"Not to my home, where I might have been soothed and tended in my agony, but to a cell, while preparations were made to send me away. Some pitying soul—who it was I never knew—gave me water and applied a dressing of cool herbs to my burning eyes; and at nightfall I was despatched hither. What had become of my wife and child I knew not. I remember nothing of the journey, except that I heard the sound of rushing waters, and was told I had reached Juldroog. My eyes healed gradually, but the beautiful world was gone for ever. After some months, when the King was dead, and the Prince Ali Adil Khan had succeeded, my wife and child were sent to me. She said all my wealth had been taken away, but she had secreted some gold, and brought it with her. I sent petitions to the new King, to the Ministers, to every friend I thought I had, for release and for justice; but the seeming friends had only been the companions of prosperity, and not one stretched out a friendly hand. I was told by the Governor then here, Azim Khan, a worthy kind man, that he had been told to forward no further petitions from me, and he exhorted me to bear the will of God with submission.
"I then determined to build a small house near the tomb of the holy Syud, which is yonder among the trees, and make myself its guardian. No objection was made, and I expended what my wife had brought upon it. I directed the observances at the tomb, and the sick came to me for help. In some years my wife and helpmate died. My son Luteef, becoming impatient of a lonely life, went to Beejapoor, and being of a fine presence entered a body of Dekhan horse, where he soon rose. He once came to see me, after many years, and having married, left his wife with me, as she was pregnant, and could not return with him. Luteef told me that he had tried all he could to interest his commander in me, and to procure my release, but failed. I had been forgotten. Not long after we heard that my son had fallen in a great battle, and his wife, being taken in the pangs of labour, brought forth Zóra; and I was left with a helpless infant, who is now growing up, and is the prop of my remaining years, many or few, as Alla will. I have lived here forty years!"
"But surely," said the young man, earnestly, "justice is not dead in the kingdom; and though more than a reign is past, some of those old friends are living. Surely the noble Queen Chand would interfere in such a case as this, father; and she hath ever been like a mother to me since I was an orphan; and my uncle, too, Humeed Khan, who hath overcome Eyn-ool-Moolk, the traitor, who died in battle, and must be in favour. Ah! do not despair, for my heart tells me we shall yet meet in happiness."
"It is not for myself, for they give me all I need, and more," returned the old Syud, "but for the child that I would fain be free. Who is to tend her as she grows up? And if I died, who would shelter her? What would be her fate alone? Ah, thou knowest well that such as she, poor and unfriended, are little respected. She is no longer a mere child, running wild and free among the people. No, as yet she hath gone everywhere unveiled and unfettered; but she hath learned no evil, no breath of evil thought hath touched her pure mind, but I cannot but feel that she is in danger. Wilt thou make one promise to me, Abbas Khan? Thy grandfather was a loved friend once, and Alla seems to have sent thee to me. If I should die, wilt thou rescue this poor child from want, if not from infamy?"
"I will, father, else I were false and ungrateful both to thee and to her. I would she were present that I might tell her so myself!"
"Nay! it were better not," returned the old man, gravely. "I will tell her as much as I need to do, and she will rely on thy truth and honour as I do. And now depart, for the evening is closing fast, and the road is not smooth. Rest peacefully to-night, and the Padré shall attend thee early to-morrow. For the rest, fear not; the talisman will keep thee from harm."
For many days there was no change in the daily life; the old Syud made his ministrations at the Saint's tomb; the priest laboured at his translation, and now and then visited his patient, in whom he had taken much interest. From him he had heard no ribaldry or banter, like that of the Nawab's, but was treated with respect and consideration; and Abbas Khan only awaited answers to letters from the capital, and the priest's permission to proceed. With renewed health his illusions had ceased, and he longed for the bustle and stir of the capital, and the chances of employment in the field. An event, too, which seemed unavoidable, was to happen—his own marriage to one to whom he had been betrothed in childhood; a thought which he detested, but of this more hereafter.
It will not be doubted that Maria and Zóra had become fast friends. Maria did not feel the time pass wearily. She had copies to make of her brother's daily work; she continued her embroidery and her lace-work, in which she was particularly skilful, and she taught it to Zóra, as she in turn admired the girl's own industry and its effects. The illumination of her manuscripts was also a delightful occupation, at which Zóra used to marvel greatly; but it was Maria's music that was her greatest attraction. The chanting of their morning and evening services was listened to even by the old Syud with delight, and by Zóra with positive rapture. Often, too, would Maria sing the sweet ballads of her country, and play on her guitar, and was surprised at Zóra's quick ear, and the readiness with which she learned to play simple airs and accompaniments. So it was again a peaceful time to all; and letters came from Moodgul bidding the Padré to be patient, and they were generally accompanied by baskets of ripe mangoes and sweetmeats from the Nawab's children. The old deacon, too, and some of his people had come also, and told how Dom Diego had become morose and sullen; how he often neglected the services of the church; and, it was reported by his servant, drank too much strong wine at night. How the garden was flourishing, and, indeed, the mangoes he brought were delicious.
Thus a month had passed at Juldroog; the floods had come and gone, and come again; and so departed: but Maria never endeavoured to reach the gun bastion, or to enter the precincts of the fort. She had no desire to encounter the claws of a panther again, and, above all, she feared the licentious look of the Governor, whom she might meet at any time. Even Zóra failed to persuade her to revisit the place she had seen, and ceased to urge it. At home they had ample employment: the flowers were tended in the little garden, the vine and the fig-tree were pruned by the priest after the Portuguese manner, and for a morning or evening stroll they had the lower end of the island, where the grass was now green, and filled with pretty wild flowers, and the lovely wild oleanders were in full bloom.
Neither of the young men came down from their airy pinnacle except once, when they went to hunt on the left bank of the river, and to meet Runga Naik, whom Abbas Khan desired to see; for when he returned to Beejapoor, whom could he trust to send him intelligence of the Syud's death if it occurred? who could protect Zóra? But Runga Naik, who resided within a few miles, whose men served in the fort, would be sure to know everything. Taking him aside, then, as all were resting for a while, Abbas Khan easily obtained his promised co-operation.