"'Flowers are soft to tread upon, Cheytu. Go! you need sweep for me no more.'
"I laughed too as I went. Not sweep for her when she only knew God's earth after I had made it ready for her feet! It was a woman's idle word, but, woman-like, she would think and see wisdom for herself.
"That night I listened once more. The footstep must come once I knew--just once, and after that wisdom and safety. Huzoor! it came, and the flowers fell softly. But wisdom was too late. I tried to get at her to save her from their pitiless justice. I heard her cries, for mercy; I heard her cry even for Cheytu the sweeper before they flung me from the steps where the twinkling lights went up and down as if the very stars from the sky had come to spy on her. What did they do to her? What did they do to her while I lay crushed among the crushed flowers? Who knows? It is often done, my lord, behind the walls. She died; that is all I know, that is all I cared for. When I came back to life she was dead, and the footstep had fled from revenge. It had friends over the border where it could pause in safety till the tale was forgotten. Such things are forgotten quickly, my lord, because the revenge must be secret as the wrong; else it is shame, and shame must not come nigh good families. But the blind do not forget easily; perhaps they have less to remember. Could I forget the child's face in the light? As I told the Presence, those who go from the city come back to it sooner or later unless Death takes them first. So I wait for the Footstep--hark!"
Loud--louder--loudest: "In the name of your own God."
* * * * *
Did I wake with the cry? Or did I only open my eyes to see a glimmer of dawn paling the sky, the birds shifting in the branches, the old man seated bolt upright in his penwiper?
"That was the first passenger, Huzoor," he said quietly. "The boat has come. It is time your honour conferred dignity on ill manners by joining it."
"But the footstep! the princess! you were telling me just now--"
"What does a sweeper know of princesses, my lord? The Presence slept, and doubtless he dreamed dreams. The tobacco--"
He paused. "Well," said I, curiously.