We proceeded about half a coss in this manner, when my father, who had hitherto been a silent spectator, rode up, as I was again vainly endeavouring to persuade the slave to be quiet and to bear with her fate. "This is worse than folly," cried he, "it is madness; and you, above all, Surfuraz Khan, to be enamoured of a smooth-faced girl in such a hurry! What could we do were we to meet travellers? She would denounce us to them, and then a fine piece of business we should have made of it. Shame on you! do you not know your duty better?"
"I'll have no more to say to the devil," said the man on the left of the horse, doggedly; "you may even get her on the best way you can; what with her and the horse, a pretty time I am likely to have of it to the end of the journey;" and he quitted his hold.
"Ay," said I, "and think you that tongue of hers will be silent when we reach our stage? what will you do with her then?"
"Devil;" cried the Khan, striking her violently on the face with his sheathed sword, "will you not sit quiet, and let me lead the horse?" The violence with which he had struck, caused the sword to cut through its wooden scabbard, and it had inflicted a severe wound on her face.
"There," cried my father, "you have spoilt her beauty at any rate by your violence; what do you now want with her?"
"She is quiet at all events," said the Khan, and he led the horse a short distance. But the blow had only partly stunned her, and she recovered to a fresh consciousness of her situation; the blood trickled down her face, and she wiped it away with her hand; she looked piteously at it for an instant, and the next dashed herself violently to the earth.
"One of you hold the animal," cried the Khan, "till I put her up again." But she struggled more than ever, and rent the air with her screams: he drew his sword and raised it over her.
"Strike!" she cried, "murderer and villain as you are, strike! and end the wretched life of the poor slave; you have already wounded me, and another blow will free me from my misery; I thought I could have died then, but death will not come to me. Will you not kill me?"—and she spat on him.
"This is not to be borne; fool that I was to take so much trouble to preserve a worthless life," cried the Khan, sheathing his sword; "thou shalt die, and that quickly." He threw his roomal about her neck, and she writhed in her death agonies under his fatal grasp.
"There!" cried he, quitting his hold, "I would it had been otherwise; but it was her fate, and I have accomplished it!" and he left the body and strode on in moody silence.