Hastily traversing a few streets, Sozun stopped at a small door in a wall. ‘This is the place,’ she whispered; and as she said it she felt the arm within hers shake as if with ague.
‘For the sake of the Prophet, let us turn back—it is not too late—I have not knocked—thou art not fit to meet him,’ said the woman in broken sentences.
‘Peace, fool! in a few moments I shall see him; dare I not this? Knock, and say he expects us.’
Thou art a bold woman, thought Sozun, and she knocked loudly. The door was opened instantly; two men stood within.
‘We are expected,’ said Sozun, in a disguised voice, without waiting to be questioned, and they proceeded.
‘The Patél hath good company,’ said one fellow.
‘I marvel at this,’ said the other; ‘I have served him long, and have never known the like of this before.’
The women lost the rest as they passed hastily on. Kummoo’s knees could hardly support her, but she followed Sozun mechanically, her heart beating violently, and her thoughts striving to arrange a few sentences for the interview; vain effort! they rose one upon another in wild confusion, defying retention.
Sozun knew the way; she entered the open verandah and looked through the door into the next apartment; Kasim was there, reading, as she had first seen him. ‘That is he,’ she whispered gently; ‘enter!’
Kummoo was a bold and daring woman, but now her heart almost failed her—for a moment only, however—and she entered and stood before him.