. "They were marvelling at thy sudden appearance. How was it?"

"I may tell thee some time or other," returned Pahar Singh, smiling; "but come, it is almost day. Yet, ere I depart, my lord, I would kiss thy feet. The reverence I once paid thy father, the noble Sultan Mahmood, I would pay to thee." And so saying, he prostrated himself, embracing the King's feet, and kissing them respectfully.

"Would thou wert a true believer, and thou wouldst be as a brother. O, that I could reward thee adequately," said the King, with much emotion.

"I am better as I am—free," returned Pahar Singh. "When I have earned reward, Adil Khan, I may ask it if I live; and if I die, remember there was one true heart among thy people, and protect my Gopal—my son. Let us not speak of reward; there is nothing now between us but true faith, as thou art witness, O Meerza, and that faith was never yet given for gold."

So saying, he turned and passed rapidly through the curtain, followed by the secretary.

Was there any doubt in the young King's mind now? None; all was clear. There was no thought of mercy—none of receding from determination. There could be no question of Pahar Singh's story, else why had he, outlaw and robber as he was, trusted himself in the very palace? There was no appearance about that strange man which could lead to a suspicion of deceit, and his grim devotion in this emergency affected the King deeply. Even if Pahar Singh failed, the course was clear. The Wuzeer must be confronted with the silent witnesses of his treachery; and in Afzool Khan and a score of other trusty adherents, the King felt he had ample protection.

No; it was no deception. After a short interval of silence, the Fakeer's cry, "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" again arose more sonorously, more confidently than before, and the King, stepping out on the terrace, listened, speculating how far the man might be gone on his deadly errand, and what would come of it, so absorbedly, that the secretary's footsteps, as he ascended the stair, were not heard, and the King started as he spoke once more.

"He is gone, my lord, on his work. I saw him pass beyond the gate."

"Did he say aught?"

"Nothing—he did not speak again. As he passed out of the court he shouted his cry, and continued it, walking rapidly till he was beyond the bridge of the ditch. Many of the men saluted him, and some offered alms, but he answered no one, and, still shouting, pressed on so quickly that I could hardly follow. When I last saw him, he had turned by the 'Goruk Imlee' tree, and was running fast; and so God speed him!"

"Ameen!" sighed the King. "Thou must not leave me to-day, Anwur Ali. Order a Durbar at noon, and there will we await the end. He or I, Meerza, whichever God wills; but it shall not be said of Adil Khan that he shrank from his fate into his zenana. Go; sleep there on my cushions for a while; we both need rest," and by another doorway, the King passed to the inner apartments.

---

[CHAPTER XXXVII.]

The day wore on; and it may be imagined that the anxieties of the lady Lurlee and the fair Zyna were not diminished by the continued absence of the Khan and his son. As the former had left his wife, he had requested her to have a "kichéri" of a particular kind, with kabobs, prepared for him when he arrived. "He should be hungry," he said, "after his ride so early, and Fazil too. It was a soldier's dish, and would put him in mind of old days in the field, and—Lurlee could dress it so capitally." We may remember a slight bandying of words between the Khan and his lady before he went out; and he had ordered this dish as a propitiatory meal at her hands, for he knew by experience that the result would be satisfactory: the little acerbity would disappear, and the planets, perhaps, would be forgotten.

Nothing could have been devised more soothing to the lady Lurlee's temper—nothing more certain of dispelling any clouds of dissatisfaction or disappointment—than this appeal to her affections through her kitchen. Even in these intellectual days, a similar result is not unfrequently attainable; proving that the motives and springs of poor human nature, and its tempers, show but little difference at the time of our history and among ourselves; and did we permit ourselves to moralize after the fashion of the day, we might possibly deliver a pretty lecture upon the subject.

But—and we may as well avow it once for all—we feel ourselves bound to relate our story without any moralizing digressions whatever, further than what may form part of its action; and therefore we will not follow the changes of the lady's mind, from its first expectant and interested condition after the mixing of the materials by her own fair hands (for on such occasions she suffered no one to interfere), to the setting them on the fire to be done exactly as her lord wished. With the Khan's loving order, had come a flood of pleasant memories to her—of old camp days, hard fights too, in which her lord—safe, generally victorious, and restored to her prayers—found his wife busy with some favourite dish; and they loved each other, in a homely fashion, better for the cooking and the eating of it.

Now, as the lady sat over her private brazier, on which were her own silver cooking-vessels, the Khan's special gift, she told Zyna of many an old time and scene—of many a narrow escape—many a rough march which she had shared with the old soldier, and done her part in binding up his wounds if he were hurt, or cooking for him if he were hungry.

"Your mother was not of our rough Dekhani sort, daughter," she said; "people tell me she never went out with the army: she was a weak, fragile thing, I have heard, but very beautiful. Peace be with her, for thy father loved her much, and hath never loved me as her. But no children have come, Zyna—no children, that is it,"—and the lady sighed, and perhaps tears gathered in her eyes, for she wiped them hastily with the corner of her muslin scarf. "Well, it is God's will, daughter; and though I could never understand it properly, there was something wrong in the horoscope which they cast when I was betrothed. You see, Zyna, my planet was then Mars, which represented water—no, it was fire;—no, that's a male planet, and so it must have been Earth. Yes, I think it was—Earth; and then he was Venus—no, that could not be either; it must have been Saturn, and that's for air. So you see, fire and air—no, let me see—air and water? no. What did I tell thee, Zyna? Was it Earth?"

"I do not understand it, mother; how can I tell?" said Zyna demurely.

"But you are not listening, girl; ah, wait till your own time comes. I'll warrant you anxious and curious enough to know whether you are fire or earth, or air or water; and whether he is air, or water, or whatever he may be. Now about myself. You see I was fire; no I am wrong. 'Humul,' 'Sowr,' 'Jowza' (Aries, Taurus, Gemini)," continued the lady Lurlee, telling off all the signs of the zodiac, in Arabic, upon the ends of her fingers, and then the planets in succession, "'Mars,' 'Venus,' 'Mercury;' and now look, Zyna, if the house of the Lion is on this middle finger, and the planet Mercury comes to it, you see Mercury is in conjunction with—with the Crab. Did not I say the Crab, child? Now attend, else I shall lose all my reckoning. 'Humul,' 'Sowr'——"

"Alas, mother, but I do not understand it, and I can never remember the names of the planets or their houses,—indeed I cannot," said Zyna, piteously. "But ah, mother, look, it is burning!"

And so it was. In her astrological involvement, Lurlee Khánum had forgotten the kichéri, which, as the bottom of the pan became too hot, sent up a most unsavoury odour, and brown smoke issued from under the lid.

"God forgive me my neglect, daughter," exclaimed the lady, sorrowfully, as she examined the pan: "it is surely quite spoiled, and thy father is so particular. The least idea of burnt kichéri is enough to set him mad, and I could not look at him for a day or more. And he will be expecting this to be all ready." "Protection of the Prophet!" exclaimed the lady suddenly, "there he is. What shall I do?—what shall I do?"

That which had startled Lurlee was the arrival of the Khan's escort, and the beating of their kettle-drums in the outer court; and as she listened, and stood up, ladle in hand, expecting her lord's entrance, she was perhaps relieved by the appearance of Goolab who, as the general outdoor scout, brought tidings from the courtyard of occurrences of all kinds.

"They are not coming, lady," said the nurse. "They are gone to the Kótwal's, and will stay there. That's the news brought by Peer Khan, and a host of them. And there's Bulwunt Rao as good as dead; and he's to be put into the private apartments, and the King's doctor is to be sent for; and I must go and see to a bed for him, and a soft mattress, and pillows and sheets; and then they'll all be spoilt with his blood. His blood, indeed!"

"A blister on thy tongue, O prating woman!" cried Lurlee. "My lord taken to the Kótwal's? My lord! O Zyna! O girl, what is the world come to? Thy father taken to that man of blood, Jehándar Beg; and those cowards, the Paigah, have come here without him? O girl—what is it? speak, hast thou no sense?"

Indeed, Zyna had very little; the mention of that dreaded name, the certainty that if her father could have returned he would, and the fact of Bulwunt Rao being dangerously wounded, all combined to terrify, and Lurlee herself was no calmer.

"Was there no message, Goolab?" asked Zyna.

"O yes; that the Khan remains at the Kótwal's, and will eat his breakfast there. He has business, and will stay. That is all, and that Meah Sahib is well."

"That is all!" exclaimed Lurlee. "That is all! To have my lord in the Kótwallee, and that dish of kichéri dressed in vain! O woman of little grace that I am! why did I deserve this? what have I done? what have I done?"

"But it was spoiled, mother," said Zyna innocently; "do not care about it. Only thank God they are safe. O, I vow a Fateha——"

"Not care, child? and would it not have been the same had it been, as it was, dressed like food for the Peris? would it not have been the same? Would he have come to eat it? he, thy father? Why order it? why affront me by leaving it here to be spoiled? why did he not come long ago? This is not as it used to be of old. O, Afzool Khan! am I less than dirt in thine eyes? am I—I—I——"

Now, the lady Lurlee, like all other Mahomedan ladies, only mentioned her husband's name on very solemn occasions, or when excitement got the better of discretion; and here was an instance of it. She sat down upon the stool before her brazier, and, after rocking herself to and fro for a while, burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing. It was difficult to say, perhaps, what had most particularly affected her; but undoubtedly the burning of the kichéri was at the bottom of all. It had been so good. Then she knew how his face would have expanded under its influence as he ate; it would have reminded him of some old scene, whose history would have come out between the mouthfuls—he might even have caressed her. Ah, all was now gone—her trouble, her expectation of a loving greeting, all gone: and the sense of neglect and indifference under which she habitually existed, had for the time taken its place. But gradually the sobbing was soothed, and Lurlee, laying her head against Zyna's bosom, seemed lost in thought.

"There must be unfavourable conjunctions among the planets to-day, depend upon it, daughter," she said at length, rousing herself, and drying her eyes, "else all this would not have happened. Now, let me look steadily into it: perhaps we may learn something for our guidance."

"Look!" continued the lady after a pause, and a brief examination of an astrological table, which she usually carried about her, "look here. Ah, graceless and unfortunate that I am, I should have foreseen all that has happened, and he should never have gone out at all. Why, here is Saturn in the ascendant till the first watch of the day, and then follows the Sun, and that's what spoilt my cooking. Let me see—Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer," she continued, counting the signs of the zodiac, as before, on her fingers, "Aries, Taurus—why, God be merciful! here follows Mars, and he's an executioner—and they are in the Kótwallee—the Prophet's mercy be on them! Yet, stay, Mars will last for only three hours; then comes, let me see—Mars, Jupiter, Mercury, Moon—no, Venus, Jupiter, Moon. Yes, I am right now, girl. That means messenger, and Venus is propitious. Ah, yes, don't you see it all, Zyna? Don't you understand? Look, first the Moon, that's we ourselves, as messengers; and then Venus will save them, if we can get past Mars. Of course it is quite plain. Don't you see?"

"Alas, no, mother! I do not," said Zyna, innocently. "I see figures and numbers, and angles and signs, but it is hopeless to ask me about them. You are a wise woman, and this is a marvellous science. Surely, and please God, you are right."

"O, I see exactly what to do; and it is well I can pick out a path among these mysteries," cried Lurlee, brightening, "or we had all been lost long ago. But we will eat first; I am sure some of the kichéri is good, and at any rate there are the kabobs, and Jameela will have bread. Come and eat, daughter, it will support thee; come, we have much to do ere noon. I see now, and when thou hast eaten I will tell thee. Jameela! O Jameela!" she cried to the cook, who, when her mistress came to usurp her functions, discreetly kept out of the way. "Jameela, bring some bread and some pickle; we must eat now."

"But you have the kichéri," said the dame. "Surely it is not burnt," she continued, sniffing into the pan with a cook's experienced nose.

"Begone, graceless!" cried Lurlee, who well knew the old woman was rejoicing in her heart over her discomfiture; "begone and get the bread."

"There is none but the men's bread, and it is coarse enough, for the meal was not sifted," returned Jameela. "When you take to cooking, of course I am not expected to be mindful of other light bread, and such things; but——"

"Begone, and do as you are bid," cried her mistress, sharply. A look from Zyna also, deprecating further discussion, was understood at once by the old dame.

"I will bring the best of it, Khánum," she said, "and there is some quite hot; but I can bake a few of your own 'phoolkas,' if you like; they will be good with the kabobs ... which seem savoury," she continued, craning over to look into the pot on the fire, and sniffing into it.

"Where is Goolab? Ah yes, do so, Jameela, and bring them quickly," replied her mistress; "thou art a jewel."

"I will send her, lady," said the cook, departing; "and I would bring the men's bread, only it is not fit for the likes of ye."

"Now, what is to be done?" asked Zyna. "O mother, thou seemest to understand everything, and art confident, and I am distracted with apprehension. O my father! O my brother! God keep you safe. I vow lights at Peer Sahib's tomb, and to feed a hundred Fakeers there to-morrow, if they be safe!"

"We must go to the palace, and inquire why thy father is detained," replied Lurlee decisively. "Ah, Goolab, where wert thou? But never mind," she continued, as the dame entered. "Lay out clothes for us; we must go to the palace; and bid some one go and say we pray to see the Bégum Sahiba, and order the palankeens and an escort to be ready. Inshalla! daughter, we will see what this evil-minded and base-born Kótwal can do."

"And the jewels, Khánum?" asked Goolab.

"Ah! I had forgotten. Well, a few."

"No, mother, no!" cried Zyna, "not so. With our hearts heavy and sad, it surely is no time to put on jewels. Let us rather go with sober garments, and prostrate ourselves before the Peer's shrine on our way."

"I tell thee the Peer cannot help us," returned the dame tartly; "it is the stars and the Bégum. When they are safe, then do thy Fateha if thou wilt. Come here, eat, for we have much to do. Ah! Jameela-bee;" for Lurlee always added the respectful addition of bee, for lady,—when she was in good humour, to her cook, who now entered with a tray of hot bread and delicate phoolkas, and a white cloth over her arm: "thou hast been quick, friend."

It must be confessed that the lady Lurlee's appetite, sharpened perhaps by her unusual fast and the process of her own cookery, did ample justice to the meal. Her confidence in the stars sustained her far better than Zyna's faith in her saint—that is, if one might judge by the resolute and satisfied features of the elder face as it bent over its plate, eating heartily, and the distressed, anxious, and tearful expression of the younger, endeavouring almost vainly to eat at all. It was of no avail that Lurlee encouraged her daughter, and even picked out tempting morsels from the kabobs, and set them before her, with the hottest of the phoolkas, as they were sent in short relays from the kitchen.

"Ah, daughter! he would have enjoyed this," said Lurlee, as she washed her hands over the ewer brought her at the conclusion of the meal, and sighed in a manner which plainly signified her regret not to be able to eat more. "Yes, the kabob was good, but thou hast scarcely tasted it; a trifle more pepper would have been better, perhaps; yet it was good. And now, girl, I am ready to face the Kótwal or the Bégum, or—the peace of God be on him—Adil Shah himself. Inshalla! we will see who dares to detain my lord when I, Lurlee Khánum, have cooked his breakfast."

---

[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]

Enough had transpired in the examination of Afzool Khan and his son, to satisfy Jehándar Beg that the young man and his father had attained knowledge of some secret relating to the conspiracies in progress, which they were reserving to tell the King; and we should be doing that very astute officer injustice, if we did not at once admit that he believed the secret known to them, or at least to Fazil, concerned the Wuzeer very deeply. Why the King's secretary had been mentioned he could not imagine. Did he know it also? Certainly it was important to find out everything that could be discovered, previous to the Wuzeer's arrival; and he purposed himself to go to his house, and have speech of him, before he should attend the Durbar, and appear before the King to inform him of the detention of Afzool Khan and his son, and of the events connected with them.

But Jehándar Beg, as police minister of that large city, had other sources of information; and whatever occurred at night was reported to him by his spies before the true business of the day commenced. Had not Afzool Khan come direct to the court, it is most probable that Jehándar Beg would have heard some account of Fazil Khan's night adventure before he appeared at all. As it was, there had been a reversion of events: and we must now follow the magistrate briefly, in his reception of the spies whom he summoned, directly the door of the court had closed upon the Khan and his son.

The room in which these persons were received, was one which could be entered from the large hall of audience: but there was a door also by the back passage which led from a street behind, and persons could come and go unobserved. There was nothing in this chamber—which indeed was very small—but a large pillow and a carpet, on which the Kótwal's sword-dagger, a heavy-bladed Persian or Affghan knife, and writing materials, were placed. As he sat down and clapped his hands, a door opposite was opened by a slave without, and a Brahmun, as was evident by his dress and the caste marks on his forehead, was admitted.

"Be seated," said Jehándar Beg. "Have you anything for me to-day, Pundit?"

"Yes," answered the Brahmun, taking a pair of spectacles from a fold in his turban, and placing them across his nose, and then producing some papers from a pocket within his dress; "these have just arrived by a special messenger from Moro Trimmul at Tooljapoor;" and he handed to the Kótwal several letters sealed with the private Mahratta seal of Sivaji Bhóslay, which Jehándar Beg examined closely; then, apparently satisfied, he made a Persian memorandum on the corner of each, with the date of receipt, very methodically, and put them into the side-pocket of his robe.

"And," continued the Brahmun, looking over his letter as the Kótwal had finished, "Moro Trimmul writes that his sister has been married to a Shastree at Tooljapoor, and that he has not been idle; but he cannot induce Pahar Singh to visit him or accept terms, and he is afraid to go to Itga himself; so it were better your worship advised our master to treat with him."

"Very good; I will mention it," returned the Kótwal; "but has Moro Trimmul been to Nuldroog to see the Wuzeer? It is not far."

"No, my lord; he was afraid to go unless a 'Kowl' were sent to him."

"Curious that, O Pundit!" added Jehándar Beg, with a sneer; "he is not scrupulous in general, I think."

"No, not in general, perhaps," replied the man; "but in this case he is—he is—not sure."

"Not sure? Well, I suppose he is certain of my being able to apprehend him, and make him so, on the Goruk Imlee tree."

"My lord is all-powerful; but Moro is careful—as much so as Sivaji Bhóslay or Tannajee Maloosray," returned the Pundit, dryly.

"Ah yes; no doubt, friend; he thinks himself so," replied Jehándar Beg, with a sneer; "but what of Tannajee himself? I heard just now that he is here, and was seen last night."

"Tannajee is everywhere," returned the man, smiling, "or some one else for him. If my lord requires him, he may be found at Wye: he would not trust himself in Beejapoor, I think; yet——"

"Why not, Pundit?"

"My lord can best answer that. Like Moro Trimmul, he is better at a distance till the time comes. He does not like 'those trees' of my lord's."

For once the Kótwal was at fault. It was necessary to gain over the Mahratta interest, else the intrigue with the Emperor were abortive; but it was clear none of the Mahratta agents would trust the Wuzeer's party, without more assurance of its success than at present appeared likely; and the Kótwal felt this keenly. He might threaten, imprison, or even torture, but he could not penetrate beyond the surface.

"Tannajee was in the kullal's bazar last night," said Jehándar Beg, after a pause, "and had a narrow escape. He ought not to place himself in such peril."

"Indeed! I have said before there are Maloosrays everywhere," returned the Brahmun dryly; "I know what has been told you, my lord; but," he added, smiling, "I suppose you don't believe it."

"That is as may be proved hereafter. We shall know more by-and-by—to-day, perhaps," replied Jehándar Beg.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Does my lord wish me to stay?" he asked.

"Not particularly. The master comes this afternoon, and may wish to see you."

"Certainly, I will attend; but about Maloosray? If he comes I will tell you," continued the Pundit, laughing; "but do not listen, my lord, to idle stories; Maloosray is everywhere, and in that is his safety. May I go?"

"Yes, go;" and the man, making a respectful salute, departed.

The Pundit was a clever agent, deeply devoted, like all his countrymen, to the Mahratta interest, apparently serving the Wuzeer's party through Jehándar Beg, yet at the same time revealing only what was advisable to be known, and gaining all the information he could. He had already seen Maloosray, and went direct to Jehándar Beg, on purpose to mislead him, in which he perfectly succeeded.

The Kótwal sat and mused a while on what had been told him. He believed the Brahmun about Maloosray. "And Pahar Singh would not join them? That is all he knows," said Jehándar Beg to himself. "My lord writes that he is sure of the robber, and brings some of his men with him. What can that be for?" He felt as though he had not been quite trusted; still the Wuzeer was coming that day, and would tell all. He could not perhaps write.

So another spy was admitted, evidently one of the royal eunuchs. He sat down where the Brahmun had been seated, and for a time was silent.

"Well," said Jehándar Beg, "is thy brain heavy with drink, Mahmood, or with secrets? Or is there bad news? Why art thou silent?"

"Good or bad, I know not, my lord," replied the man; "but it is at least curious, and you may understand it. I do not."

"Indeed!—say on, friend," returned the Kótwal, settling himself into an attitude of attention.

"My lord the secretary," said the man calmly, "was out late last night. He went to a temple somewhere, and there was another with him. He then returned to the palace, and the Peer Zadah and Neelkunt Rai were sent for and admitted. They sat till nearly dawn, when a Fakeer came, and was taken up to the Palace of the Seven Stories by the secretary."

Jehándar Beg took his beard in his hand, rubbed and stroked it, and mused for several minutes. "Anything more?" he asked.

"Some money was taken," added the man. "That is all I know, except that a Durbar is ordered after the mid-day prayer."

These tidings, strange as they seemed to be, troubled Jehándar Beg sorely. He had not been told of the Durbar. What could have happened? "Thou must go and find out who was with the secretary," he said.

"If I might speak," said the spy timidly, looking about him—"I think it was—" and he advanced and whispered in the Kótwal's ear—"the King himself."

"The King? Impossible; he never left the palace," returned the Kótwal, aloud. "I know that he did not. The King?——"

"My lord cannot be mistaken," replied the spy, deferentially. "Nevertheless, I heard it——"

"Quite impossible! He could not have gone without my knowing of it, Mahmood; nor dare he venture out without being attended. Who were with the secretary?"

"Bundagee Sahib, and five others only; and the man who went with the secretary entered the private apartments with him when they returned. This I saw, for I was watching."

"Thou shouldst have gone into the court with them," said the Kótwal. "What neglect is this?"

"I was going, but the guard stopped me," said the spy, as if ashamed. "They knew me, and turned me out of the fort-gate. What could I do? Since the last time I was drunk, they will not admit me."

"And the Fakeer?"

"I heard him calling inside, 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga;' and when he got outside he ran, still shouting, towards the Goruk Imlee trees, and I lost sight of him."

"Then who told you he went into the palace?"

"O, the men on guard said one of the ladies had seen demons, and that the Syn had been sent for, to say incantations over her."

"Very likely," said the Kótwal, calmly. "Now go and bring me the news I want. Was it the King who went with the Meerza, or his own son? Find this out for me, and return directly."

"Jo hookum!" returned the spy, "your slave will do his best," and he departed.

We need not follow Jehándar Beg in his other private audiences. He had many spies over many people.

If he had not been delayed by these communications and his own meditations upon them, and had gone to his prisoners at once, it is possible, perhaps, that the Khan and his son might have been taken by surprise; but they had been warned, and were prepared for him.

The lad Ashruf, who has been already mentioned, had been present during the first examination. No one noticed him; but he was shrewd and observant. He had asked his father whether he should run and bring down the whole force of Afzool Khan's Paigah to rescue the Khan; and perhaps the boy would have enjoyed a share in the mêlee which would undoubtedly have followed; but his father, while checking him angrily for the thought, bid him be on the watch, and should there be any danger, to give information of it. So the lad had remained in the Kuchéri, and was not noticed among the soldiers who lounged about there. As the Kótwal entered his private room, and was known to be generally occupied for some time, the various clerks and scribes took advantage of his absence, and had for the most part gone out; a few only remained, who seemed absorbed in their business. So, gradually, the lad edged himself close to the private door, which, as sometimes happens in Indian houses, did not close completely, on account of the hinges being outside the door-post. The lad could not see, but he could hear if he placed his ear, carelessly, to all appearance, against the place where the door joined the door-frame, and in this attitude he was not disturbed. Being questioned by a soldier, he answered lazily, that he was ordered to wait for his father's return; and apparently was settling quietly to sleep, leaning against the wall.

Ashruf had no idea at first of the results of the position in which he had placed himself; but a few words awakened his attention perfectly. To hear better also, he feigned to be sleepy, drew a part of his scarf over his face, and lay down; and by this means he could see under the door sufficiently to observe who came.

The Brahmun's communication did not interest him much; but as soon as the eunuch was seated, whom he knew to be in disgrace for habitual intemperance, he felt sure that his tidings would relate to the palace, and he listened more carefully than ever. Very little escaped him. He could not hear the eunuch's whisper, but the Kótwal had repeated the name of the King aloud—that was enough. It was necessary, at least, that the young Khan should know of it, and directly the eunuch had been dismissed, the lad got up and looked about.

It is frequently the case that, in houses of one floor only, like this, a staircase leads from the principal room to the roof; and in the corner, not far from the door we have mentioned, was one of this description. Ashruf watched his opportunity, and when no one was observing him, slipped gently behind the wall at the entrance of the steps, and ascended them quickly. He had remarked the direction of the court where Afzool Khan and his son were detained, and, creeping on his hands and knees to the edge of the terrace, looked into it.

At first he did not see them, because they were sitting upon the same side under one of the arches; but a soft cry of "Huzrut! Huzrut!" ("My prince! my prince!") in a voice very like a woman's, and a small piece of plaster thrown into the court, induced Fazil to get up and attend to the signal, whatever it might be. Looking up, he saw the lad's face peeping through an aperture in the open stucco-work of the parapet, and in a few moments had heard what he had to tell. It was important, because putting them on their guard against further questioning, which could only have one object, their continued detention; and thoughtful, because proving a faithful interest, which Fazil trusted to reward. It confirmed also, suspicions of the connection between the Wuzeer and the Kótwal.

"Can I do anything more, noble sir?" asked the boy, when his little story was done; "be quick, else I may be seen and flogged."

"Yes, two things," replied Fazil; "first, run to Kowas Khan, the Wuzeer's son; bid him come to me here well attended, but with no appearance of force; and then go to the Lurlee Khánum, at our house, with those papers"—and he threw what he had to him—"and tell her we shall not be at home early, as we have to attend the King's Durbar, and that we are well. She is to keep the papers till we come."

They saw the boy's face disappear, and heard him crawling back over the terrace. Fortunately he had not been observed, and he gained the bottom of the steps safely, and passed out among the soldiers, unchallenged, on his double mission.

But while he is running at a steady, unvarying trot, not staying even to take breath, we must follow what the Kótwal had to say to the old Khan and his son, which may be of importance in the elucidation of this history.

"Fear not, my father," said Fazil to him, as voices were heard at the door, "fear not, all will be well. The boy will do as he was told; and without alarm or force of any kind we shall be soon free. But speak not, let me talk; you are to know nothing, but that you went to fetch me when I sent for you last night."

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[CHAPTER XXXIX.]

"Lady," said Goolab, again entering suddenly, "there is a boy in the court who says he must have instant speech of you. He will tell no one what he has to say, except that he has come from the master."

"A boy, Goolab? how old is he? can I see him? Quick, woman, my veil—anything to cover me," exclaimed Lurlee.

"Take this, mother," said Zyna, unfastening her scarf; "what need of concealment with a boy? I will go aside. Admit him, Goolab; he may have news of them."

The lad entered and prostrated himself before the Khánum. "Take these papers," he said. "My lord the Khan hath sent them; you are to keep them, and no one is to see them. He and his son are well and safe, and will go to the King in the afternoon."

"Prophet of God, what is this?" cried Lurlee. "Mahratta, too? Well, no one shall take them from me;" and, so saying, she stuffed them into that most convenient and unapproachable of all lady's hiding-places, her bodice.

"I am going, lady," said the lad, who had observed the action; "they are safe with thee now."

"Not before thou hast eaten, boy. There is some kichéri ready"—he will not mind its being burnt, she thought—"thou must be hungry."

Ashruf was, to say the truth, hungry enough; but he resisted temptation. "No, lady, let me go," he said; "I have another errand for my lord. May your house prosper."

"Thou art right," returned Lurlee, as he saluted her and departed. "Go; God speed thee; thou art a good lad. And now, Zyna, let us attire ourselves in fitting garments, and go to the palace, for time presses, and it is already past noon."

This, however, promised to be no easy task; and if Lurlee Khánum had had time to consult her tables in a fitting manner, the colour and particular kind of garment which would suit that period of the day, and in which the wearer would be lucky or unlucky, must have been decided. Goolab, too, and the other women, to whom the idea of the ladies going to the palace could be no other than an occasion for the display of the utmost magnificence, had laid out costly dresses of cloth-of-gold, brocade, muslin, satin; and a petticoat of gorgeous purple Italian velvet, trimmed with broad silver ribbon, with purple flowers upon it, a recent acquisition to the wardrobe, was especially tempting.

"Pardon me, Khánum," said Kurreem-bee, the "Moghulanee," or household dressmaker and mistress of the robes, "but on an occasion of this kind, and when a petition is to be made, we should know something of the mood her highness the Bégum is in, and the garments should agree with it. Yellow or red, with gold or silver, might excite bile—blue or purple would create phlegm; and when my lady Chand-bee, the wife of Jānee Sahib Dāgtoray, went to visit——"

"Now, in the Prophet's name, cease, Kurreem-bee!" cried Lurlee, interrupting her; "are we not in haste? and thou standest prating about Chand-bee, who never could dress herself except like a public dancing-girl. Peace, I say. Give me the green satin petticoat laced with silver, and the plain white scarf with gold flowers; these, with a shawl, will be enough."

Meanwhile Goolab and some other women-servants had made their preparations. The old dame was aware that her red satin petticoat, one of the Khánum's presents, would be much in her way, flapping about her legs as she ran by the litter; and as the ladies were settling themselves in their seats, she tucked it up, forming it, as it were, into a very efficient pair of baggy breeches, reaching to her knees, which could be shaken out when she arrived at the palace: and at the same time tied her clean muslin scarf about her waist and shoulders, in such a manner as to display a considerable amount of rotundity in directions otherwise perhaps not remarkable.

"Ah, you may laugh, impudence," she cried, aiming a blow at a fine sturdy lad, who, with others bearing spears, had just entered the court—"you may laugh, but that's the way to run;" and she kicked out first one leg, then the other, by way of proving whether the petticoat arrangements were firm. "I have run ten coss a-day when my lord was in the field, and carried my lady's hooka into the bargain. Peace, impudent knaves!" she continued to the men, as the laugh against her became more general when the bearers entered. "Take up the palankeen and let us go. Bismilla!"

There was no time for further colloquy, for the men, who had been turned out of the court while the ladies took their seats, now took up the palankeens: and the band of spearmen, arranging themselves in front, were joined in the outer court by a strong body of the Khan's horsemen, and the little procession quickly traversed the city, and arrived at its destination. There the litters, being carried into the women's court of the Palace of the Seven Stories, were set down at the foot of the stairs leading to the apartments in which the King had held his night council.

Goolab, having shaken out her petticoat, and put into her ears and about her neck, the gold ornaments she carried with her, appeared once more in her proper character: and received the salutations of the royal Mamas, who were to conduct the ladies to the chamber of audience.

We have before described this apartment; and the broad daylight, which poured through the now open casements, fully displayed its richness and beauty. Soft quilted cloths had been laid over the floor, and white muslin sheets tacked to them, covered the whole. Large pillows had been placed round the walls; and in the deep bays and oriel windows, numerous groups of ladies and their children were sitting conversing together merrily, and spread, as it were, upon every available space except the centre, which was kept clear.

Lurlee Khánum was not prepared for the display of rich dresses which had to be encountered, but assured by the kind tones in which she was welcomed by the Queen, sailed up to her with measured steps, causing her ample satin garment to swing in heavy folds from left to right, and back again, after the most impressive and courtly fashion.

Fyz-ool-Nissa, the King's wife, was as yet a girl, not, indeed, much older than Zyna herself. She could not be called beautiful, but there was a frank pleasant expression in her fair countenance which was irresistibly pleasing. The delicate hands and arms, sparkling with jewels, were all that could be seen of her person, buried as it was amidst the cloud of drapery which shrouded her as she sat on the King's seat in the oriel, and seemed an earnest of its grace; as also, indeed, her small graceful head and neck, which were loaded with costly pearl ornaments.

"The wife and daughter of the noble Afzool Khan are always welcome," said the Bégum, in her low sweet voice. "Come and sit here by me; 'tis a fair sight to see all the gallant people assembling, and they say it will be a great Durbar. And this is Zyna-bee? Ah, girl, they have often told me thou wert fair, but——Well, I had better not say it. Come here, child, I am thy mother too; they tell me I have many children," she said, laughing. "O, so many!"

"May God fill your lap with them, may they climb about you, and may you live a hundred years to see them!" said Lurlee, earnestly.

"And here is one already," said the Bégum, seating Zyna beside her. "Ah, girl, we will have such a marriage for thee soon——"

As Zyna bowed down blushingly, Lurlee seized the opportunity of pressing her suit.

"Lady," she said, putting up her hands in a respectful attitude, "thine ear for a moment. I had a petition——"

"Ah, Khánum!" returned Fyz-ool-Nissa, with a look of disappointment; "I had marked this day for rejoicing; for the heavy cloud which has hung over my head so long is gone, and thou hast brought me a petition, and I hate them. I never get matters arranged as I like, and am vexed——To-morrow, lady?"

"Only for my husband would I speak," replied Lurlee, firmly. "He and his son were decoyed to the Kótwallee early to-day, and they cannot get to the King. It must not be that Afzool Khan is counted a laggard. O lady——!" and here Lurlee, unable to contain herself longer, burst into tears.

Fyz-ool-Nissa looked to Zyna, and saw a confirmation of Lurlee's tale in the face—in those great eyes brimful of tears, and quivering lips.

"Hush!" said the Bégum, "this must not be known. O that there were any one to write!"

"I—I can write," said Zyna, timidly.

"Thou, girl? well done! Now," she continued, as an attendant brought a writing-case, "write what thou wilt, but be quick."

It was soon done. A few words, but enough for the purpose.

"Canst thou sign it, lady?" asked Zyna.

"Yes, child, 'tis all they could ever teach me," replied the Bégum, laughing; "and here is my seal, too. Ah! thou art a little clerk."

"Her father makes her write his letters," said Lurlee, apologetically, as the Bégum clapped her hands, and an old eunuch, who had been standing at the foot of the room, advanced.

"This must go to my lord instantly," said the Queen; "some one thou canst count on must take it, Daood, for me."

"Myself," he replied; "no other can do this errand. Fear not, lady," he continued earnestly to Lurlee, "thy noble lord hath friends he knows not of, and it is needful he should be in the Durbar to-day. Inshalla! thou wilt soon see him? Is any of the Paigah here to-day?"

"Yes," returned Lurlee, joyfully, "more than fifty men; they will be with the troops without."

"I will return presently," said the man, bowing over his crossed arms; "and if ye will watch your men ye will see whether the errand be done or not."

So the ladies sat and looked out. Bright flashed the sun's rays from spear and sword, morion and gauntlet, matchlock and shield, of the troops gathering before the hall where the King sat: while the gay turbans, vests of cloth-of-gold, satins and brocades, glowed in the bright sunlight like a bed of gorgeous flowers.

"There are ten thousand brave hearts throbbing for my lord!" cried the young Queen, clapping her hands. "Look, lady! O Alla, such an array of armed men is fearful, yet beautiful!"

"Ameen!" said Lurlee, earnestly. "A thousand times ten thousand are at his call, if he will only lead them! Why shouldst thou fear, lady? I have ridden with my lord in the battle and felt no fear. But look! a thousand thanks and blessings be upon thee! Yes, they go, Raheem Khan and all the spearmen. Dost thou not see them, Zyna?"

"Yes, to bring my father and Fazil," cried Zyna, in her turn clapping her hands exultingly. "Yes, they will repay thee, O my queen—my mother; they will repay thee with their lives."

"Nay, no tears now, girl," said Fyz-ool-Nissa gaily. "Look out over the cavaliers yonder, and wait patiently. Inshalla! your people will return speedily."

So they sat, silently now, praying inwardly for their safety, though the time seemed terribly long, as they looked over the gathering masses of men: over the gardens, mosques, and palaces of the nobility: and over the country beyond, where, in the quivering noonday light, and now fervid heat, the blue distance seemed melting into the sky.

---

[CHAPTER XL.]

Jehándar Beg felt that the communications he had heard might have somewhat disarranged his appearance, and he would not for the world be suspected by Afzool Khan of agitation of any kind; his ample beard must not be disordered, nor a hair of his eyebrows crooked. A glance in a small mirror, which hung in the anteroom, proved that the barber's skill was necessary, and he sent for his own servant. What other hand, indeed, could be allowed to meddle with that glorious beard, or to regulate the orthodox breadth of the moustache and eyebrows? Who understood the proper darkening of the spot in the centre of the forehead, as if it were always being rubbed against the ground in perpetual prayer, like Habeeb Méhtur, the chief of his craft? and finally, who so admirable a chronicler of all domestic scandal, in which Beejapoor was at least as prolific as other cities of similar size and peculiarity of social morals?

So Habeeb, having been summoned, found his master sitting alone where we last left him, reclining against his pillow in the small room before described, and saw, at a glance, that his spirit was troubled.

Having made his obeisance, which was not acknowledged, or barely so, the barber at once set to work, removing the conical lambskin cap which Jehándar Beg always wore, and subjecting the whole scalp to a series of manipulations which were inexpressibly soothing. How lightly moved the practised fingers along lines of muscles and nerves! how carefully was every stray hair put back into its proper place, or deftly eradicated with the sharp tweezers. Then, as the momentous matters of eyebrows, moustache, and beard were severally approached, and where the Kótwal's rough hand had rubbed his chin, pushed up the moustache, or disturbed the eyebrows—till every hair seemed battling with its neighbour or bristling in anger—all was soon reduced to order, and the cap replaced. Jehándar Beg felt a refreshing coolness pervade his head, the nervous excitement was removed, and a calmness supervened which he required for what he had to do.

Yes, a master in his art! Habeeb had made a masterly performance; and yet so quickly!—long enough, however, for those much-coveted papers to be taken far from his master's chance of possession to a place of safety.

"Shookr, Shookr, Habeeb!" (Thanks, thanks!), said the Kótwal at length. "Hast thou any news, friend?"

What was the barber to say? News? yes, plenty! There was no lack of that, such as his master relished; but would it be welcome?

"There was a grand entertainment at the Nawab Alla-ool-Moolk's last night, and some new singers from the Carnatic were there. My lord should hear one of them. She is very lovely," he replied cautiously.

"Except the blessed Mary, and Fáthma, and Ayésha—on whose names be peace!—I wish all women were in the burning pit," said Jehándar Beg savagely, and his hand approached his beard.

"Khóda na khasta bashud!" (God forbid!), exclaimed Habeeb, staying it. "God forbid my lord should touch what has been done! Even in that exclamation a hundred hairs have started up. May his slave ask what has discomposed the fountain of justice this morning?"

"There was some one ill in the palace last night, and a Fakeer was sent for, who shouted 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga,' Who was that man? and who was ill?" asked Jehándar Beg, not heeding the question.

"My lord, no one was ill that I know of. About the Fakeer I will ascertain, if possible," replied the barber. "I can tell my lord one thing, however: the Shah—may his splendour increase—went out, even as the Khaleefa, of honoured memory, of whom we read—Haroun bin-al Rasheed—was in the habit of doing, to see after his subjects for himself, to hear with his own ears; and, if people say the truth, there is enough for him to hear, if he chose to inquire."

The men understood each other perfectly, and exchanged glances.

"People will talk, friend," said the Kótwal; "but where did he go? if thou'rt sure he went."

"Nay, that is more than your poor slave knows. They say he took the young Fazil Khan with him, or else the Wuzeer's son. Sure he went? yes, my lord, quite sure," said the man, emphatically. "I was in the citadel, and saw him go out."

"Ay, indeed! Boy's tricks, boy's tricks, Habeeb; yet that Fazil Khan was accounted a steady youth: but he is in trouble about last night."

"Ah, master! we have all been like him once," said the barber, chuckling. "I suppose it was one of the new dancers——"

"Except that we did no murder, friend," returned the Kótwal, interrupting him.

"Is my lord very particular about a noble slaying a thief, or a night brawler?" asked the barber.

"O no! and it will be settled. And now you may go, Habeeb—find out who was visited last night; perhaps ... no matter ... and thou shalt have thy mouth filled, after our Persian fashion, with gold zecchins and sugar-candy. There are a couple in earnest of more."

"May the sun of your splendour increase in brightness, master!" returned the man, taking the money, and retreating backwards till he gained the door. "I will inquire——"

"And now for this boy and his rough father," said Jehándar Beg, speaking to himself, as the door closed on the barber; "if they could be gained? Well, I must see. If not—we cannot allow them to live; they are too powerful," and he rose and went into the outer hall.

"And no one has passed here, Jaffur?" said Jehándar Beg to the Nubian slave, who, with some others, watched the door of the court where Afzool Khan was confined.

"No one, my lord, except the servants with their meal."

"Did they speak to him?"

"Not a word, my lord; I listened carefully."

"Have the Khan and his son been speaking to each other?"

"Yes, frequently; but as they have moved to the other side of the court, which is now in shadow, I cannot hear them. My lord is going in? Should we not attend? They are armed."

"I am not afraid, Jaffur; put up thy weapon. Keep the door ajar, but do not enter, and, on your life, let no one listen. Do ye hear, all of ye?"

"Jo hookum!" (as you order), cried all together, dispersing as the Kótwal entered.

Afzool Khan and his son were sitting, as Jaffur had described, in the opposite corner of the court from the door; for the sun was now shining with a painful glare of heat into that side by which the Kótwal entered, while, opposite, the cool verandah was rendered more refreshing from the shadow of a large champa tree, which fell over the building and enclosure where they were. They rose courteously as the Kótwal advanced, and, saluting him gravely, yet without any expression of impatience at detention, requested him to be seated.

It was no part of Jehándar Beg's policy to attempt to bully. If he could find out what the affair of the night had really been, or obtain a clue to the truth of that which had been alleged of the King; in short, anything which might serve as a guide to action, or as means of warning to the Wuzeer, it would be enough.

"I trust my honoured guests have been fittingly attended to?" he asked, as he subsided on his heels at a respectful distance from the old Khan, joining his hands after the most deferential and most elegant of Persian customs. "I trust the repast was served hot. My lords must excuse my absence, and my being taken unawares. Had I expected the honour of their company, then, indeed, Zoolficar's skill should have been put forth."

"The kabobs and kichéri were excellent, Meerza Sahib," replied Afzool Khan, politely. "I was to have had the same at my own house; and there were other dishes, too. Verily, your cook must be a treasure; there is not such another in the city."

"My lord, a poor slave, who followed me from my own dear country, and has remained here with me. Yes, he has a pretty skill in the art, and ... but you have yet to know what he can do.... If I might send him one day——"

"Shookr, shookr! (thanks), Meerza Sahib. Yes, we will see about it. Inshalla! inshalla!" replied the Khan, cheerily, "an excellent idea—and come yourself."

The Kótwal thought he had made a favourable impression. "After all, there was nothing in the murder matter that you need care about, Meah Sahib," he continued blandly, to Fazil Khan. "Pardon me if I was rude this morning, but when we are at business, you know, there can be no distinction of persons."

"None," said Fazil, gravely; "but who was the man found dead? You said one had been killed."

"O, only a Kafir Hindu; some son of a burnt father, who is gone to burn with him," laughed the Kótwal. "I don't know; the body is not yet claimed. By the way, Meah, it was strange enough that you should have been just in time to save that Lalla."

"Ah, yes; what has become of him?" asked Fazil innocently. "You promised he should be seen to."

"And I have done as I promised, Meah. Habeeb has dressed the wound, which is but a scratch, and the man has eaten heartily; perhaps he was not much hurt, after all."

"Perhaps not," said Fazil, significantly, "but it was well he fell into good hands."

"Yes," returned the Kótwal, musingly, "was it not strange what he told the Duffadar about Pahar Singh and the Shah's secretary? I have heard that my lord, the Meerza, was out last night late, and at a temple. Could it have been there?"

"To meet Pahar Singh? I should hardly say it was likely," returned Fazil.

"Nay, more, that the Asylum of the Faith—the King himself—was there also. At least—at least——"

Fazil saw Jehándar Beg was not sure. It was a mere guess, for which there was perhaps suspicion, but he laughed aloud and replied, "A good joke, Meerza Sahib; perhaps they say I was with him!"

"Well," returned the Kótwal, wagging his head, "the fact is, they do; and perhaps you were, my young friend. Let me see; his highness is about your own age. When I was as old I remember the Shah, with some others of us, used to have frolics now and then in the bazars of Isfahan. Ah, Meah, there were——"

Fazil made a gesture, as if his father, who was sitting bolt upright, with his eyes shut, might not like to hear the remainder.

"Yes," continued the Kótwal, "if ye did go, what matter?"

"I have before said that Bulwunt Rao was my companion, not the King; and the rest you know of," interrupted the young Khan.

"Not all, Meah; but we are out of court now, and I am quite sure of my young friend's good faith to let me know anything that concerns the state interests, the King, or the Wuzeer; and so, Meah Sahib, if we could examine those papers together——"

"Ah, yes! the papers, Meerza, you would not understand them—they were Mahratta."

"But we could find a Karkoon to read them, and you are known to speak that language, Meah?"

"True, Meerza Sahib, I do; but the papers are not here——"

"Not here, sir!" cried Jehándar Beg, with an ominous scowl passing over his face, at which Afzool Khan involuntarily allowed his hand to steal to his sword hilt, as it lay on the ground. "Not here?"

"Not here," echoed Fazil demurely, dropping his eyes.

"But they were here when you came this morning?"

"Certainly they were; and one of our people took them home for me."

"Yet you promised they should be forthcoming whenever I required them? Beware, Fazil Khan, how you entangle yourself in this matter," returned the Kótwal, sternly.

"I do not think I made any promise, Meerza Sahib," replied Fazil; "'tis you who must be mistaken, pardon me for saying so. I said they concerned the King, our lord and master, and would be shown to him only: and in Durbar to-day they will be presented to him. You will be there, of course?"

"By Alla!" exclaimed the Kótwal; "but if——"

At the oath the old Khan fairly took his sword in his left hand, and placed it across his knees, while he looked grimly at his host; and Fazil saw the upper portion of his father's moustache, where it touched his cheek, quivering with suppressed rage.

Jehándar Beg checked himself, and said, deferentially, "Forgive the oath, Khan Sahib, and you know enough of Persians to excuse it. It would have been pleasant, as fellow-servants of the King, to have shared your confidence. As it is denied, I yield the point; and you are welcome to all the credit of the service you will do my lord. But what say you, gentlemen, to assisting me to re-examine that Khayet who is detained without; you acknowledge, Meah Sahib, at least, that he was rescued by you—perhaps from death?"

"You have a strange memory, Kótwal Sahib, to-day," said Fazil, smiling. "I never said I rescued him, I think. Send for the man; no doubt you will hear all you wish from him, and will believe him. I do not appear to be very credible to you to-day."

---

[CHAPTER XLI.]

As the Kótwal rose to go to the door, the old Khan whispered to his son, "We can seize him, Fazil, if needs be, and put a dagger into him. The man is not fit to live. He is even now plotting something; I know it, trust him not, my son."

"If needs be, father, I am ready; but no violence yet," replied Fazil; "wait till the Wuzeer's son is announced."

"The man has been sent for," said Jehándar Beg, returning to his seat, "and will be here presently." He had given his own directions to the guard outside to stand by the door, yet no nearer than was needful for precaution.

The Lalla was not long detained. Almost as Jehándar Beg had seated himself—this time a little nearer to Fazil—he opened the door, which was closed after him, and advanced towards the party in a courtly but respectful manner. Fazil hardly recognized the man, so completely had rest and good clothes improved him. His face was clean shaved, his moustache and hair were trimmed and oiled. His small turban tied neatly in the Nustalik fashion of the imperial court, which was strange at Beejapoor. The clothes he wore, though somewhat too large, were yet clean white muslin; and a handsome Persian shawl over his shoulders, proved that his personal comfort had been well attended to under Jehándar Beg's orders.

"I trust you are better now," said Fazil to the Lalla, kindly, as, after his very courtly advance, in which he bowed his head very low, turned out his toes very wide, and put his elbows as far behind him as possible, he sat down much after the manner of Jehándar Beg, on the left hand of the Kótwal.

"My lord's house will prosper for his kindness to a poor stranger," said the Lalla. "What more delightful to exercise, what more grateful to God, than hospitality?" and he quoted a verse from the poet Saadi on the subject, which he followed by another and another.

"Enough, friend," said Jehándar Beg, laughing. "No need to prove your scholarly attainments; they are not needed at present. Now, we all bid you not to fear; but tell us, in plain terms, what happened before this brave young gentleman rescued you last night."

The Lalla was not very clear as to what course he was to take; he, too, was watching his game.

"My lord, noble sirs, they were Gosais who found me in the temple, and ye are Moslem gentlemen, or nobles."

"Very true," said Fazil. "Now, look at me carefully, and try if you cannot remember me as one who lifted you up after you had been robbed."

"Ah, yes, noble sir, now I do remember," cried the Lalla; "I owe my life to you, sir, my life. When I screamed, you must have heard me. I pray you, let me kiss your feet."

The action was an ordinary one of gratitude, yet enough to admit of Fazil's passing a well-known signal of silence to the man as he removed his hands, while the old Khan cried grimly——

"Make your reverence to your God, if you have one, not to my son. Is he an idol, that you bow down to him?"

"I mean no offence; pardon me, my lord," said the Lalla, humbly. "I was only——"

The opening of the door interrupted the Lalla's speech, which would have been very flowery and hyperbolic.

An attendant entered and spoke to the Kótwal. "My lord, Kowas Khan has arrived; is he to be admitted?"

"Tell him I kiss his hands; I am engaged with these worthy gentlemen," returned Jehándar Beg, looking round; "and pray ask him to excuse me for a short time. If he would like a hooka, or coffee, or sherbet, let him have all he desires."

"And his attendants?"

"Let any of proper rank sit with him, the rest can remain in the outer court."

"Very good, my lord," said the servant, and he shut the door.

During this interruption, a very pretty piece of pantomime had been executed between the eyes of Fazil and the Lalla. It would have been more complete, perhaps, could Fazil have used his hands also, but he dare not. As it was, however, the Lalla seemed to understand all that was required; and the delightfully comprehensive manner in which he half shut his eyes, bowed his head, and smiled blandly though almost imperceptibly, would have been fit example for any diplomatist. Nothing could be seen by the Kótwal, for, in order to speak to the servant, it had been requisite for him to lean behind the Lalla's back.

Jehándar Beg lost two points by his movement; one we have seen, the other was a more serious one. For as he moved, the letters which had been given to him by Moro Trimmul's agent, and which he had put into a side-pocket of his dress, protruded a little as he reached over, and, when he settled himself again, remained projecting half out of that receptacle. He was not aware of it, but they attracted Fazil's immediate attention. These he must have at any risk—for he had seen the seal of the rebel Rajah on them—and he again roused his father by the short cough they had agreed upon.

"Now, Lallajee, tell us all. You see you are among friends; but we are hungry for fruit—flowers do not satisfy us," said Jehándar Beg, jocosely rubbing his hands, and speaking in Persian, his own language.

"My lords, what can I say?" returned the Lalla, simply. "I am what you see, a poor scholar. Delhi is full of such, and we are starving. Every one said, 'Go to the King of the Dekhan; he is wise, he is generous, he is accomplished; he is a patron of literature.' So your poor servant prepared two copies of verses; one in Sanscrit, in which the third letter of every line is the same, T——"

"Mashalla!" said Jehándar Beg, laughing, "Te-tum—te te, te-ta-te to, Te ta-hah! Like that, Lallajee? O yes; our Brahmuns here make odes, in which all the words end in skri, pri, dri; or else msh, kshsh, rshsh-dshush. One would think all the mud in the Dekhan was squelching under their feet; but go on."

"My lord is pleased to be witty," returned the Lalla, with a bland smile, turning towards his host and joining hands. "Then I had a Persian ode. It was nothing—nothing—a poor thing altogether; only, if my lords wish, I could repeat it. Methinks there was some elegance about it, if nothing else."

"God forbid!" returned the Kótwal, echoed by Fazil and the Khan. "Go on."

"Well, my lords, as you wish," continued the Lalla. "Some other day I may be more fortunate; and, with your permission, I will resume my history. I had saved a few gold pieces, and I had enough to keep my family for a year. I left them in my house, and I have gradually made my way hither by Ahmednugger and Sholapoor. That is all."

"Go on," said Fazil. "How didst thou get here from Sholapoor?"

"I came with some Gosais, as they appeared to be, who met me at a village, Al—, Al—. I forget—just after you cross the river Bheema."

"Almella," suggested the Khan, interrupting him.

"Yes, that was it. They said they knew of a comfortable lodging in a temple or a mutt; but if we arrived late we must be content with whatever shelter we could get. I do not know, sirs, whether they purposely delayed me by the way—for, indeed, the roads were very muddy; but we arrived after sunset, and they took me to a temple of Bhowani, in a grove. So long as it was light the place did not look amiss for temporary shelter; but when it grew dark, and the wind began to moan in the trees, I thought, sirs, that the men's looks changed, and—and I began to tremble, yet unable to help myself—as one lies bound sometimes in a dream.

"What could your slave do, sirs? At length they talked together in an unknown tongue, and all fell upon me, strangled me, and took what money I had, and my clothes, and I knew no more till this valiant gentleman and some one else roused me and took me to a guard-house, where I was well cared for."

"Why do you tell lies?" said the Kótwal, who, though unable to make objection to the very probable story which the Lalla had invented, felt conscious there was no truth in it. "Ah, man with a burnt father, tell the truth; we are no enemies of thine! Do not eat dirt at our hands! Why did the Shah's secretary visit thee at the temple? Speak; it shall be well for thee. We are all friends of his Majesty's here."

A very slight compression of Fazil's under lip was sufficient guide for the Lalla. "The King's secretary? God defend us!" cried the Lalla, innocently; "what should I have to do with the secretary? Ah, sirs, why this oppression of a poor slave like me—a stranger without friends? Did you see the secretary when you came to rescue me, noble sir?"

"Not I, indeed; thou wast lying among the ashes, senseless enough. All we heard was a scream, which sounded like one in distress, and we entered the court," said Fazil, simply.

The Kótwal looked from one to the other, but he could find out no sign of intelligence. He was fairly puzzled.

"Then why that respectable Duffadar's account of what you said to him in the guard-house?" cried Jehándar Beg, jerking himself suddenly round so as to confront the Lalla, while he seconded the movement by an emphatic blow on the floor. "What about Pahar Singh?"

As he did so, his sleeve caught one of the letters projecting from his pocket, which flew into the centre of the group. Fazil picked it up, and returned it with a polite bow, but not before he had distinctly seen the seal of the Rajah Sivaji Bhóslay upon it, and the memorandum in the corner, which Jehándar Beg had written for the Wuzeer, and marked private. Jehándar Beg's confusion on receiving the letter could not be concealed, and Fazil felt that, having seen what was not intended for him, he was in greater danger than before.

"What about Pahar Singh?" echoed the Lalla, who had observed the confused expression of Jehándar Beg's countenance, and seen also what he was quite familiar with, the rebel Rajah's seal. "My lord, your servant heard a great deal of him, as he came here through the country. Everybody, from Ahmednugger to Sholapoor, spoke of Pahar Singh, and warned me of Pahar Singh, but the Gosais did not appear to fear him, and said he never touched companies of travelling beggars. I remember now," continued the Lalla, dreamily, "I think some one asked me whether Pahar Singh had robbed me. Perhaps I said yes, I don't know; I might have said anything, good sirs, for I was like one in a hideous dream; and this robber everybody appeared to know:—in the bazars, in temples, mutts, serais—Pahar Singh, Pahar Singh—nothing but Pahar Singh all the way. I heard enough of him."

"Thou liest, Lalla. I have warned thee once, and again warn thee—beware of the torture!" cried Jehándar Beg savagely, and from between his closed teeth; "a word and——"

"Jehándar Beg," said Afzool Khan, interrupting, "you and I are old friends, and I am your guest, so also is this man. Good or evil of him I know not, neither do I care: but torture shall not be used; and so far as I know or have seen, he says nothing but the truth. We are helpless enough here, my son and I, but we will not allow him to be touched with any of your vile instruments. Question him otherwise as you please, it is your duty."

The tone of the old Khan's voice, habitually stern, seemed more so than usual to Jehándar Beg. Should he resent it and call in his men? It was the thought of a moment. He would have done this, but that he knew the Wuzeer's son sat without; he, at least, was faithful to Fazil, and might not object to prove his devotion to the old Khan, in the hope of its doing service in his suit for Zyna.

"Khan Sahib——" returned Jehándar Beg, putting up his joined hands.

He could not finish the sentence. Fazil, on pretence of arranging his shawl about his shoulders, threw it with a sudden gesture over the Kótwal's head, and closed it behind, throwing Jehándar Beg on his face, while, at the same instant, a dagger flashed from the old Khan's waist-band, and was held by him close to the Kótwal's heart, and so that the point actually pricked the skin.

"Take out those letters, Lalla, from his pocket. In the name of the Prophet—if one sound escape him, father—strike deep and hard. Here is another traitor as bad as him we know of. There, hold his legs, Lalla. Wah, wah! thou art a noble fellow; fear not, friend—we are not like the Jogi. There, that will do; and well was it done," continued Fazil, as the Lalla rapidly passed an end of his own scarf round the Kótwal's arms, and tied it in a knot behind his back; "he is safe now. Where is his ring? give it to me, quick."

"Beware, Jehándar Beg," growled Afzool Khan, who leant over the prostrate man without altering his position, as the Lalla loosed the ring, "I do not want to kill thee, good fellow; but, by Alla, if thou strivest ever so little, this knife will go through thee. I am no friend to traitors, as thou well knowest; so keep quiet."

It was a bold stroke; but in such emergencies desperate efforts are generally the most successful. Fazil took the Kótwal's signet-ring, and went to the door. The slave Jaffur looked at it for an instant, bowed his head, and crossed his arms; while Fazil, looking round the hall, beckoned to his friend, who, attended by some twenty of his followers, sat upon the dais.

Kowas Khan arose instantly, and with him the men, who made their salutations, and advanced towards the door. The slaves believed that the Wuzeer's son had been sent for, and stood aside to let him pass: and as the young men embraced in the doorway, Fazil whispered to his friend to disarm them, and hold the door. A pressure of the hand was the sure reply.

"I will return with my shawl," said Kowas Khan aloud, going back towards his seat, "and I will follow you directly."

A moment afterwards Fazil and the Khan heard a few low cries, a struggle, and a slight clash of arms. The surprise had been complete. The slaves were disarmed, thrust into the Wuzeer's private room, and the doors closed.

"Fear not, noble friends," cried the cheery voice of the Wuzeer's son, as he stood in the doorway, "ye are safe, and no one is hurt. I have five hundred men of my own body-guard in the courts, on foot and horseback; and, Inshalla! we can hold the Kótwallee against an army. May I come?"

"Ul-humd-ul-illa!" cried the Khan and his son together, "hazar shookr, hazar shookr!—(A thousand thanks!) O holy 'Geesoo Duraz!' I vow to thee a thousand lights, and a chain of gold for the canopy of thy blessed sepulchre," continued the Khan, devoutly.

"Come, friend and brother," said Fazil; "come here and see what treachery doth in the most trusted places—nay, fear us not, Jehándar Beg," he continued; "we are not arbiters in your destiny—it rests in higher hands than ours. Father, take away the knife from his heart."

"I don't know that I ought," said the old Khan, grimly. "I shall keep it ready, and near thee, Jehándar Beg. I trust thee not, my friend."

"You are more lucky than I am," returned the Kótwal, sadly. "When a man's fate deserts him, he need not struggle—he is helpless," and he quoted a verse from the Gulistan to that effect.

"Shabash! a scholarly quotation," said the Lalla, gravely. "And now, gentlemen, if ye will trust a poor Mutsuddee, who has some experience, we will examine this worthy gentleman's pockets; and if he has any private writing-cases, something might be found in them also."

"Peace, Lalla!" cried Fazil, sternly; "what we do concerns thee not. But thou hast been faithful and intelligent, and we will see thee rewarded."

What was found in the search will presently appear; meanwhile, we need to see how those assembled with the King, in his royal court, were employed.

---

[CHAPTER XLII.]

The great Hall of Audience in the Citadel was only used on state occasions of ceremony. It formed part of the oldest division of the royal residence, and was built, as report had it, after a model in Turkey or Persia, in both of which countries the founder of the dynasty, Ibrahim Adil Shah, had resided. But as no such model is known to exist, it is more probable that one of the Turkish architects whom he had invited to his camp, and to whose Europeanized skill and taste most of the noble Saracenic Gothic buildings of the city owed their origin, had designed and executed the whole under the direction of his munificent patron.

The "Ark," or Citadel of Beejapoor, is a fortress in itself, and the area is surrounded by a beautiful stone wall, having heavy bastions at intervals, and a fausse braye, also with bastions; both being protected by a broad wet ditch. The main entrance is by a causeway, defended by a gateway, flanked by bastions of great strength. The whole of the interior was laid out in palaces, under various denominations, and public buildings, such as the courts of civil and criminal justice, the treasury, the military and revenue record offices, and the like, and the great Hall of Audience, which now concerns us.

A broad road from the second gateway led nearly through the centre of the Citadel, as you entered, to the Màidân, or plain of exercise. The Palace of the Seven Stories, and the buildings connected with it, lay on the left hand, and the "Sunget Mahal," or Palace of Assembly, with other heavy blocks of building, public and private, to the right. All these palaces, at the time of which we write, were interspersed with courts and gardens; but the space before the great Hall, called the Màidân or Plain, was kept exclusively for the assembly, inspection, or exercise of royal troops on particular occasions, and also as the waiting-place of the "sowarees," or retinues, which attended those who visited the palace on ordinary business.

The hall itself was a very noble building. It stood upon a low basement, beneath which were crypts, probably used for archives, or as magazines; and was entered by flights of steps, which led into corridors at each side. The front was entirely open, consisting of one immense Gothic arch, ninety-two feet in span, and of proportionate height, and of two narrow lancet-shaped arches of corresponding height, one on each side, which opened on the side corridors.

The interior consisted of one immense room, unbroken to the roof; but upon its south side, and partially also east and west, there were projections built upon cloisters, which contained rooms and galleries; especially to the south, where there was a closed latticed balcony, where the ladies of the court might sit and look on at ceremonies of reception or rejoicing, and where the King might receive the petitions or salutations of the people without inconvenience. Above these galleries and balconies was another story, with open turrets at the corners, and suites of apartments above. As the building stands now, a mere shell, bereft of roof and floors, and with all, except its noble arches and cloisters, crumbling gradually to decay, it is a noble and impressive structure, and enough remains to estimate what it must have been when perfect.

A busy and interesting scene it was, even to those concerned. As each "sowaree" arrived at the entrance steps, it was met by a number of "chobdars," and mirdhas, or attendants, bearing massive gold and silver sticks, or clubs covered with chased silver or gold; dressed exclusively in white muslin, wearing small circular turbans, flattened out at the sides, muslin tunics, tight to the waist, and descending thence in thickly-gathered robes to the feet, which gave them the appearance of petticoats. These men attended officers of higher rank, who were, in fact, chamberlains, and whose duty it was to conduct the various visitors to the presence of the King, to proclaim aloud their titles, and to marshal them to their seats. Without, the royal Abyssinian and Dekhani guards prevented violence among their retainers.

Once the broad corridor at either side was reached by the visitors there was no further interruption; and though the war of struggle, gibe, and quarrel, peculiar to such an assembly, came hoarsely and with a stifled sound through the arches into the hall:—within, there was a decorous, if not, indeed, a solemn and impressive silence. Men spoke to each other hardly above their breath; and the soft murmur arising from thousands of such half whispers ascended and seemed to float tremblingly among the balconies, and up to the lofty roof of the building.

The King had early taken his seat. The musnud, or royal throne, was under the centre of the balcony before mentioned, upon a dais, raised a step above the general floor of the hall. There was no decoration visible upon it; and it consisted of a wide cushion and pillows, covered with white muslin, supported at the back and sides by a railing of wood, covered with plates of gold which, indeed, appeared as if of solid gold. On the right hand of the King, who was dressed in simple white muslin, with a single gold ornament in his turban, sat the Peer Bundagee Sahib, the religious instructor we have before mentioned; and at the back of the rail the Secretary, with two young nobles, whose hereditary office it was to wave over the King the jewelled Mórchas, or fans of peacock feathers.

Farther again behind, among the arches, closing up the entrance to the cloisters, and leaning against the pillars, were servants bearing the King's weapons, the Aftábgeeree, or sun-shades, the royal umbrellas, and the private guard of slaves, mostly Nubian eunuchs.

Like the monarch's seat, the whole of the floor was covered by quilted cotton carpets, over which white muslin was spread; so that, with the exception of here and there a coloured scarf or waist-belt, and an occasional turban ornament, the whole of the persons seated wore the same character of dress as the King, with little variation. In some respects the assembly had a monotonous appearance; but, on the other hand, the effect was chaste and solemn, and agreed with the plain undecorated character of the building.

The privileged attendants, however, who were allowed entrance with their masters, and who stood in files behind them against the wall, were dressed in the brightest and gayest colours which could be devised. Here were tunics of satin and cloth-of-gold, brocaded turbans and scarfs of the richest materials, mingled together in the greatest profusion; and this brilliant array, in which all hues seemed to blend with a strangely gorgeous harmony, formed a powerful background in relief of the white dresses, and white coverings of the floor.

Then beyond, the eye followed the graceful outline of the vast arch against a deep blue sky, flecked with light clouds. Below, it rested upon the plain, where, in the quivering heat, which gave a tremulous movement to the atmosphere, stood the serried masses of royal troops and sowarees, comparisoned elephants and led horses, litters and their bearers—all in the glowing colours which we have already seen from the Queen's balcony; and with bright arms and armour, which flashed and glinted in a thousand sparkles as the wearers moved.

The Secretary and the Peer had noted, carefully and jealously, the names of the several nobles and sirdars as they were announced by the mirdhas in attendance—presented their customary nuzzurs or offerings, according to their rank, and were conducted to their places; and every now and then one or other whispered to the King, as neutral or suspected persons passed, or when the appearance of a well-known loyal friend gave assurance of support. Still Afzool Khan's place was vacant, and that of the Wuzeer. It was true the latter could not yet be expected, but his son might at least be present; and the double absence cast a gloom over the King's face, which he could barely conceal.

"I had counted upon Afzool Khan and his son Fazil," said the King, mournfully, to the Peer, "but you see they have not come. We might not expect Kowas Khan without his father; but I had thought Afzool Khan among the truest of my people—what think ye?"

The Peer could give but little consolation. He, too, had expected the Khan, and had had no doubts of his fidelity; so also the Secretary; but his unaccountable absence disturbed them both.

Just then the lady Lurlee's escort, entering the open space, wheeled up among other troops, and the leader, Raheem Khan, dashed at speed to the foot of the basement, made his reverence to the King, and followed his men to the position they had taken up.

"Ah," cried the Peer, joyfully, to the King, "those are Afzool Khan's 'sowaree'; the old Khan and his son are not far off now, Shookr-Oolla;" and he looked anxiously to the side entrance, in the hope of seeing him advance with his son from the archway in the corridor. Others came on, but neither appeared.

"What hinders Afzool Khan?" said the Secretary to the Peer, after a while; "who is detaining him?"

"Send and inquire," said the King.

"Go," said the Peer to a mirdha in attendance, "and see if Afzool Khan be in the corridor; if not, go to his officer and inquire where he is,—not as if our Prince had asked, but from me." The King, to whom the man looked for orders, nodded assent, and he departed and returned speedily.

"I examined both corridors, and he was not in either, Huzrut," he said to the holy man, "so I went to Raheem Khan, who tells me he has come with the Khánum;" and here his voice dropped almost to a whisper, "that Afzool Khan hath been at the Kótwal's, at Jehándar Beg's, since morning, and it is particular business, as both he and his son have been in private consultation with him since sunrise."

The King had leaned over the rail to hear the detail, but he had not noticed the first part of the message; and as the man receded among the attendants behind, looked from one to the other of his friends, but could gather no consolation from their faces.

"It is but too true, my lord," said the Secretary sadly; "we need not expect them; for the Wuzeer's son, with a heavy body of horse and foot, has just gone to the Kótwallee—he was seen with them not long ago passing the fort gate. Jehándar Beg is not come, and it is clear to me that they have garrisoned the Kótwallee, and will defend it till the Wuzeer arrives, when they will declare revolt. Sending a party here is but a blind."

"And who are here to check it?" asked the King apprehensively.

"Many, my lord," replied the Peer earnestly; "all the Dekhanies are my disciples, and I will answer for them to a man. All the artillery are with them. Fear not."

The King looked inquiringly to his Secretary.

"Yes, my Prince," he said, "fear not: we cannot wait for them; nothing good ever came of vacillation or expediency. Bismilla! shall I order silence?"

"Bismilla-ir-rahman-ir-raheem!" exclaimed the King devoutly, looking up. "I am ready. Order silence," he said to one of the mirdhas.

"Khámôsh! silence!" cried the man in a loud, deep voice, which rang through the hall, and sounded strangely, interrupting the loose murmuring chat which had prevailed before—"Khámôsh!"

"Khámôsh!" was reiterated by all the mirdhas and chobdars stationed about the hall, and by the attendants behind, and was taken up by those in the corridors, spreading to the crowd without, and to the troops—"Khámôsh!"

The silence that ensued was almost oppressive. In the hall itself, after the men had once more settled themselves in their seats, there was not a sound or murmur. The struggles and gibes without ceased, and even the troops were still, save where a neigh, or the rattle of caparisons, as horses tossed their heads or champed their bits, broke the stillness; or an elephant, clashing his bells, and being admonished by his driver, lifted his trunk, and gave a short scream.

It was the Secretary's office to open the business of the day, and just as he was about to speak, the chief of the eunuchs entered, bearing the Queen's billet, and kneeling down behind the rail, while he spoke aside, covering his mouth, said to the King hastily—

"It is a matter of life or death. If Afzool Khan hath any favour in your eyes, O King, save him! there may be time."

"This is some trick on thee, Daood," said the King sneeringly; "we know where he is, and how employed. He is ours no longer, and hath left us of his own free will."

"His wife and daughter are with the Bégum Sahiba. Read that, and you will know why," answered the man firmly.

"Can it be true?" asked the King of the Peer, opening the note. "Ya Khubeer, O!" he continued, after a pause: "this is wonderful! wonderful! O friends! and yet we had suspected our noble friend. But he is true; see, here is our royal signet to this; no doubt, no doubt."

"What is it?" cried both the Peer and the Secretary in a breath, seeing the King much excited.

"Afzool Khan and his son are imprisoned at the Kótwallee, and prevented from attending. They must be brought instantly."

"Imprisoned?" cried both together.

"Yes, friends," continued the King, "there is treachery in this, for Jehándar Beg and the Wuzeer are one, it is clear now, and we must act at once. Ismail Khan," continued he firmly, to an officer who stood behind him clothed in a shirt of mail, "go thou with two hundred of the royal guard, and some of the mirdhas, bring Jehándar Beg to the presence, and with him Afzool Khan and his son."

"I beg to petition," said the eunuch, "that some of Afzool Khan's Paigah are here, who came with their mistress; they might as well go, if I might send them."

"Of course," replied the King, "why not send the whole Paigah?"

"Excellent," said the Peer; "take what are here with thee, Ismail Khan, at once, and send for the rest. Raheem Khan will not fail thee."

"I am gone, my lord, and will take him with me; he is my son-in-law."

"Ah, I had forgotten. Go; fear not; bring them safely and quickly, friend, for we have much need of their presence."

"Ya Ulla Kureem!" said the Peer devoutly, looking up, "this is thy doing. O, dear old friend! thou art not gone from among us as we had feared. Bismilla, let us proceed! first with these letters of Sivaji's, then with the rest. Afzool Khan will be here by that time, and the people will rise to his call as a man. Inshalla! your poor servant, too, will do his best. Let silence be called again."

It was necessary: for the entrance of the eunuch, the delivery of the note, followed as they were by the withdrawal of Afzool Khan's men, and some of the royal guard, had excited no little curiosity in the assembly. Afzool Khan's absence had been regretted by some, rejoiced in by others, but noticed by all; and now that his men were sent away, the speculations that ensued were various as to the cause; and while some feared disclosures, others already rejoiced in the prospect of his possible disgrace.

"Khámôsh!" again was cried by the same voice, which rung clearly above the buzz of conversation, and was taken up as before—"Khámôsh—silence!"

---

[CHAPTER XLIII.]

"O nobles, and well-wishers of the State!" cried the Secretary, in a strong, manly voice, "it is not mere ceremony for which ye have been called together this day; and it is not that the present urgent matters might not be disposed of by the Shah—may his splendour increase;—but in affairs of such moment, he would have the advice and assistance of older men, and of those who, for years past, have given their faith and their blood freely for the kingdom, and for his family; and surely nothing need be done in private, when ye, O Moslems! can be witnesses before God and the Prophet.

"Lo, friends in the faith! he hath called ye together because of those grievous rumours of treachery which prevail: and because of intrigues which have sown distrust between man and man in this city. Of these, two have been revealed to him by means little short of a miracle, and yet so true, that a child may understand them. Hear, then, what my lord the King will say to ye—listen!"

A low murmur arose through the assembly as men spoke in short, eager whispers to each other. Who was to be accused? To whom did these introductory remarks refer in particular? Many a secret traitor then sitting there, trembled upon his seat. Were he denounced, he felt there would be no alternative between detection and almost instant death, and there were not a few who repeated to themselves the dying confession of faith. If it was to be, it was to be; there was no escape now.

The King spoke from his seat, and though his voice was of a gentler character than his Secretary's, its silvery ringing tones were even more distinctly heard.

"O friends and subjects!" he said, "many words are hardly needful when the understanding is to have clear scope for action, and I desire all to consider what will be now put before ye. As God hath appointed me His deputy on earth to govern this kingdom, so I am answerable to Him for it, and for you, my people. This I clearly admit. If it be glorious, are ye not so? If it be tranquil, are ye not safe? If it be humbled, are ye not humbled likewise? Is any one weary of our service, let him leave it, but for the rest, let us be united: let it not be said by our enemies that we could be seduced and divided, or that our foolish quarrels are worse than the petty jealousies of the women of a divided house. O noble Dekhanies, put enmity and treachery from among ye: is it come to this, that they exist? Listen."

The King paused, and seemed to be searching under his cushions, while the sounds of his last words, rising to the vaulted roof, trembled in a sweet faint murmur, and died away among its fretted recesses; and as yet the rapt silence of the assembly was unbroken.

"A man," he continued, holding up a mass of papers to the view of all—"one whom we had venerated as a father—into whose hands we were given by our father on his deathbed—has been false. False to me, that is nothing,—false to the kingdom and to you, that is more,—false to his oath to an orphan as I am, and to God, that is most of all. Here is his writing, here are his seals,—look at them. These letters to the Padshah Alumgeer began ere that bad man were a king, and have been continued within a month; and by them we read now, that him we speak of would have given away our kingdom, but would have reserved his share. And yet, O Khan Mahomed! if we wrong thee in this, we will do thee justice before God and this assembly."

"Justice, justice!" echoed a thousand voices: "put out the treason!" while many rose excitedly to their feet and were pulled down again by their neighbours.

"Wait," continued the King. "Let him be heard in his own behalf when he arrives; do not prejudge him. If these are untrue, there is no honour we possess or can confer, that shall not be his. If true, let the just Alla judge him before ye all."

"Ameen, ameen!" cried the Peer devoutly. "Ameen, ameen!" was echoed by the assembly, in a hoarse roar, which filled the hall. Again there was silence.

"The next is a more simple matter," continued the King, with increased confidence. "Ye all know of Sivaji Bhóslay. How often his father rebelled, and was punished, and again forgiven by our father. How often the son hath been guilty of crimes. All these would have been forgiven. As a wise father corrects, while he bears with and forgives the errors of a wilful son,—so should we have forgiven also; but for treachery. Look, friends, here, in the same packet with those we have just mentioned, are these letters from Sivaji to the Padshah. We who have fed this wolf, are his enemies; those who have hunted him, are his friends. Here are lists of forts which will be taken and held for the Moghuls, of districts to pay for armies, of men who will join with their local levies. Between them they will share the Dekhan, and Sivaji will be the imperial Vice-regent!

"Did ye hear, friends?" he continued, after a pause. "Do ye desire to serve under the infidel? I am young. I have no experience. I am a humble worm before God; but I am the son of one who led ye to victory. I am one who has been nursed in war, and will lead ye again! Choose, then, between them and the King of your ancient dynasty. If I have a place in your hearts, bid me stay; if not, a Durwaysh's robe and staff are mine, and at the blessed shrine of the Prophet I will abjure the world and die. I will trouble ye no more. No, no more—me, or mine."

For an instant the same sweet trembling murmur of the King's voice arose to the roof—but for an instant only. As if with one accord, a shout of "Deen! Deen! for the faith! for the faith! we will die for you!"—rang through the building, as men, no longer able to control their emotions, started to their feet and shouted the war-cry of Islam. Those who were without had observed the emotion in the hall, but had not been aware of its cause. Now, however, the familiar battle-shout fell on willing ears, and was returned, from the thousands gathered there, with an enthusiasm which knew no bounds. "Deen! Deen!" accompanied by the battle-cries of the various nobles and chiefs whose escorts were drawn up together.

Just then, and as the excitement from within and without had somewhat subsided, a strong body of horse, known to all as belonging to Afzool Khan, swept round the corner of the building with its standard unfurled, and its kettle-drums beating loudly. Among the serried mass of horsemen could be seen a palankeen closely muffled and jealously guarded, immediately behind which rode the brave old Khan and his son Fazil, with several of his officers. It was evident to all that the litter contained a person of consequence; and many from within the hall looked around anxiously, as Afzool Khan, his son, and several others with him, dismounted and placed themselves beside it. Could the Wuzeer have returned? If so, he was already a prisoner, and there was no hope. If not, whom could it be? The King had been about to address the assembly again, but he paused and turned to those behind him.

"Ah," he cried exultingly, "Alla hath heard our prayers, and here are our noble friends. I vow thank-offerings to thee, O Sofee Surmust![11] O Geesoo Duraz! by thy hands, Peer Sahib, as thou wilt!"

"I said the planets assured me that my lord should destroy his enemies to-day," said the Peer, wiping his eyes, for his love for Afzool Khan was great, and he had feared seduction. "Shookr oolla! Shookr oolla! Hazarha-Shookr! thousands of thanks do we offer at thy throne, O merciful! and here he comes, Soobhán Ulla! Soobhán Ulla!"

Afzool Khan was well known, and a hearty shout had greeted him as he dismounted, looked proudly about him, and returned the salutations of his friends and the soldiery. The palankeen was, by his orders, taken up the steps into the corridor; and, room being cleared for it by the sticks and maces of the chobdars, it was carried on, the Khan and his son accompanying it, through the entrance hall and into the centre of the assembly before the throne, where, in spite of the remonstrances of the chamberlains, it was set down. Then the Khan, disengaging his sword from his belt, and bidding Fazil do the same, they advanced to the foot of the musnud, and enveloping the hilts in their scarfs, presented them as "nuzzurs" or offerings to the King, making, at the same time, their customary obeisances.

"Pardon for this boldness, my prince," said the Khan, "but as the merciful Alla delivered us strangely out of his hands who is there, we thought we had better bring him to 'the presence' at once."

"Who?" asked the king excitedly. "The Wuzeer? Khan Mahomed?"

"No, my lord," returned the Khan, "but Jehándar Beg."

"God be praised thou art safe, Khan," returned the King, putting out his hand and resting it upon the Khan's head, "and thou also, Fazil. Now, we have no fear."

"Ah, old friend!" cried the Peer, the tears fairly running down his cheeks while he pointed to the King; "he hath been so brave, so brave: my boy—so eloquent. Stones would have cried out at his words. Didst thou not hear the shouting?"

"Surely," returned the Khan; "but 'tis hardly a welcome sound in these days unless one knows the reason, so we hurried on. Eloquent! I knew he would be so. Brave! Ay, or he is no descendant of his royal race. May I open the litter, my lord?" he asked of the King.

"Bismilla! open it," he replied; and some of the attendants hastily untied the knots by which the cover had been fastened over the top. As the last fold was removed, the figure of Jehándar Beg sitting upright, his arms and hands swathed carefully in a shawl, and his eyes bound with a handkerchief, was displayed to all. The bandage was removed, and he looked wildly about him.

Jehándar Beg saw his position at once. He was no coward, and he perceived that all chance of life had passed away. The Wuzeer was not there, and Afzool Khan, stooping into the litter, took up the case containing Jehándar Beg's most secret papers, and presented them to the King. "May I be loosed?" said the Kótwal to the Khan. "My fate is in the King's hands."

"Surely," replied the King; "we fear him not, nor any enemy," he continued, looking round. "May God deliver them into our hands, even as he hath this traitor."

"Ameen! Ameen!" cried a tumult of voices, followed by the loud Khámôsh of the criers.

Afzool Khan spoke so as to be heard by all. We need not follow his recital, for the particulars have been already related; but the words were drunk in with avidity by the assembly. He disclosed no man's name; the papers would speak for themselves.

One by one they were read, Persian and Mahratta in turn, clearly and distinctly; while, by the King's command, several of them were taken round by mutsuddees to the principal nobles and sirdars, that the seals might be examined.

This necessarily occupied some time, during which, the litter having been removed to the door, Jehándar Beg stood in the centre, as yet boldly if not defiantly. Could the Wuzeer only arrive—and he was expected momentarily—all would be changed. Before him the King, bold as he seemed now, would quail; those friends in the assembly, who had already exchanged glances with him, would at once rise. There might be bloodshed, and of the result he had no doubt: it had been calculated beforehand, and was certain. Much depended on a mysterious arrangement of the Wuzeer's, which he suspected; but to the particulars of which he had not been admitted. Need he deny the papers? He dare not. They were facts which could neither be denied nor evaded.

"Unhappy, godless man," cried the King, when several had been read, and others were being examined, "are these true? Dost thou admit them? Hast thou eaten my salt and found it so bitter, that that of others seemed sweeter to thee? Speak, Jehándar Beg! are these true? are they thine own?"

Upon his reply hung many a life had he chosen to denounce those present; but with all his bad faith, there was no meanness in the man.

"The letters, my prince, are true; as they are addressed. I have no more to say. Whatever my fate is to be, let it come; I am ready to meet it," returned the Kótwal, firmly.

"And these for Khan Mahomed? The writing in the corner is yours, and the date of receipt is to-day."

"It is my writing; why should I tell a lie?" returned Jehándar Beg, sullenly; "but I know not the contents."

"Enough," replied the King; "my friends, we would do no injustice. Let us await the Wuzeer's arrival—it cannot be long now—and hear the result from his own lips."