Gradually therefore the Khan was brought to comprehend the whole matter; and, as it ought, his thankfulness towards the young Kasim increased at every explanation. It is not to be supposed, however, that he was the less anxious about her who had been saved; he had been with some difficulty restrained from at once proceeding to the Patél’s house, and desisted only when Daood and his companion declared that such a proceeding would be attended with risk to the lady. She too had been assured that he was safe, they said; and in this comforting certainty, overcome by fatigue and excitement, she had fallen asleep.
‘But that is no reason why my lord should not come to my poor abode,’ said Kasim; ‘this open room is ill-suited to so damp a night, and my lord has been wet.’
‘I need but little pressing,’ he replied, and rose to accompany him.
Arrived at the house, which, though only a large cabin, was yet of superior extent and comfort of appearance to the rest in the village, the Khan found that every preparation the inmates had in their power had been made for him. A carpet was spread, and upon it was laid a comfortable cotton mattress; this was covered with a clean fine sheet, and some very luxurious pillows placed against the wall invited him to repose.
Fatigue rapidly asserted its mastery over even the Khan’s iron frame. He had been assured by Kasim’s mother that his lady slept sweetly, and, an ample repast concluded, he attempted for a time to converse with the young Patél, but without much success.
The young man took in truth but little interest in the replies. The Khan himself was abstracted; sleep gradually overpowered him, and he sunk down upon the bedding in total unconsciousness after a short time.
After seeing him covered, so as to prevent the cold and damp coming to him, the young Patél left him to the care of Daood, and withdrew. His own bedding was in an inner room of the house, near to the apartments of the women, and his mother heard him gently pass to it, and joined him ere he had lain down.
‘My blessings on thee, my brave boy!’ cried the old lady, melting into tears at the mingled thoughts of what might have been her son’s danger, and his gallant conduct; ‘my blessing and the blessing of Allah on thee for this! thou art thy father’s son indeed, and would that he were alive to have greeted thee as I do!’
‘It is of no use regretting the dead now, mother: what I did I am glad of,—and yet I could not have done otherwise; though I thought of thee, mother, when I cast myself into the raging waters: thou wouldst have mourned if Allah had not rescued me and her. But tell me,’ he continued, to avert the old lady’s exclamations at the very thought of his death, ‘tell me, by your soul,—say, who is she? she is fair as a Peri, fair as a Houri of the blessed Paradise; tell me if thou knowest whether she is his wife, or—or—’
‘His daughter, thou wouldst say, my son.’