Drop, ink! and hide my flesh
Cover my worldly ways
Then let God's Light afresh
Mirror God's praise
Drop ink! Drop deep
Cover in Sleep
My Night of Nights and bring the Day of Days.
A little pool of ink lay, with curved surface like a dewdrop, on her left palm as the song ceased.
"If the gracious child will almost touch the mirror with her left forefinger and complete the circle of magic by touching my right arm with her right hand," she suggested in a mysterious monotonous voice.
For answer Mihr-un-nissa's firm little fingers closed round her wrist tightly. "Aye! it shall not stir," she said coolly. "I want to know for certain--no clouds and waves and mists--I want to know. Dost hear?"
Childishly imperative her eyes questioned Âtma's. "Nay!" replied the latter, feeling in a measure at bay. "The gracious maid must close her eyes. I, Âtma, will look alone into the mirror and see--if God wills--the fortune of the Princess."
Aunt Rosebody's laugh came sudden, sarcastic.
"Not Princess yet, woman! Not as yet," she continued, turning to Bibi Azîzan, "even in the inmost heart of the house of Ghiâss Beg, the Lord Treasurer."
"I protest," began the fat fashionable one feebly.
Âtma gave a swift glance round at the speakers and the little pool of ink in her palm wavered despite Mihr-un-nissa's almost fierce grip.
"How now, slave?" cried the latter; "I said no wavering."