CHAPTER XII.
DANGER.
The journey from Gulburgah to Afzulpoor was altogether a pleasant one to the travellers. The morning they left the city was cloudy and cool, and the soft south-west wind blew refreshingly in their faces as they proceeded. The plain, after the stony environs of the city was passed, was rich and fertile, lying on a gentle slope towards the river Bheema, which ran through its broad valley in a tortuous course; but unseen, as the floods had declined, on account of its high, steep banks. The soil was rich and fertile, and luxuriant crops of jowaree, bajree, and other cereals, with pulse, oil seeds, and mustard, now in bright yellow flower, were pleasant to behold, while the air resounded with songs of the cultivators, who were ploughing and otherwise preparing their fields for the autumn sowing of cotton, the larger jowaree, and other products. With the husbandmen it was the busiest time of the year, and to travellers almost the pleasantest, for the rains had given place to occasional light showery weather, which did not affect the roads, while the fleecy clouds tempered the sun's rays, and the climate was hardly warmer than that of an English summer day. Larks were singing in the air, birds were chirping in every tree, flocks of mynas and paroquets flew cheerily about, and the whole face of nature was joyful. Our old friend was very happy. His excitement was gradually subsiding, and his thoughts were assuming the serenity of his ordinary life. Though he had been raised to the highest spiritual dignity he could receive, yet there was nothing of the zealot or bigot in his nature. If it pleased God, he prayed mentally, to let him remain at Beejapoor, he might by his teaching temper some of the fierce intolerance which he knew used to exist there, and might still continue. He could select some quiet place in which he might make a garden and build a dwelling sufficient for his small requirements; and by services at the great mosque, by public alms, and the donations of the King and nobles of the city, he hoped even to build a small mosque, and establish a school and college, in which he could teach himself, and thus employ his spare time pleasantly and profitably to others. Possibly, also, some quiet, respectable family might propose marriage with Zóra. "They tell me," he murmured to himself, "that she is growing up and is beautiful; but when I asked her whether I should accept the Musháekh's offer on behalf of his nephew at Golconda, which, indeed, appeared to be an offer in every way worthy of her and of me, she wept, and said, 'No! no! no! Abba. Not away from you; I could not leave you. But if it be the will of the Lord that thou stay not at Beejapoor, then do with me as thou wilt.' No, she hath no tie to Beejapoor, no expectation there; so let the issue be as the Lord willeth!"
Perhaps, however, the fair Zóra's thoughts were of a different character. Beejapoor had to her always seemed the goal of her desires. Every one around her, even at the old fort, had always spoken of the city as though they belonged to it. She knew that her father had been an officer in its army, and she had gathered enough from her grandfather to believe that he had once served there, though in what capacity she knew not, and she dare not risk the chance of vexing him by asking. He had promised that one day he would tell her all, and she had left the time to his own inclination; now, however, that they were going there, he might break, perhaps, the long and painful silence. But this was not all. Despite of apparent hopelessness, and no knowledge whatever of Abbas Khan's circumstances, her heart was with him always; and from the news of him she had heard at Gulburgah, she appeared to have gained new hope. He was evidently a man of rank; he was near the King, and if her grandfather went to the King, Meeah would hear of her and inquire about her. She had no idea that he could have forgotten her; that the excitement of war, possibly of some other attachment, might have driven her from his thoughts altogether; or that he might already have been betrothed in his youth. Any or all of such contingencies never occurred to her, and she still believed that she was not forgotten. If it were so, indeed, she would continue as she was, and in the vow of the green dress would be her refuge. Had she not seen others take it at Gulburgah? And Maria, too, she might be there, and be able to direct her. In short, more than ever her goal appeared to be Beejapoor; and though anxious and excited, Zóra was full of hope; which, if it was vague and undefined, still was hope at her heart, that had of late grown more vivid than before.
Mid-day was past, and near a small village there was a garden field, and a well, overshadowed by a huge peepul tree, where the party halted for rest and refreshment. Zóra and Ahmed drew the Syud's small mattress and carpet from the palanquin, and spread them in the shade; and from her stores old Mamoolla produced a cold refection she had prepared at Gulburgah over night. The cool, fresh air and the easy journey had made the old man hungry, and he enjoyed what had been provided very heartily. Zóra had not seen him so cheerful for a long time past, not, indeed, since they had left Juldroog; and it was evident to her that as he neared Beejapoor his hopes grew brighter and clearer; but of what?
"They say, Huzrut," said the leader of the little party of horsemen, "that the ferry-boat at Afzulpoor makes only two trips across the river on each day; one from this side, when travellers arrive about the third watch, and the other from the further side before noon. Now as we cannot reach the town in time to-day, I have, therefore, sent on two of the horsemen to arrange that the boat should wait till you arrive to-morrow, and to send word by the first basket boat crossing that you are coming, and that lodgings are to be prepared for you in Sinnoor, a considerable village, where you will be very comfortable."
"Then we had better move on, perhaps, sir," returned the old Syud. "I am grateful for your thought of me, and the mid-way stage cannot be far distant now."
"It is only a few miles; there is no need to hurry, my lord," was the reply. "It will be only my infinite regret that I shall not be able to take the whole of my party with you to Beejapoor; but it is difficult for horsemen to cross the river when it is full, and we belong to a different Government; the foot soldiers will, however, accompany you. You can get them relieved at Almella, which is customary."
"Once I am there, sir, I think I can send your men back, for I am known, or—or—used to be."