He stares down at them for a while, and then takes up the package
Ibrahim had laid at his feet.
He tears it open, and there lies Masa's long, black hair. A cry escapes his lips! It is not the viceroy, not the man, who cries out. It is the death-cry of his first love!
He presses the hair to his lips, and two tears trickle slowly down his cheeks. His gaze fastens on his Masa's hair in a long, painful glance.
He had often kissed these tresses while they clung to her beloved head. He now kisses them for the last time, and then conceals them in his bosom.
He bends down again and takes up the presents of his other sons.
He remembers the cup well. Masa had often drunk out of it.
He kisses the rim of the cup, the place where Masa's crimson lips had touched; he then carefully places it on the cushion beside him.
He now takes up the third present—the gold-embroidered cuffei he had purchased for Masa from the merchant, Lion.
She wore it around her neck for the last time when he pressed her to his heart and took leave of her for a short time, as he thought. She wore it when he left her that night, and when he returned she was gone, and he did not see her again until her death-hour.
He holds the cloth up before him, and sees the dark-red spots-her blood! She had struggled with her captor, and he had injured her shoulder, where the cloth rested, with the point of his dagger! He can tell this by the incision in the cloth where the spots of blood are.