‘Then this is why thou wouldst see me,’ exclaimed the old woman; ‘in trouble only Kureena is sure to be sent for and consulted; is it not so?’
‘Thou knowest, for my mother says she has told it you, of the shame, the neglect, the insult, and bitterness which we endure daily. We have no honour as wives—we are as faded flowers, thrown aside for a fresh one which he hath lately taken to his bosom.’
‘Thou art not faded, Kummoo,’ said the crone, patting her cheek; ‘thy hand is soft and warm, thine eye is lustrous and full of fire, thou art not faded.’
‘No, Mashalla! I am not; but cease this trifling: wilt thou aid us? hast thou spells? hast thou blighting, withering curses, to fall on one who has despoiled us of our honour and made us a mockery among women?’
‘Ay, Alla knows!’ joined in Hoormut-bee; ‘wherever I go I am taunted with this shame; one tells me the Khan’s new wife is beautiful—another speaks of the magnificent gifts she has received, and I feel that I could eat my very fingers for shame. Mother, for the sake of the Prophet, aid us!’
‘Thou seest the strait they are in, Kureena,’ said Kummoo’s mother.
‘Can they do like me?’ cried the old woman in a cracked tone; ‘can they keep fasts and do penances to fit them for the work, to make the spells sure? can they dare to be present while these are said in the silence of the night, and when the spirits who obey them are hovering near to receive them?’
The women shuddered; superstitious terror for the moment asserted its full sway over them: but Kummoo’s was a daring spirit.
‘I can, mother!’ she cried, striking her breast; ‘I dare to follow thee, were there a thousand devils in my path, so that I had my revenge.’
The woman peered into her face. ‘I thought I had been stout-hearted myself,’ she said; ‘but, young and ignorant as thou art of this matter, I should have trembled; thou dost not fear?’