“I will merit and preserve it, my lord, because I admire and respect this man, who is stronger than the strongest, by craft, and courage, and will. I have knelt before him with humility, as I would kneel before one of the three black idols that stand between Bowanee and her worshippers; for his religion, like mine, teaches to change life into nothingness.”
“Humph!” said the voice, in a tone of some embarrassment; “these comparisons are useless and inaccurate. Only think of obeying him, without explaining your obedience.”
“Let him speak, and I perform his will! I am in his hands like a corpse, as he himself expresses it. He has seen, he sees every day, my devotion to his interests with regard to Prince Djalma. He has only to say: ‘Kill him! ‘and this son of a king—”
“For heaven’s salve, do not have such ideas!” cried the voice, interrupting the man in the cloak. “Thank heaven, you will never be asked for such proofs of your submission.”
“What I am ordered I do. Bowanee sees me.”
“I do not doubt your zeal. I know that you are a loving and intelligent barrier, placed between the prince and many guilty interests; and it is because I have heard of that zeal, of your skill in circumventing this young Indian, and, above all, of the motives of your blind devotion, that I have wished to inform you of everything. You are the fanatical worshipper of him you serve. That is well; man should be the obedient slave of the god he chooses for himself.”
“Yes, my lord; so long as the god remains a god.”
“We understand each other perfectly. As for your recompense, you know what I have promised.”
“My lord, I have my reward already.”
“How so?”