‘And if I am married,’ cried the lady, while her large lustrous eyes flashed with the sudden light of passion, and her bosom heaved rapidly, ‘if I am married, what of that? Have I a husband, or one that is less than a man? Have I children, have I love? have I even a companion? Have I not hate where there should be love—barrenness, where children should have blessed me—a rival, whose beauty is the only theme I hear, to insult me? Have I not all these, Sozunbee? Thou hast had children—they have loved thee, their merry prattle hath sounded in thine ears, they have sucked their life from thee. Thou wast ground by poverty, and yet wast happy—thou hast told it me a thousand times. I am rich, young, and beautiful; yet my lord hath no pleasure in me, and I am a reproach among women. Why should I honour him, Sozun? I love—why should I not be beloved? Ya Alla kureem! why should I not be beloved?’
‘It is possible,’ said the dame.
‘Possible!’ echoed the lady, panting with excitement; ‘I tell thee it must be. Listen, Sozun—thou canst be secret; if thou art not, were I turned into the street to-morrow I would dog thee to thy death, and thou well knowest my power is equal to my determination. I love that youth: he is noble, his large eyes speak love, his form is beautiful—Mejnoon’s was not more fair. I could sit and gaze into his eyes, and drink in the intoxication of this passion for ever. Dost thou hear? He must know this; he must feel that I will peril life, fame, all for him. Thou must tell him this, and bring him here, or take me to him,—I care not which.’
‘There will be peril in it, my rose,’ said Sozun.
‘And if there is, dost thou think that would deter me?’ cried Kummoo, in a tone of bitter scorn; ‘were there a thousand more perils than thou, whose blood is now cold, canst see or imagine in my path, I could see none. If thy heart burned as mine doth, Sozunbee,’ she added, after a pause, ‘thou wouldst think on no peril—thou wouldst only see a heaven of bliss at the end—the path between would be all darkness and indifference to thee.’
‘I have felt it,’ said the woman with a sigh.
‘Thou?’
‘Yes, Beebee. I thought no one would have ever known it but he and I; and he long ago died on the battle-field. Thou hast surprised me into confessing shame.’
‘Then thou wast successful?’
‘Even so,’ replied the woman, covering her burning face from the earnest gaze of her mistress. ‘I was young as thou art; he loved me, and we met.’