That same evening, when Hassan retired to his small sleeping-room, he felt as happy, if not happier, than ever he had felt before: he had rendered to his chief an important service, and had received from him a sword of honour, a trusty blade of the finest Damascus temper, with which he hoped to carve his way to honour, distinction, and Amina.
As the image of the latter rose to view in his imagination, an irresistible impulse led him to close his door, mount the steps which he withdrew from behind his bed, and look through the aperture at the well-known window of his beloved. To his surprise and delight the lattice was open, and he could distinctly see the lovely form and features of Amina as she reposed upon a low ottoman; two candles in high silver candlesticks were on the carpet beside her; no other figure was visible, but Hassan knew that she was not alone, as he heard a voice addressing her in a low tone, which he fancied (although he did not catch a word) he recognised as that of Fatimeh Khanum.
In explanation of the open lattice, it must be remembered that Amina’s apartments were high from the ground, and that on the side of the outer palace on which they looked there was not a single window, save only the aperture made by two displaced bricks, through which Hassan had already drank so many deep draughts of love.
Now he could hear Amina’s sweet voice replying to her companion; but he saw that a kerchief was applied to her eyes, and that she was weeping bitterly. At the same time he thought—nay, he was sure—that he heard his own name uttered by the other speaker. Abhorring even the thought of eavesdropping, he came down from the steps and replaced them behind his bed, on which he threw himself in an agony of conflicting emotion.
“Allah! Allah!” said the unhappy youth. “I have caused her tears to flow for whose happiness I would sacrifice my life.” He then thought of the words of Fatimeh Khanum—of the high destinies reserved for Amina—of his own unknown birth and humble fortune; thence his thoughts passed to the kindness and trusting confidence shown to him by her father. “And shall it be said that I, Hassan, rewarded him by trying to steal the affections of his only daughter, the prop and pride of his old age. Why did I see her lovely face—why did I hear her sweet voice—why did I respond to her song? Allah! Allah! I have done very wrong—I have been blinded, bewitched, deprived of my reason. Ye cursed steps, ye have brought me to this evil.” So saying, he rose in haste, and after ascertaining that there was no one in the passage, he carried out the steps and replaced them in the same corner whence he had first removed them.
More than half the night he spent in framing resolutions to tear the image of Amina out of his breast, or if this proved impossible, as his heart whispered to him it would be, at least to bury it within him, and permit no temptation to induce him to seek a return of his ill-starred passion. “Inshallah! I will never cause her to shed another tear, unless some bullet or lance removes me from the earth, and she drops one on my grave.” With these resolutions Hassan fell asleep and dreamt of Amina.
The Easterns have a proverbial saying, that Fortune when serving Vice rides on an Arab horse, and when serving Virtue rides on a camel,—the moral being that she is generally swift to aid the vicious in their undertakings, whilst she is more slow, though more sure and steady, in aiding those of the virtuous. In illustration whereof it fell out that on the following morning Hassan rose early, and strolled in a musing mood on the road which led along the bank of the river to Boulak: he did not observe that he was followed by two persons at a little distance, an old woman and a man. “That is he,” said the latter in a low voice to his companion, and immediately withdrew.
Hassan walked slowly forward, and just as he came to a part of the road where passengers were few and an unfrequented by-street led from it, he felt his elbow lightly touched by some one from behind, and turning, he saw a woman, respectably dressed and covered with a long black veil, whom he knew at once from her round shoulders and stooping gait to be advanced in years.
“What would you with me?” he inquired.
“I have a message for the private ear of Hassan,” she replied, “if he will accompany me for a few paces up the street”; and without waiting a reply she walked on before him.