“Do you not know that a father has right over his daughter, and in cases of necessity forces her to obey?”
“I know it well, but also know that here compulsion would avail nothing. If I let myself be forced into a marriage with Salim, I should lose all value in his eyes, and so my influence over him would be as nothing. That he himself knows; but he will not think of force. If he did, he would not need your intervention. Akbar’s heir is powerful enough to crush both your will and mine, if he chose.”
Salhana clenched his hands, and impatiently bit his moustache. Beaten on all sides, and by whom? A simple girl, whom until now he had only known as the gentlest and most submissive of daughters. All his great plans and glittering prospects destroyed by this wilful and stubborn child. He who had dreamt not of a viceroyship alone, but to attain to the highest place next to the Emperor. He already saw himself in Agra, next to the throne as Grand Wazir, ruling Prince and land through his daughter; sovereign ruler over kingdoms and peoples—if not in name, at least in reality.
“Well,” he cried at last, as he placed himself in a threatening attitude opposite Iravati; “you will not listen to reason, and you do not fear compulsion; but there may be something that you fear—the curse of a father!”
“The sorrow that is already laid upon me would be increased twofold,” she answered; “but I would strive for courage to bear my burden without faltering. That must happen which is written by fate.”
“You are courageous,” said Salhana, coldly and sarcastically; “or you try to be so. But are you so sure that your obstinacy will not injure this Siddha, whom you acknowledge that you still love, and that the Prince may not avenge your refusal on him?”
The last blow seemed to reach its aim. Iravati, in despair, lifted her hands on high and then let them fall powerless at her side, while her head sank on her breast. With a hateful, triumphant smile, Salhana watched her. The victory at last was his, and the strength of the invincible one broken.
But the proud girl raised her head again, and looking Salhana full in the face, she said, first in a faltering voice, which soon became steady:
“What you have said, Father, is cruel, horribly cruel, and I can scarcely believe that you really mean it. But even should it be a threat in earnest, it has not the power to make me forsake the sacred duty that is laid upon me. If Siddha stood before us, and saw me hesitate, and violate my promise to save him from danger, he would despise me, and thrust me with good right from him. My life I will sacrifice for him, for it is his; but not my honour, that belongs also to him. His death will be mine; but what is fated we cannot avoid. Let vengeance strike the guiltless, but neither Salim nor you will gain anything by it. You will have lost a daughter and your brother a son, that would be all; and your ambition would in no way be advanced. But let us break off a conversation that may end in causing me to lose the respect I owe you. Think, my Father, that I am your daughter, and one of a noble and ancient race, who cannot but be alarmed where duty or honour are concerned,—or the man I love.”
For a moment Salhana stood silently looking at Iravati, standing proudly and almost defiantly before him.