"The thoughts of her make me so," said Waller.
"Ah! the perfume of her presence is about you still," said the Afghan woman in her figurative language; "she has been unto you what the rose was to the piece of clay in the little story of Sadee."
"I do not understand you."
"'One day,' says Sadee, 'when I was in the bath, a friend of mine put into my hand a piece of sweetly scented clay. I took it between my fingers, and said,
"'Art thou musk or ambergris, for thy perfume charms me?'
"'I was but a humble piece of clay,' it replied; 'but I was some time in the society of a rose; the sweet quality of my companion was communicated to me, otherwise I should be only a bit of clay, as I appear to be.' So has it been with you."
"Perhaps so," replied Waller, smiling at this strange anecdote.
"It is Jellalabad you would reach?"
"Yes; how far are we from it?"
"Fifty cosses."