Kophetua the Thirteenth

by Julian Stafford Corbett

She closed her eyes, but they seemed still to look at him. He could not forget them. It was like a spell. He could not think of anything but them, and he let her lie while he gathered his straying thoughts.

"Are you better?" he asked, when she moved again. "Try and sit up. I cannot stay here long."

"Ah! I remember," she said, with a shudder. "It was you who came in when he seized me, and I prayed for help, and then,—then I forget. Yes, you must go away and leave me."

"But I must see you in the house first."

"No, no; I cannot go in to-night. Father was angry and beat me when I came in, and said I must stay on the stones all night because I had brought nothing home. I could not help it. They pushed me when Trecenito scattered the alms at the gate, and I could get none. And yet if I stay here, perhaps the man will come back."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Yes, the ugly man that I saw at the palace window. He followed me here once before and tried to make me go with him. But father came out, and he ran away. Oh, he is very wicked," she said, with another shudder. "He is not like you." She lay back again peacefully on Kophetua's knee, and closed her eyes as if she would swoon again, but a noise in the house disturbed her almost directly. "It is father. Fly, fly for your life!" she cried, starting up.

As she spoke, a tall beggar rushed out from the verandah with a long knife in his hand and made straight at Kophetua. The girl with a wild cry threw herself before the man and clasped his knees, crying again, "Fly, fly for your life!" and ere he well knew what he was doing, Kophetua had availed himself of the respite and was running down the street. He had not gone far, however, before he began to think what a bad beginning he was making to run away just as the danger commenced. Then those trusting eyes seemed to be looking at him again and calling him back. So he stopped, determined to return and rescue her from her father's fury. But now he was aware he had entirely lost his way. Still he would not give up his purpose, and cursing himself for his cowardice, wandered through street after street, it seemed for hours, and was then as far as ever from finding what he sought. Exhausted with his efforts, from time to time he sat down to rest and think which direction could be right. Many beggars passed him, but he dared not speak to one. Again and again he started up and walked on once more. His blood was up, and he was determined not to leave the girl to her fate. He knew life would be unendurable if he returned without redeeming his cowardice.

At last, at the end of a narrow lane, he emerged into a square where was a building larger than any he had seen before, and all ablaze with light. Many beggars were going into it, and, hardly knowing why, he joined himself to one of the tattered groups and went in too.

He found himself directly in a great hall surrounded by a filthy crowd. At first he could see nothing but the smoke-blackened roof and the torches that flared all round. But presently in an eddy of the throng he was carried beside a rough wooden table on which men were standing. One of them looked down, and holding out a grimy hand invited him to get up beside him. Once there, he could see all over the great chamber. All round the walls was a mass of beggars packed close on floor and forms and tables, and dressed in every tattered costume under heaven, from east to west. Arab and Jew, Frank and Berber, all were there and every hybrid between, and the lurid torchlight lit up a pile of faces as evil as sin itself.