“What part do you intend to play in this sanguinary drama?”
“Do you but make the opportunity, and I am ready to drive the dagger home to his heart. I must, however, do it where even the winds cannot murmur an alarm.”
“Agreed; I will sacrifice my fair fame to the retribution we owe to a fathers spirit.”
Thus was the foul conspiracy against the prince’s life hatched by the brother and sister. They brought over to their purposes two disaffected nobles, who entertained an inveterate animosity against Mujahid because he had punished their cowardice with disgrace during his expedition against Krishin Ray.
The prince, unsuspicious of treachery, visited the siren who had won his affections with a full conviction that his passion was returned with equal warmth. He provided for her a splendid mansion and a numerous retinue, devoting most of his time to the society of his enchantress. She feigned affection so artfully that he imagined himself the idol of her heart; but Mahmood, who suspected her sincerity, though he had no suspicion of her treachery, frequently told him that he was deceived. This rather begot a coldness in the prince towards his faithful armour-bearer; the latter, however, did not abate an atom of his attachment towards his master, whom he looked upon as the dupe of an artful woman, and whose interests he watched with a vigilance which fully showed that they were no less dear to him than his own.
“Fair one!” said Mujahid one day, “am I deceived in thinking that you love me?”
“Why this question?”
“Nay, that is no answer.”
“But surely I am justified in seeking to know why my affection is suspected. Tell me candidly, have I ever given you just cause to suspect it?”
“No.”