"Ay, sister, and there is more," and he pointed to a heap of letters on the floor; "enough to make one tremble for the result of years of toil and strife with the men of Islam. Listen: Maloosray brought word of their preparations at Beejapoor, and they write that to-day or to-morrow Afzool Khan and his son Fazil, with all the forces at Nuldroog and Sholapoor, and many others, will begin a march upon Wye and Purtâbgurh. What can we do?"
"Is this Moro Trimmul, my brother, who is speaking?" said the girl, with some scorn in her tone, and drawing herself up. "I thought he, like Tannajee and the master, could see no hindrance to the cause of the Holy Mother but death. He used to say so in—in—the old times," she added tenderly.
"The old times?" he echoed. "Yes, the old times, when thou hadst a royal lover, girl; not a drivelling book-worm!"
"Hush, Moro," returned Radha sharply; "no more of that. Thou hast buried it in the marriage, and he is kind to me. Why remember it?"
"Is it to be forgotten? Dost thou forget it, Radha?—then, when we brought thee back from him?"
"He never loved me," she returned; "he could not love a mad child; he told me so when he gently put me away."
"Not for the mad child, but for the beautiful girl, would he care; he does care, Radha. O sister, why was this hateful marriage done, so far away from us?"
"Nay, brother, thou knowest best; but I am content—he is very kind to me; and they all love Radha now, even Anunda."
"Radha," said her brother, raising himself on his arms and looking at her intently, and till his eyes seemed to flash with a light glowing beneath them. "Radha, do not lie. If thou art my sister, thy heart is far away among the blue mountains and their deep forests, and with our Prince. If it be not so, the witchcraft of that house hath compassed thee with a spell, as it has me."