Akbar laughed out loud, then grew grave. "Of a truth Mistress Quick-wit, women are beyond men's comprehension! But we have been playing with words hitherto. Now let us be serious--let me see thy mind. Why dost not like my son?"
Instant, clear, decisive, came the reply.
"Because he doth not love his father."
"Wherefore does he not love him? What proof hast thou?" asked Akbar hotly.
Mihr-un-nissa's face had no pity, even in its deep unfathomable eyes.
"Because, Great King, he seeks ever to betray Jalâl-ud-din Mahomed Akbar. Oh!"--the words once started rushed out now like a torrent--"I know they say it is better Akbar should not know! I know how they all--even my Lord Birbal--keep things back, saying the King's mind should be tranquil. But it is not so! Kingship is the truth! Kings must know all things! There is the diamond--They have kept that back, I dare swear. It was stolen, Most High----"
"Stolen!" echoed Akbar stupidly, "who was it--who spoke of that before?" Then memory returning, impotent rage once more rose in him. "Well, what then?" he queried roughly.
"I say the King should know!" came the high girlish voice. "Pain is but a safeguard from ill. He should know, aye, and use his knowledge that it was stolen for the Prince--that he wore it in his turban and, that if it hath gone back to safekeeping 'tis not because of remorse upon the Prince's part, but because the King exchanged the Turban of Brotherhood----"
"It is not true," muttered Akbar, hiding his head in his hands. "Child--say it is not true." Something in him told him it was true, therefore he fought against it all the more fiercely.
"Will saying it alter fact?" went on the inexorable young voice. "My King, the knowledge of all this is to be King; ignorance is--is foolishness!"