The night was now far spent, and the chill breeze which arose warned us to retire. Indeed Zenat and her mother had done so long before, and we were left to ourselves. Sahib, that was the last night I passed with my beloved, and the whole of our intercourse remains on my memory like the impression of a pleasing dream, on which I delight often to dwell, to conjure up the scenes and conversations of years past and gone—years of wild adventure, of trial, of sorrow, and of crime.
I can picture to myself my Zora as I parted from her on the following morning; I can again hear her protestations of unalterable love, her entreaties that I would soon return to her; and above all I remember her surpassing loveliness, and the look of anguish, I might call it, with which she followed me as I left her, after one long, passionate embrace. These impressions, I say, still linger on a mind which has been rendered callous by crime, by an habitual system of deception, and by my rude intercourse with the world—my deadliest enemy; and they are refreshing and soothing, because I have no wrong toward her to charge myself with. I rescued her; she loved me, and I loved her too; we wanted nought but a longer intercourse to have strengthened that affection, which would have lasted till death. But why should I talk thus? Why should I, a convicted felon and murderer, linger on the description of such scenes and thoughts? Sahib, I have done with them; I will tell you of sterner things—of the further adventures of my life.
I returned to my father; he was not angry at my absence; and I found Mohun Das, the Dullal, closeted with him, and also another sahoukar-looking person. Mohun Das had been eminently successful; the sahoukar I saw was the assistant in a wealthy house who had need of all our goods, and he was come to see them before the bargain was finally closed. They were displayed to him, both goods and jewels; he approved of all, said he would return shortly with an offer for them, and having made a list of the whole he departed.
"Now," said Mohun Das, "about the price; what do you ask?"
"You know better than I do," said my father, "therefore do you speak; and remember, the more they sell for the more you get."
"I have not forgotten your munificence," said the Dullal; "and I say at once the cloths are worth sixteen, and the jewels ten thousand rupees; but you must ask thirty thousand,—you will get twenty-five I dare say."
"It is too little," said my father; "they cost me nearly that sum; and how am I to pay my guards if I get no profit? I shall ask thirty-five for the whole."
"Well," said the Dullal, "if you do, so much the better for me; but mark what I say, you will get no more than my valuation; however, if you will trust me, and leave it to my judgment, I will get a fair price."
"I will; but recollect, twenty-five thousand is the least."
"Certainly," said the Dullal; "I go to do your bidding."