“Pshaw!—your words are idle,” answered Zula. “I once thought as you do, but I think differently now. I sympathise with his Majesty and his cause. He has been graciously pleased to smile upon me, and I thank him. Take my advice. Kiss the King’s hand, as a sign of your submission, and give yourself up to a life of luxury and ease.”
“To a life of infamy, you should say,” replied Flora. “But if you are dead to every sense of honour and right—if you are so abandoned as to have forgotten your womanhood, do not counsel me to follow in your footsteps. I repeat that I will die first.”
“I repeat that you won’t,” said Zula, with sarcasm. “If I have not lost my powers of persuasion, I will undertake to change your views in less than an hour.”
“Well said, Zula—well said,” cried the King. “You shall test your powers. Take this woman to your own apartment, and report in an hour’s time what progress you have made. Moghul, Zula will retire.”
Moghul Singh, who had been waiting outside of the door, entered. He understood the King.
“Come,” he said to Flora. “It is the King’s command.”
Anxious to get away from the hateful presence of the King, Flora allowed herself to be led out by Moghul, who was followed by Zula. He conducted her through a long corridor, until a room was reached. Then he turned to Zula.
“I give her into your charge,” he said. “Remember, you are responsible for her.”
“Never fear but what I will render a good account of her,” Zula answered laughingly. “Come, madam,” turning to Flora, “and let me see if I cannot alter some of your exalted notions. What I am you must be, either by force or persuasion; and, believe me, it will be far better for you to yield to the latter.”