He sprang up as he spoke, and I trembled lest he should strike my little mistress to the earth. He towered above her, as the poplar tree towers above the linden.
But he only strode to the arched and curtained doorway. He turned round as he went out, holding the drapery in his left hand.
“Adieu!” he said. “Adieu! My daughter must obey me, or—”
“Or what, father?”
Once more her hands were extended pleadingly, prayerfully towards him.
“She dies!”
The drapery fell. Beebee’s father had gone, and she had thrown herself on the ottoman cushions to weep.
I walked softly towards her, I sung to her; I licked her little white fingers. Then she ceased to weep.
“Oh, Shireen! Shireen!” she cried, “this is a bitter, bitter day to me. And I wanted to love father so. I could love him so. I have no mother. I—”
She threw herself down once more, and sobbed aloud.