Chapter X.
Surprises.
“How can the name of that woman affect you?” asked Parviz, astonished at Siddha’s strange bearing. “You have not, I trust, fallen in love with Gulbadan at first sight? I would scarcely advise you to do so; although Faizi is goodness itself, he is not always quite gentle where his wife is concerned, with whom he is desperately in love.”
“It was a passing remembrance,” replied Siddha, recovering himself as well as possible, “awakened by that name, but which has nothing to do with Faizi’s wife.”
“So much the better,” rejoined the other; and they silently proceeded on their way.
To be alone, to escape from Parviz as soon as possible,—no other thought occupied his companion, and seeing one of his men walking up and down, “Excuse me,” he said, “but I have to speak with that man, and, thanking you for your pleasant company, I must for the moment say farewell.” And hastily greeting his friend, and beckoning to the horseman to approach, he was soon in conversation with him on subjects connected with the service, but as suddenly broke it off directly Parviz was out of sight. He then hurried on, not minding where his steps carried him, only on and on, thinking and dreaming, as though bewildered with drink. “Gulbadan, Faizi’s wife!” Treachery again, then, though this time involuntary, yet of the worst description, against the man by whom when a stranger he had been received with the utmost kindness, and in whom he had always found the truest of friends, and to whom he owed privileges and favours that no one in his place could have obtained without such protection. Treachery, too, against the Emperor, who had laden him with unexpected and undeserved favours; treachery and shameless faithlessness against her to whom once he had given his heart and pledged his word; and all for the sake of one who had deceived him,—and whom he must despise,—and yet love above everything and for ever. What should he do? Honour and duty spoke loudly,—flight, instant flight, alone could save him. He knew and felt that delay would only again place him on the brink of a bottomless abyss. But to leave her so suddenly, without any preparation, any explanation—she, who, though weak, still loved him; and if she had led him astray, she, too, had sacrificed honour and duty;—would that be acting rightly? would it be fair? was it possible that he could do it?
For a long time Siddha wandered on, not knowing where he went. At last he looked round, and found he was not far from the city, and near the habitation of Rezia—the Rezia of happy days now gone by—and which, as now he remembered, was situated close to Faizi’s villa. Evening began to close in; it was the hour that he was wont to approach the garden wall, and, at a well known signal, to be admitted by the servant. A few moments later he again stood by the wall, gave the signal, and, as the door was opened, hurried in.
Rezia, or rather Gulbadan, was reposing comfortably on a divan by the verandah, little thinking of Siddha, who she imagined was on his way to join the army, when suddenly the man she thought miles away rushed into her apartments.
“How, Siddha!” she cried, starting in alarm to her feet. “I thought you were gone.”
“Rezia, Gulbadan!” said Siddha, with assumed calm, “I know you now; you have deceived me, and the man to whom I owe so much, if not everything. I come to bid you farewell; honour commands me to go, but without flight I know that I could not. To-morrow or to-day I leave Agra, never to see it again, nor you.”