Whether they were to be prisoners, or whether guests, she knew not; but at least they had found friends who seemed real and sincere, and anything, even a prison, would be welcome rather than the ordeal of the Inquisition, or the dangers of her own once happy home. What the end might be, whither she might be led, she had no thought, for all the future was dark; but she could rest her hopes on Jesus and his Holy Mother, and in sure faith in both, she knelt down before her crucifix and prayed fervently.
As she prayed she heard the door open softly, and amidst a glare of lightning which soon ceased, the terrified face of Zóra appeared, pale and anxious. "Forgive me," she cried, as she entered, "but I was frightened by the thunder and lightning, and have come to thee. Abba sleeps soundly, and I was alone; may I stay here with thee till the storm is past?"
"Thou art welcome, child," said Maria, gently; "lie down on my little bed, and I will be with thee presently. It is truly a fearful night, but God protects us. When I have finished my prayer I will come to thee."
Then Zóra lay down, and covered herself closely at first, but now and again peered out, her large eyes distended with wonder as she watched the Christian lady's simple devotions. "She prays," she thought, "and yet men say Christians are godless and infidel; but they are false and wicked who say so."
After a little while Maria rose, combed out her silky hair, divested herself of her upper garments, and after her usual ablution, kissed the child, and lay down beside her; and though the thunder still roared and the lightning flashed, sleep came to them as they lay locked in each other's arms: thus they rested peacefully, while the thunder clouds passed away down the river to the east, dispensing their cooling and fertilising influences far and wide, and the stars shone out with a dewy brilliance over the fort, the river, and the ever-moaning cataract. It was the opening of the monsoon.
In the early morning they awoke. Zóra raised herself on her arms, and looked with earnest eyes on her companion. "How beautiful thou art, Maria," she said, as she smoothed the soft hair from her brow; "and how fair, and thy cheek like a pale Oleander flower. Alla pity thee, and protect thee!"
"I have rested well," said Maria, smiling; "I do not think we awoke for all the thunder, and now 'tis calm and fresh. When it is time, if thou wilt, we will go abroad for awhile. I am used to do so, alone at Moodgul, for I had many sick people to look after who expected me. Thou art not afraid?"
"Oh, no!" returned the girl. "I, too, have sick people in the village, and I will show them to thee. I am not afraid, and everyone is kind to me, even the rough soldiers salute me; and I had such sweet dreams, Maria. Angels of Paradise seemed to be tending me, and there were flowers around me, and all because I lay in thy arms like a child."
"Would thou wert a child of hers, Zóra," and Maria pointed to a little picture she had hung beneath the crucifix; "but go now, and when thou art ready come for me. See, there is my old servant to help, and I will not delay. And how hast thou passed the night, Joanna?" she asked. "A good day to thee."