"I would I were an European," she answered me. "My feelings, perhaps, would be less acute, and I should be sitting over a bright fire. Oh, how loudly the heaven is speaking! Go home, Sahib, you will catch cold!"
"Why do you not go home?" I asked. "You will see no one to-day. No—not even your beloved. I am the only being who will venture out in a storm like this; and I do so only for your sake."
"My heart is as hard as this rock," she said, flipping her finger against the granite, "to all except one being—a child. Oh, how the heaven is speaking, Sahib!"
"Do you not fear the lightning and the hail?" I asked her.
"I did once," she replied. "I trembled whenever it came near; but now, what does it signify? Bidglee (lightning), come to me," she cried, beckoning to a streak of fluid which entered the ground within a hundred yards of us. "Bidglee, come here, and make a turquoise of my heart."
What pretty feet! She had kicked off her shoes, which were saturated and spoiled.
"Go home, Sahib" (such was the refrain of her conversation); "you will catch cold!"
By degrees I had an opportunity of seeing all her features. She was most beautiful, but had evidently passed the meridian of her charms. She could not have been less than twenty-four years of age. On the forefinger of her left hand she wore a ring of English manufacture, in which was set a red cornelian, whereon was engraved a crest—a stag's head.
I took her hand in mine, and said, "Where did you get this?" pointing to the ring.
She smiled and sighed, and then answered, "Jee (sir), it belonged to an Ameer (a great man)."