Itimad-ud-Daula received them with grave courtesy, and Sher Afghán, who seemed in no wise disturbed by the known fact that Nur Mahal hated the sight of him, made his English friends welcome.
“I have met few of your nation,” he said to Mowbray, “but my heart has never gone out to a stranger as to you and your brother. You shall not suffer because I leave Agra. I have spoken to the Diwán concerning your affairs. Rest content for a little while. When matters are settled over there—” and he nodded scornfully towards the palace—“he will bring you forward again. You may be obliged to wait a month or two for your money. The Diwán will advise you of this, and you may trust him. If it be so, come to me at Burdwán, and I shall show you how to kill a tiger.”
“How little can a man see into the future,” confided Walter to Sainton when the Persian was called away. “You will perceive, Roger, that we should have missed a good deal had we not come hither to-night.”
“He talks of the killing of tigers, but I vow he will first have the taming of one,” said Roger. “Here comes the bride. Saw you ever such a spitfire? Soul of my body, I’d liefer charge a row of spears than climb into yon silver turret by her side. Yet Sher Afghán is a proper man, a finer fellow by half than the spleenish Jahangir!”
“Perchance she cares little for either, but would sell her happiness for a diadem.”
“She looks a quean of that sort. I ken nowt of love, such as folk make songs about, but my mother always tellt me never to wed a lass for a dowry. She said it bred a heap of mischief and few fine bairns.”
Walter laughed, discreetly enough, but, at that instant, Nur Mahal, who had imperiously flung aside her veil and was preparing to mount into the howdah on the kneeling elephant, looked straight at him.
Her face was deathly pale, and her lustrous eyes shone with a strange light. Pain struggled with anger in her glance. She was defiant yet humiliated, and she shrank from the proffered hand of her husband as though his touch would defile her. When her gaze fell on Mowbray she singled him out for a specially scornful arching of her eyebrows and contemptuous drooping of her beautiful lips. Considering that he had seen her that day for the first time, and had scarce exchanged a dozen words with her, he was taken aback by her evident disdain.
Somehow, though no word was spoken, those wonderful eyes said to him:—