"Listen, Abool!" she said, stretching out her hands to find his in the dark. "I mean naught, dear, that is unkind. How could it be so between me and thee? But 'tis not wise." She paused, catching her breath in a faint sob. He could not see her face, perhaps if he had, he would have been less relentless.
"Wherefore? Canst not trust thy nephew, fair aunt?" The sarcasm bit deep.
"Nephew! A truce, Abool, to this foolish tale," she began hotly, when he interrupted her.
"Of a surety, if the Princess Farkhoonda desires it! Yet would Mirza Abool-Bukr still like to know wherefore he is not received?"
His tone sent a thrill of terror through her, his use of the name he hated warned her that his temper was rising--the devil awakening.
"Canst not see, dear," she pleaded, trying to keep the hands he would have drawn from hers--"folk have evil minds."
He gave an ugly laugh. "Since when hast thou begun to think of thy good name, like other women, Newâsi? But if it be so, if all my virtue--and God knows 'tis ill-got--is to go for naught, let it end."
She heard him, felt him turn, and a wild despair surged up in her. Which was worst? To let him go in anger beyond the reach of her controlling hand mayhap--go to unknown evils--or chance this one? Since--since at the worst death might be concealed. God and His Prophet! What a thought! No! she would plead again--she would stoop--she would keep him at any price.
"Listen!" she whispered passionately, leaning toward him in the dark, "dost ask since when I have feared for my good name? Canst not guess?--Abool! what--what does a woman, as I am, fear--save herself--save her own love----"
There was an instant's silence, and then his reckless jeering laugh jarred loud.