‘It is her beauty which makes that old dotard fond of her,’ said Kummoo. ‘For she has no spirit—she is like a sheep; if that were blighted, he would shake her off at once.’
‘Is there no means of turning him from her?’ said Hoormut, drawing nearer; ‘you, my mother, once said you had a woman servant who was wise and could command spells; could she not aid us?’
‘She is ill,’ said the old lady; ‘then she was well. She was preparing the incantations necessary for her purpose when the Khan left this on service; they have been neglected since then, but she may be able to resume them. I will inquire of her.’
‘Couldst thou not send for her, mother?’ said Kummoo.
‘She is ill—nevertheless she may come. Yes, let the palankeen go, and here is my ring: let her know that she is wanted.’
Kummo hurried to the door, and dispatched a slave with the ring and a message in her mother’s name: they soon heard the bearers depart.
Not much conversation passed till the return of the palankeen, for the subject was not an agreeable one to any of them, and the ladies had nothing but their own fancied insults and neglects to reflect upon. At last the palankeen arrived, and they soon had the satisfaction to behold the old woman hobble into the room, supporting herself on a stick.
Kummoo and the other flew to assist her. ‘Welcome, mother!’ cried both; ‘your coming is happiness, may your steps be fortunate!’
‘Alla kureem!’ sighed the old woman, as she sank down on some soft cushions which had been spread for her. ‘Alla kureem! I bless the Prophet and the Imaums and the spirits of good that I am here in safety; it is a fearful thing for one so old to venture forth. Art thou well, Kummoo-bee?’ she asked, peering into her face with her yellow eyes, and into Hoormut’s also, who now sat by her.
‘As well as may be, mother,’ said the girl, ‘when I am not loved nor honoured in my house; hast thou no charm to preserve the love of men—none to destroy a rival?’