A NOBLE QUEEN:
A ROMANCE OF INDIAN HISTORY.

BY
MEADOWS TAYLOR,
C.S.I., M.R.A.S., M.R.I.A., &c.
AUTHOR OF 'SEETA,' 'TARA,' AND OTHER TALES.

'O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd!'
Antony and Cleopatra, act i. sc. iii.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1878.

(The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.)

TO
HIS EXCELLENCY
MOOKHTAR-OOL MOOLK
SIR SALAR JUNG BAHADUR, G.C.S.I.
THE EMINENT AND ACCOMPLISHED STATESMAN
AND
LEADER OF ALL THE ADVANCING CIVILIZATION OF THE DEKHAN
THIS WORK,
ILLUSTRATIVE OF A PORTION OF ITS HISTORY,
IS DEDICATED
BY HIS FAITHFUL FRIEND,

MEADOWS TAYLOR.

INTRODUCTION.

The favour with which my former Indian tales have been received has induced me to write another, in illustration of one of the most important epochs in the history of the Dekhan. The character of the noble Queen Chand Beebee is still popular in the country; and her memory is reverenced, not only as the preserver of Beejapoor, but for the heroic resistance she made to the Moghul armies in their first invasion of the Dekhan and siege of Ahmednugger. The whole circumstances relating to the Queen, upon which this tale has been founded, are detailed in the history of Mahomed Kasim Ferishta, and can be read and verified in the translation of that work by the late Major-General Briggs.

Meadows Taylor.

Old Court, Harold's Cross, co. Dublin.
August 27, 1875.

CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.

Errata.

A NOBLE QUEEN.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.
THE CATARACT OF THE KRISHNA.

Queen Elizabeth reigned in England. In the Dekhan, King Boorhan Nizam Shah ruled over Ahmednugger, and King Ibrahim Adil Shah II. over the kingdom of Beejapoor. They were rivals.

It was a fiery day in the end of the month of May 159-, when a small party of horsemen, evidently weary from long travel, were passing over the plains which lie north of the Krishna river. They carefully avoided village and road tracks, and kept a steady course eastward across the cultivated and uncultivated ground which seemed well known to them. There were no hedges, as the fields are unenclosed, except near the villages; and there were no trees, except distant clumps here and there, which marked the site of a village or hamlet, or perchance a lonely Mussulman shrine or Hindoo temple.

Nothing could be more dreary or desolate in appearance than the landscape; every green thing had long ago been burnt up; the soil was for the most part black and cracked; and the fields, which had been or were being ploughed, were broken into large clods, over which the tired horses strained with difficulty.

Beyond the river Krishna, which lay at a few miles' distance to the right hand, was a small cluster of hills, and directly before them a continuation of the range, which seemed to be broken in the middle by a gap; but the hills themselves were continually distorted by the hot wind and mirage, which had effect on everything about them.

Trees suddenly appeared to start up, which dwindled into bushes as the party approached them; villages, with their walls and roofs of white slaty limestone, rose into seeming palaces, glittering in the sun, and disappeared; lakes of water seemed to gather together, and again vanish under the fierce blasts of the burning wind, which carried with it at times clouds of choking dust. Men and bullocks ploughing were seen for a moment, then rose quivering and misshapen into the air, and vanished under an increased blast.

Now and then the droning song of the ploughmen came upon them in snatches, borne by the wind, and again ceased, and there was no sound except the plaintive whistle of the red plover, as flocks ran swiftly over the ground, the shrill chirrup of grasshoppers, or the wail of the lapwing when it was disturbed and flew away. Occasionally large lizards with red throats raised their heads stupidly as the party passed them, or the small blue-throated species looked pertly from its position on a stone or high clod, puffed out its beautiful azure neck, and whistled a defiant note as it beheld the unusual sight, or darted into the hole or crack in which it lived, and was seen no more.

Over ploughed fields flocks of crows or white storks, with their beaks wide open, searched among the newly-turned clods for insects, and rose up with harsh cries and flew away before the mirage, and were soon lost to view; or trembling in the hot air took a short flight and settled again. Here and there a small river bed or a brook suggested a pool of water or thread of stream, at which the horses and men could quench their thirst; but they stayed rarely for this, and pursued their way with all the speed, a quick amble, that their horses were capable of.

In truth, painful to endure as it undoubtedly was, this hot wind and mirage had proved to be their preserver from capture, and probably death. The times were lawless and fierce; party feeling ran high in the Dekhan kingdom, and partizans showed little mercy to each other in the civil war then raging. Early that morning a small force of cavalry in the service of the King of Beejapoor had started on its way to join one of the main bodies of the Royal army on its march to subdue the rebellion of the Prince Ismail, the King's younger brother. But the rebellion was, in fact, that of Eyn-ool-Moolk, the ex-Prime Minister, who in putting forward the young prince had trusted to regain his old influence and power. Nor did this seem at all improbable, as he was certain of the assistance of the King of Ahmednugger and his powerful armies, in order to pay off scores with his cousin of Beejapoor.

It was necessary, therefore, for Beejapoor to send all the troops at its disposal to quell the insurrection which had begun at Belgaum, and the party of cavalry under the young Abbas Khan, which had held a frontier outpost, being ordered to join a larger division, had been pushing on incautiously that morning before daylight, when it was attacked suddenly by an overwhelming force, and, after losing half its number on the field, was forced to fly. Many more were pursued, and captured or slain; many followed their brave young leader, occasionally showing front to their pursuers; but they gradually fell off, and only the four best mounted remained. Even they had had a narrow escape. From the brow of an undulation they had caught the glint of spears on the plain below, while they had also been seen in their elevated position, and were pursued with fresh ardour; but as they plunged into the hot waves of mirage, then beginning to blow, they had been concealed by it, or their figures so distorted that they could not be recognised.

We have no concern in this tale with the progress of the rebellion, or its sudden collapse after the death of Eyn-ool-Moolk, its instigator, and have only mentioned it incidentally to account for the flight of the small party whom we are following.

They seldom spoke one to another, for their heads were muffled in folds of cotton cloth, and the cotton sheets they usually carried on their saddles were now thrown over their persons to keep off the fierce heat of the sun. It was evident that two of them were wounded; and exhausted by the heat and loss of blood, could barely sit their horses. One of these was the young leader of the party, Abbas Khan, who occasionally reeled in his saddle as if about to faint from weakness, but again revived by a drink of water from a companion's leathern bottle, rallied bravely, and the march was resumed as before.

Abbas Khan, the nephew of Humeed Khan, and his adopted son, was, perhaps, twenty-five years old, or it might be less. His dress of Genoa velvet, braided with gold, was rich and handsome, but frayed with perpetual use, as were also the crimson velvet saddle-cloth and housings. On his head he wore a steel morion with a spike at the top, covered partly with padded velvet flaps, which fell over his ears and part of his neck behind, and were protected by small scales of steel; and a steel bar, as part of the morion itself, projected over his forehead, and was covered with velvet as the side pieces. Long Persian boots of soft leather, embroidered in coloured silk, greaves of padded velvet, strengthened by steel scales, covered his thighs, and steel gauntlets, richly inlaid with gold, defended his wrists and his arms up to his elbow; a waistband of a rich green muslin scarf, the brocaded ends of which were tied at his right side, partly supported his sword, which hung from a baldrick embroidered with gold, crossing his breast.

It was the handsome dress of a Dekhan cavalier of the period, and there was not a braver, nor as yet one more distinguished, than the young Abbas Khan. For the times were rough. Insurrections and rebellions were the normal condition of the country, and especially of the capital; while from Ahmednugger on the north, and Beeder and Golconda on the east, the frontier was rarely or ever secure. Often, indeed, great leagues were made among the rival Sovereigns, and large armies sent into the field, when heavy actions were fought with terrible slaughter. Abbas Khan's service had always been in frontier posts, and his daring character and athletic frame urged him to undertake perilous enterprises, with little heed as to the possible results; indeed, he seemed to have no perception of danger, nor thought but to strike a blow against an enemy whenever he might appear. Rash to a degree, his uncle had refused him a command in his own army lest by his indiscreet valour he might compromise the effect of military skill; but he had no wish to curb the young man too much, and as the best experience was to be gained in frontier service, he had from time to time committed important posts to his nephew's charge.

Those who had escaped with him from the skirmish at Kórla were his own retainers; but they had, as we know, fallen behind from exhaustion, wandered into other paths, or taken refuge in villages. There were only three left—one, by name Jumal, as badly wounded as the young leader himself, who with difficulty kept his seat. He was the Khan's standard-bearer, and still carried the small green pennon he had defended so bravely in the fight. The second was Yasin, an attendant of his own; the third Runga, a chief of the Beydurs of the country to the eastward, a tall grim-looking Hindoo, who acted as guide. All were well mounted, but the hardy, active horse of the Beydur was perhaps the freshest.

The day was now declining, and the furious wind had somewhat fallen, but still blew in occasional gusts, accompanied by clouds of dust; but the wounded men could barely hold out, and there were drops of blood oozing from the bandages with which the Khan's chest and left arm had been hastily bound up, while the pressure of the velvet coat, soaked in blood, which had dried hard and adhered to a part of the wound, was exquisitely painful.

The Beydur saw that it was so, and tried to cheer his young master, saying in his rough Canarese tongue, which the Khan understood perfectly, "Fear not, Abbas Khan, fear not, an hour hence thou wilt be safe in the fort. See, the trees of Nalutwar are already behind us, and my own hills are growing more and more distinct amidst the haze and dust. Cheer up, and set thy teeth like a true soldier as thou art; I say another coss and thou art safe among my people, and the wound shall be dressed again. And thou, too, Jumal, we will care for thee also. Faint not, man, but keep a good heart."

"I do not like the ceasing of the wind so suddenly," said Yasin Khan; "if the rebels were to see us now, we should have a poor chance for life."

"We could at least die like soldiers," was the Khan's reply. "It was my rashness which caused this disaster and the loss of so many of our poor fellows! May God forgive me, for I fear my uncle will not; and to your fidelity I owe my life, O friends; may Alla reward ye. Yes, I will hold out, if the bleeding will let me, but even now the ground swims before my eyes. Give me some more water, for I thirst." And after a long draught from the leathern bottle, the young man settled himself afresh in his saddle, spoke cheerily to his horse, and pressed on again.

They had not proceeded more than a mile when several men sprang out of a thicket and rushed towards the Beydur chief, whose feet they kissed with passionate tears and cries of joy. "Oh, thou art safe, thou art safe," was all they could find words to say. "We heard thou wert dead, lying on the field by Kórla, and some have gone to seek thee there."

"Peace," cried the chief, laughing. "See, children, I am unharmed and safe."

"But there is danger," cried several. "A party of the rebel horsemen have tracked ye, and are near us now. Can ye not ride faster? once within the pass and ye are safe. Ride on, we will follow."

"On your lives," returned the chief, "stop them there. Keep yourselves close within the brushwood, and fire at them as ye can. Their horses are as weary as our own, and can do little. Ye can defend the mouth of the Cháya Bhugwuti; or, if they are many, ye may entice them into the hills on the main road."

"And what would ye do by the Cháya Bhugwuti? Do ye not know, master, that Mother Krishna is running full, and ye cannot get refuge in the fort?"

"Ha!" cried the chief, "is it so indeed? and when did this happen? We did not hear the mother."

"About noon," was the reply of several. "She comes down before her time. Listen!"

As the man spoke, a deep hollow sound fell upon their ears. The wind blowing from the west, along the course of the great river, had prevented this sound reaching them before; but there could be no mistake now, and on passing a small eminence they saw the river in flood, from bank to bank, rushing rapidly along; while in the gap of the hill before them rose a column of mist, which increased as the wind lulled, and again was blown away as a gust came down the river.

"If there were time," said the leader of the new party with his men, who were running beside the horses, "ye should turn by the upper road, and make straight for Korikul, but it is too late now for that; and how are ye to cross the river?"

"Let us reach Narrainpoor first, and we will see to that," said Runga, quietly. "Away, some of ye, to Narrainpoor, and tell the fishermen to go on to the lower ferry with their gear. Their lives shall answer for the young Khan's if there be any delay, and I, Runga, declare it. Tell Krishna, the barber, to have his needles ready; there may be time to dress the Khan's wound. Ye remember him, children, how he slew the panther with his sword, and how ye all worshipped him. Away! we have to save his life; no matter what the flood is, we shall be cowards if we do not place him in the fort ere the sun sets."

The men he spoke to were Beydurs like himself. Indeed, Runga was not only a chief but a relative of the Rajâh of the Clan, then a very powerful one, which could bring twenty thousand men into the field. Runga Naik held the lower part of the western frontier with horse and footmen, and had been summoned to join the young Khan according to the tenor of his service to the State. He was a true adherent, not only because of his service, but because of his love for and admiration of the Khan, and this was shared by the people. It would be disgrace indeed if aught happened to Abbas Khan or his followers; and at their chief's appeal several of them dashed forward in the direction of the hollow booming sound and cloud of mist.

They were fleet of foot, and admirably equipped for tough frontier service. On their heads they wore conical caps of leather, which drew in by a string round the forehead and temples. Each wore loose leather drawers reaching as far as the knee, with a red waistband of strong stuff, and pliant sandals completed their costume. Some had sword and shield, with a knife in the girdle; others carried long matchlocks, with the powder-horns and bullet-bags hanging at their waists. Among rocks and brushwood they were invisible, and as the aspect of the country had suddenly changed, there were now granite rocks and brushwood enough to conceal a host of such men as they.

"Some of us had better stop here," cried the leader of the footmen, as they approached a small pass in the hill, "and wait for the rebel dogs if they come up."

"Do so, my sons," replied the leader, "but do not fire unless they make an attempt to pass you. And now, Khan," he said to the young man, as he pointed out a small village with some green rice fields around it, "that is Narrainpoor, and I vow an offering to Cháya Bhugwuti herself, if she allow us to pass her in safety. Cheer up now, and keep thy heart thankful, for all danger is past."

It was well, indeed, that the refuge was near, for Abbas Khan was past speech. He was faint and sick, reeling in his saddle at every stumble of his noble horse in the rough ground. Often he had patted its neck and encouraged it by his voice; and met with a response in a low whinny and a toss of the head; but now horse and rider were alike exhausted. The young Khan was conscious of nothing but a dull booming sound in his ears, which increased every moment, yet he clung instinctively to the saddle, and his standard-bearer's powerful arm alone had prevented him from falling to the ground for the last few miles. He had heard the Beydur's last speech with only a dim consciousness of what it meant, but he smiled faintly, and pointed to his wound, and to his mouth, which was parched, and was becoming swollen. Then Runga Naik dashed forward and returned with a number of men and a low bedstead; the young Khan was placed upon it, and borne gently into the village, while his charger was cared for by kindly men, who allowed him to nibble mouthfuls of the fresh green rice, as he passed on.

"See whom I have brought you, Bheemajee," said the Naik. "'Tis Abbas Khan, our young master, and a brave one too; therefore assist him, for he is badly wounded, and, notwithstanding, hath ridden through this fearful day without a murmur, true soldier as he is: but now he has fainted at last. Where is Krishna, the barber? He must see to the wound directly."

"I am here, Maharaj," said that functionary, stepping forward. "Show me the wound, and I will do what is needful."

They stripped him as he lay unconscious on the bed, and the stiff velvet coat being carefully removed, as well as the heavy steel morion, and his head bathed with cool water, the young man sat up, and at first looked wildly about him.

"Ul-humd-ul-Illa," said the standard-bearer, piously. "He wakes from his trance, and will live; but I thought he would have died."

"Not this time, friend," said the Khan, faintly enough, but with a cheery smile. "How much farther have we to go? Let me mount again and get on; we have yet far to ride, and I feel strong and well already."

"You are among my people now," cried Runga Naik, cheerily; "no more riding, and the fort is nigh at hand, where you will be safe for a long rest. Fear not, therefore; old Krishnajee will dress your wound, and they are cooking some kicheri. Praise to the gods! you are safe, my noble master!"

Then the barber performed his duty skilfully and tenderly. The wound was long, extending from the left breast across the left arm, and had bled much, but was not very deep. A few stitches were put into it to keep the lips together, a poultice of green herbs, carefully mashed, was placed over it, and a few bandages completed the simple dressing, which was borne, though it had been exquisitely painful, without a murmur.

The other wounded man was treated in the same manner, but he was weaker, and his wound was deeper, and a Mussulman fakeer who was present took charge of him carefully.

It was surprising to see how the young Khan had rallied; but his great strength of frame and vigorous constitution enabled him to conquer at last the weakness that had overtaken him, and after a slight but grateful meal, he professed himself ready to go on.

But now the old Patell interfered. "The mother river is raging," he cried; "do not ye hear her? and, indeed, the thunder of the cataract has increased as the wind fell. No one could attempt to cross the rapids below and live. My sons, be not mad! and let the lives the gods have spared rest here with us in safety. Go not to certain death!"

"Peace, Bheemajee!" returned Runga Naik, somewhat scornfully. "I have crossed the rapid myself when it was worse than it is now, and the mother has done me no harm. I tell thee there is no time to delay. Hark! dost thou hear that—and that? The enemy are at the pass, and there are only twelve men to hold it. Burma will not let them through if he can help it; but if they are many he must fail, and we perish. Ho! my sons," he cried to the people around, "who will swim with me across the ford? do ye fear?"

With a shout and yell, such as Beydurs only can give, a number of stout young fellows answered the appeal and ran for their bundles of gourds, which were always ready. "We are your children," they said, touching their master's feet and the Khan's; "we will take you over, and fear not. Let us go now. There is an hour's good light, and we can remain in Juldroog and cross by the lower ferry in the boat. Come!"

It was indeed time, for the first few shots in the pass seemed to be followed up by others, and the shouts and shrieks of the Beydurs sounded closer. "Away with ye," cried the Beydur Naik to the men who had accompanied him; "tell Burma to hold the pass with his life for half an hour, then to retreat to the Cháya Bhugwuti, and hold that till death, if needs be." And as the men departed, the Khan's bed was taken up, the horses sent on before, and the little procession, leaving the village, proceeded at as rapid a pace as the rugged ground would permit.

"If the pass is forced," said Runga to the Patell, "keep the wounded man safely concealed, and bring what men ye have to the entrance of Cháya Bhugwuti, and all of ye defend that. If Burma and his people are safe, fire two shots down the ravine over the ford, and we shall know what they mean."

"May the Mother guide you, my lord," said the old man piously. "I vow a sacrifice to Cháya Mata if she let you pass safely."

The path was narrow and intricate, among huge masses of granite rock, which sometimes almost blocked the way. It would have been impossible to have ridden through it. Suddenly Runga Naik stopped.

"You would like, perhaps, to see the nymph in her fury," he said, "and you can do that without walking. Come on to the edge," he said to the bearers of the Khan's litter, "and set it down on the terrace." The men did so, and Abbas Khan beheld a scene which, from its combined grandeur and beauty, struck him with utter amazement.

The terrace of rock was level, and his bed had been set down on the very edge. At first he closed his eyes, for he hardly dared to look on the turmoil of waters below him; but the tall figure of Runga Naik was even nearer the fearful precipice, and he seemed to stand unmoved. "Wait a little, Khan Sahib," he said in his strong, manly voice; "wait till a gust of wind drives away this blinding mist, and thou wilt see it all." And almost as he spoke the spray, driven by the wind, passed to the other side of the chasm, slowly unveiling by degrees the noble cataract, which he could now see nearly from the top, whence the water of the mighty river precipitated itself—to the bottom, where it was still partially veiled with spray. The river was full from bank to bank, and about a quarter of a mile, perhaps indeed more, in breadth, and fell from point or step to step of the incline of four hundred feet with a fearful crash and clamour. In no part of its course, except one, was the rock perpendicular, but it was broken by huge masses of rock which showed their tops only in a few places. The steps of the whole incline were in irregular portions, which caused breaks in the fall and added to its sublimity. Here and there the action of the water had hollowed out large deep holes, which now and again spouted forth columns of water and spray to a surprising height, and fell back with a roar and splash with marvellous effect. The whole was a seething, roaring mass, which dazzled his eyes and, weak as he was, overpowered his senses, and he sank back almost fainting; but he rallied directly, and again the Beydur chief spoke.

"The pool is clear, Meeah," he said. "See, it is like all the horses in the world tossing their manes and fighting."

It was, indeed, a frightful place to look upon. At his feet, as it seemed, in a wide pool at the foot of the fall, the tremendous masses of water falling into it met other currents and eddies of equal power, and dashing together raised enormous waves which met in innumerable shocks, and cast their spray high into the air, whirling, foaming, breaking, with inconceivable violence and grandeur almost impossible to look on with a steady eye for a moment together. Yet the Beydur, to whom the scene was familiar, beheld it with a serene gravity.

"This is the nymph in her fury," he said, "and we worship her, and cast flowers and our simple offerings into her bosom to appease her. When it is past we can wander over the rocks and make offerings at the holy pools, which now vomit forth the columns of water you see rising, and the pool now so fearful to look upon is as still as a lake. Come, you have seen enough."

But the Khan was fascinated. "A little while more, and I shall be ready," he said. "The first shock of the sight was almost too much for me, but now I am calmer, and I would watch awhile."

The sun had become low in the heavens, and the slanting beams of his light played over the boiling water with exquisite effect. The terror of the cataract had passed away, and only its beauty remained. Although the water was yellow and muddy, yet the rosy light played among every giant stream, or tiny portion of the vast fall, causing rainbows to appear, to vanish, and to re-appear in every part of the spray on which the sun shone. No one could count them: some remained steady for an instant, then broke to pieces; some were seen only to disappear; while beneath them the stupendous rushes of water from the great holes, rising in perpetual changes, seemed hung with these lovely garlands ever varying. The banks of the chasm were huge piles of granite rock, covered with trees and brushwood, which seemed to bend in homage to the genius of the place, and they were all now lighted up with roseate tints, while the deep shadows of the ravine increased the beauty and solemnity of the scene.

"Enough!" cried the young Khan, after a silence of some minutes. "My soul is full of it. And such are the powers and works of the Lord of Might! Yet no one had told me of this most wonderful sight. Lead on, friend. I shall not forget what I have seen. This is, indeed, a land of wonders. And is yon roaring torrent to be crossed?"

"Even so," said his guide. "The Holy Mother will protect us if we are brave and trust to her. The water is smooth at the ferry though it is rapid, and we need to be careful. A hundred times have I crossed it alone, with only a few gourds tied to my back; but my lord is precious, and we have made every preparation."

Then the bed was taken up and carried on along the almost level top of the bank of the ravine, but the way became more difficult and intricate as they proceeded. Presently, as they emerged from behind a great cluster of rocks piled one upon another, as it were by mortal hands, the noble fort of Juldroog appeared. At first it seemed to belong to the rocky range on which the party were proceeding, but after a little time the Khan saw that it was detached and stood alone. It was a lofty hill, consisting of the same granite rocks as the range, and in its natural state must have been almost inaccessible; but it had been strengthened by bastions and curtains wherever they could be placed, and had been made a perfectly impregnable citadel. The house of the commander surmounted all, and from its roof flew the Royal standard of Bejapoor. The sun shone brightly upon the rocks, the brushwood, and the massive fortifications, and seemed to soften and harmonise their rugged details, and the young Khan looked eagerly to his place of refuge and his cousin's pleasant society with a degree of feverish anxiety, which was the consequence of his wound as well of the exhausting day he had gone through.

Now the bearers began to descend a narrow pass in the bank, which was traversed with difficulty, even by men; but the people who carried him were sure footed, and performed their task steadily and successfully. At the foot was a small portion of green sward, on which some persons were resting, with a bed smaller than that the Khan had been carried upon, with, as it seemed, piles of dry gourds tied to its legs and sides.

From this spot the view of the fort was even more impressive than from above. It appeared to rise like a cone to the height of five hundred feet or more; a pile of masses of granite, built up by Titans, but softened by foliage and brushwood. The bastions, which from above seemed to be part of the fort itself, now projected from the rocks in bold relief against the reddened sky, and the sun, shining down the river, lighted the waters with a soft red glare, which rested upon the fort and the mountains beyond with a rich, but lovely, effect. Before them the channel they had to pass was hardly more than a bowshot across, but the current, though smooth, was very rapid, and the water passed in undulations, either caused by masses of rock beneath or by its own inherent force. These undulations were regular, and nowhere formed breakers. Already they saw the walls beyond and the beach, filling with people to watch their progress; but even the powerful voice of the Beydur chief could not be heard, and, taking a brass horn from one of the men, he blew a loud blast, with a peculiar quivering note at the end of it, which was answered at once from the fort.

"Ah! they know my signal, you see, Khan, and now we shall have thy cousin to welcome thee. Come, the raft is ready, Bismilla!"

Runga Naik had divested himself of his dress and arms, and placed only his sword upon the frail raft, where the Khan's dress and arms were also bestowed. The horses and the Khan's followers had been sent by the upper path to the village of Jernalpoor, and would rest there till the flood subsided. And all was now ready.

"Stay," cried the Beydur, "I would fain hear that my people are safe, and I have arranged the signal. Hark!"

Almost as he spoke two shots were discharged from the upper pass, and he knew that the enemy's attack had been repulsed. "Bismilla!" he exclaimed, as he sat astride between two piles of gourds, united by a broad and strong horse-girth, "one cannot be drowned with such as these. Now, my sons, take the Khan up gently, and place the bed in the water—wait my signal, and let the next wave pass by. Now!" he shouted, as one of the waves of the current, passing by, broke on the pebbly beach. "Now, for your lives, Jey Mata!" "Jey Mata!" was repeated by the ferrymen, and the little raft shot out with the vigorous strokes of the swimmers into the stream.

The passage was not without extreme danger, for the power of the current was immense and carried them down a long distance, and the young Khan, as the banks seemed to shoot past him, and the raft was whirled round and round with great velocity, almost gave up hope that the stream would be passed; but the Beydur cried to him not to fear, for all danger was over; and, in any case, resigning himself, like a good Moslim, to his fate, he saw, after a time that appeared to him interminable, that the raft was urged into a backwater, and men on the bank flung ropes to them, by which the shore was soon gained.

"Well done! well done!" cried a manly voice from a crowd of soldiers. "I say, well done, Runga Naik, 'tis like thee to do a feat of daring like that; but whom hast thou there? By the Prophet, but I should know his face. Abbas Khan! brother! how comest thou here in such a woful plight; and wounded, too?"

"It is no time to ask questions of him now, my lord," said the Beydur; "but for that ugly wound he would be as strong and fresh as I am; but you see he has been bleeding all day in the hot wind, and has been often insensible, and seems to have fainted again. Yet run to some shelter, I pray thee, and let thy surgeon look after him."

"He is gone to Moodgul, alas!" said Osman Beg, the killadar or governor of the fort, who was usually termed Nawab, "and all I can do is to recall him when any one can get across the large channel, which I fear may not be for some days. There is, however, the old Dervish, who hath a rare skill, and he can be taken there at once."

"Good, my lord; let him be taken up as he is by my people, and if thou wilt send one of thy servants with him, the holy Syud will no doubt help him, though he is blind."

"I will go myself," said the Nawab, "and see to his comfort."

Then the bed was taken up and carried on gently, and set down within the enclosure of a small mosque and dwelling-place. At first the old Dervish could not understand why he had been so suddenly disturbed, but on hearing that a wounded man needed his care, bade him to be brought in, and, after examining him, declared he must remain for the present where he was, and that the attendant whom the governor had nominated to wait upon his cousin should remain also to minister to him.

The young Khan was at once bathed, dressed in dry garments, and laid in a comfortable bed. The barber's stitches of his wound had at least held well, and bleeding had ceased. He was already refreshed, but he could not give a clear account of what had happened to the old Sheykh and his cousin, who sat by him. His pain had increased, and a low delirium had commenced.

"Oh that I could see you," he said, "but I am blind! Zóra, my child, make up the soothing potion for him and a poultice of herbs, and tell his people how it is to be applied. We will both watch him to-night, for the fever is strong; but, Inshalla, ere many days he will be strong again. Be assured, Nawab Sahib, that your poor servant will do his best."

"Then I leave my cousin in thy care, Hazrar, and will return early to see him," said the Nawab, as he saluted the Dervish reverentially and took his departure.

CHAPTER II.
"A Night's Vigil."

The night was hot, and the incessant roar of the cataract came fitfully on the ear as it now swelled into a deep thunderous sound, and again was softened by the night air. Under the effects of the opiate the young man seemed to sleep for a while, but the fever prevailed again, and with bright glassy eyes the sufferer now stared vacantly about him, recognising no one, and relapsing into insensibility; but he muttered low words to himself, and all they who watched could distinguish were an occasional fierce battle cry, and the broken interjections of a combat. From time to time the old Dervish felt his pulse and his head, but there were no signs of relief, and he sate down again anxiously. "The sun hath stricken him," he said to the child, "as well as the sword, and it may go hard with him, strong as he is. Alas! alas! if he should die? Yet he shall not die unless Alla wills it. If I could but see him. Ya Kureem! if I could but see him! Watch him carefully, Zóra, and tell me from time to time how he looks; give him the cooling drink when he is uneasy, and see that the cloths on his brow do not get dry. Ere morning he may sleep quietly. Meanwhile I will pray for him, child, and if it be his fate he will live;" and the Dervish turned aside, and Zóra saw his beads passing through his fingers and his lips moving in prayer as he bowed his face to the ground.

So the child watched, and wondered as she gazed on the face and figure lying before her. Sometimes the features would be distorted by pain, and again this would be changed to fierce excitement, and the battle cries would be uttered with a fierce vigour as he partly rose and waved his right arm as if it held a sword; but the girl put it back gently, and patted him as she would a child. Sometimes his lips would seem to be dry, and his tongue stiff and clammy, and he would cry for water faintly and querulously; and the cool drink administered to him from time to time soothed him for the moment, and he lay quietly. Zóra was an experienced nurse, for often she had attended the sick and wounded who were brought to her grandfather's humble dwelling for help. She had no timidity of men, she had never been secluded like other girls of her age, and her office was to lead her grandfather when he moved abroad, and to tend the sick who came for his advice. The light was purposely dimmed, but her form could be clearly seen, and we may endeavour to describe it.

Zóra was apparently about fourteen years old, perhaps somewhat more; but she was tall for her age, and her figure was lithe and supple. She was fair in comparison with ordinary Mussulman women of her country, but not fairer than a light, clear, ruddy brown, betokening health and strength. Her head was small and perfectly shaped, sitting on a graceful neck; and her hair, a glossy black, escaped from under the scarf she wore in a profusion of soft curls, which seemed to wind lovingly about her neck and shoulders. Her forehead was wide and somewhat low, but smooth and glistening, the eyebrows gently arched and regular; but it was the eyes that involuntarily attracted every beholder, and with her mobile lips expressed every emotion of her mind. Now they would be fully and tenderly opened, and you would see the large soft dilated pupil of a velvety black, floating, as it were, on a ground of the tenderest violet and azure. A merry arch glance shot from them as they closed almost to a twinkling dot of light. They seemed incapable of anger or petulance, and, indeed, the child's life had as yet been one of little sorrow or excitement of any kind, and her natural disposition was gentle and submissive.

It was certain that her figure would be strikingly elegant as her age progressed, but as yet there was no indication of form, except a litheness and grace which marked every movement; and as she stretched forth her hand to minister to the wounded sufferer, her rounded arms, small hands, and taper fingers, gave promise of actual beauty in days to come; while as she threw back her luxuriant hair, the movement of her neck conveyed an exquisite undulating motion to her whole figure. No one could call the girl beautiful, or her features regular; they would not have been nearly so charming had they been so; but her mouth and pearly teeth accorded with all else, and combined to produce a countenance as attractive as it was in reality arch, good humoured, and interesting. She was very plainly, not to say coarsely, clad; but the simple muslin scarf, which passing round her body and head fell over her right arm, was worn with a peculiar air and grace, and the petticoat of cotton stuff was, perhaps, fuller and more womanly than her age required.

She was mistress of her grandfather's house; and the gossips about, though somewhat shocked at her being seen abroad at all, told her she was too old to wear a child's trousers, and they had been discarded. Round her neck she wore a single silver ring, and bracelets and anklets of the same, but hid away in a chest were some gold ornaments and rich clothes. And in regard to these, and to his former life, her grandfather was silent. Some day, he had said, he would tell her all, but she was too young yet, and it was a sad story. All that she knew of him from the neighbours was that, although a Dervish, he was a State prisoner, and the time of his first coming to the fort had been forgotten long ago.

Her mother had died in her infancy, yet Zóra's young life had been a happy one as she grew up. The old man had taught her the rudiments of Persian, and the meaning of words, at first parrotwise, but gradually, and with the aid of a village scribe, she had progressed easily and satisfactorily. Her grandfather usually spoke to her in that language, and she could now write a fair hand, and record what he dictated to her. She had had few companions, except when she was a mere child, for as she grew older her grandfather admonished her against the idle gossip of the little village which lay beneath the fortress, and when she went out with him to lead him where he desired to go, no one, out of respect to the old man, ever addressed her. She had only one attendant, an old woman named Mamoola, who swept the house and cooked their simple meals, and was assisted by Zóra in all other household matters with unceasing skill and interest in her occupation. Who could make the tender hot cakes and the various kinds of vermicelli in which the old man delighted more deftly than Zóra? Who could sew the old-fashioned flowing garments he wore so well as she? And she had learned also to make quilted caps, and embroider them with gold and silver ornaments and spangles, which the soldiers of the fort commissioned, and were sold also in the little weekly bazaar, bringing a welcome addition to their limited means. Zóra's soft, pretty drawer strings, also, were knitted in elegant patterns, and finished with gay tassels, and there was an active demand for them. So, in all respects, the little maiden was ever busy, and any loneliness of life or care had, as yet, never reached her.

Zóra sighed as she looked on the young Khan, so restless in his feverish sleep. Why should he have come to such a pass? Why should the pitiful Alla have thus struck him down in his strength and power of life, and cast him upon the care of strangers? What misery would be his mother's, or his sister's, perhaps his wife's, if they could only see him now, moaning and murmuring in his sleep, and now and again shouting his fierce battle-cry, "Deen! Deen!" and raising his arm to strike. What was war, that men should risk their lives for its dread honours, sudden death or a maimed life? War was, indeed, a common theme even among children of her own age, and there were names of heroes in their mouths. But war had now come to the lonely, secluded fortress of Juldroog. Soldiers came and went, and wounded men were brought in, and her grandfather was often called to them. Ah! it must be pitiful to see thousands of them lying on the bare earth, blistering in the sun, with horrible wounds undressed and uncared for; and the very thoughts made her shiver and draw her scarf tighter around her.

Before her lay a youth whose form was cast in a noble fashion. His muscular arms were bare, and his broad chest, except where it was bound up. When the features were at rest, they seemed to her grand and beautiful; and when he sometimes smiled during his snatches of sleep, a winning frank expression passed over them, and the gentlest smile she had ever seen. Again, in a paroxysm of pain or delirium, the whole was distorted and blurred, and the girl turned away her face with tears and low sobs, which she could only with difficulty stifle. And still she watched, and the old man kept his prayerful vigil, and the cataract continued its monotonous, thundering roar, which seemed at times to fall into a sobbing moan.

"Lie down and sleep, Zóra," said the Dervish, in a low tone. "Thou must be weary of watching, my child, and the night is far spent."

"Not so, Abba!" which was her usual term of endearment for her grandfather; "not so. I am not weary. I cannot sleep; and he needs watching every moment. He will not bear the sheet over his chest, and is ever throwing it off; his lips are dry and parched; and he looks at me sometimes, and points to his throat and head, as if to ask for cool drink and wet cloths, and I have to give them. O Abba! will he die? Surely the good God will spare him. Come and feel his pulse, for he seems hotter and more restless."

"It is as you say, my darling," replied the old man, who had risen and felt his patient all over. "It may be the crisis of the sun fever, and he may be better, or may pass away in death at dawn. Go quietly; bring me of the cooling powders we made a few days ago; they are from a formula of Aboo Sena, of blessed memory, and are potent to check fever like this. Go and bring one."

"Oh that these sightless eyes could see but for a moment, that his face might be revealed to me," thought the Dervish; "names that I have not heard for years have escaped his lips, and Humeed Khan is his uncle! What Humeed Khan? what Ankoos Khan? Eyn-ool-Moolk—is that traitor still living? Even as I sit here, blind and helpless, the old scenes—the noble buildings of Beejapoor, the pomp of royalty and war, are before me—all confused and blurred in my memory with the miserable King Ibrahim and his riotous debauchery. Strange mockery of fate! that when honour and wealth were seemingly in my grasp they should have passed into blindness and this prison. Yet it was thy will, O pitiful Alla! and the old Dervish accepts it reverently. I must be careful," he continued to himself, as the light step of Zóra entered the chamber. "She hath never known, and must not see my weakness. Zóra, hast thou brought the medicine?"

"It is here, Abba," she said. "How am I to give it?" "When he is athirst again, put half the powder into the drink, and watch the result. If his skin becomes moist, give no more; but if in an hour he is still burning, give him the rest. I can do no more, child, but commit him into the Lord's hands. I shall not leave thee, Zóra; but I am weary, and would sleep. If thou art afraid at any time, I shall awake with a touch, and will sit by thee; but where are the Nawab's people? they can take their turn, surely."

"All gone," said Zóra. "With one excuse or other they went away, and I have been alone; but one man lies without who has sat there since the youth was brought in, looking wistful, like a dog which seeks his master. I asked him who he was, and he says he is Runga Naik Beydur, but that he may not come in as he is of low caste. May he come, Abba?"

"Surely, child, surely. True Islam knows no distinction of caste in mercy's service, and thou mayest admit him to watch with thee if thou wilt; and 'tis thus, my brave one," he added, tenderly passing his hands over her face; "'tis thus thou learnest the ways of mercy and pity. See, he stirs and writhes. I hear his movement."

"'Tis but what has happened before," she replied, as she poured some of the sherbet into a small silver cup, and mixed the powder with it. Zóra saw that he drank it eagerly, and again shrank back upon his pillow.

"Now I will call the Beydur," said Zóra, as she went to the door, and found the man watching as before. "Rise, and follow me," she said.

"But I am unclean, lady," was the reply. "Who admits the Beydur within the threshold of a devout Moslim? Yet if I might help thee to tend him—my brave boy—my heart would thank thee."

"My grandfather bids thee come, in the name of Alla," said the girl. "Rise and enter; you are welcome."

The man rose, and bending down to the earth clasped her feet and kissed them passionately. Zóra could feel the hot tears dropping from his eyes, as he put his lips to them. "So much love," she thought, "and for a Moslim!" "Abba lies in here," she said, as she crossed the chamber, and the stalwart form of the Beydur followed.

"He is welcome, in the name of the Most Merciful," said the old man; "let him watch."

"Not before I have kissed your reverend feet. I know thee, Huzrut, but I can be silent as death," said the man, partly removing his turban, and prostrating himself. "And I may watch?"

"Hast thou eaten, my son? dost thou desire food?"

"None," replied Runga. "To see him yonder and watch by him is food and drink to me, for I love him, Huzrut, love him as though he were my own child. If he lives, I will eat when I have bathed. If he die, I will stay till the earth covers him, and then depart, for I shall have a long and weary journey before me. Will he live?"

"As God pleases," was the reply. "I have done what I could, and he is in His hands. Watch and see."

Then Runga Naik sat down by the bed and watched with the girl. His touch seemed as tender as a woman's as he smoothed the pillow of the sufferer, changed the wet cloths on his head, and placed the wounded arm in easier positions; but still the moaning and delirium continued, and the muttering, of which Zóra could catch only a word here and there.

"His spirit is in the fight," said Runga, softly. "Do not be afraid; and he killed his enemy as he received that blow. But he did not strike first, and Meeah's was the strongest blow, and Elias Khan was dead ere he fell from his horse. Then we too struck in, and brought Meeah away safely, I and two others; but it was hard to bring him through the waves of heat, and now it is harder still, for they struck him down. Hast thou no more medicine? he must not rave thus."

"I have," she said; "but whether he will live or die under it Abba cannot tell, and I fear."

"Give it, in the name of the Lord!" said the Beydur, earnestly. "The remedy of a holy man cannot fail. And now lie down and sleep, lady," he continued, after the remedy had been administered; "I will watch."

"I cannot sleep," she replied, "let me watch with thee."

So they remained silent; but the two faces before her had a fascination for Zóra that she could not overcome. The one, noble, dignified, and in its full beauty of tender manhood, with its, as yet, downy moustache and beard; and the other hard and stern, with eyes and mouth that could perhaps be cruel, a thick moustache and grizzled whiskers, and a forehead seamed with furrows—yet all combining in an expression of tender pity and grief that could hardly be suppressed. What could be the connection between the two men, separated as they were by race and faith?

They watched till the day was breaking and the birds in the trees began to chirp and twitter, and a cock crew loudly; then Abbas Khan, who had been lying, as it were, in a trance, suddenly opened his eyes quietly, and saw the Beydur sitting by his bed. "Runga!" he said, faintly. "Runga!"

"Dost thou know me, Meeah?" was the reply. "It is, indeed, Runga. What wouldst thou?"

"I have been dreaming," he said, wearily, "and the last scowling glance of my foe as I struck him down has been ever before me; but there came at times a Peri of Paradise who gave to me of the heavenly sherbet, and the angel drove him away, and he could not take me to hell;" and he sank back exhausted.

"It is the crisis Abba spoke of," whispered Zóra, "and if he sleep it is well. Speak not, but watch."

The intensity of anxiety with which both watched the young man cannot be described, but the struggle between death and life did not continue long. Presently tears seemed to steal from his eyelids and fall upon his cheek, the quick gasping breath became more regular, there was a dew upon the lips, and the skin was becoming cooler and moister every moment; and yet, it might be deceptive!

"Dost thou know me, Meeah?" asked the Beydur. There was no reply, but a gratified smile overspread the face, and, taking the Beydur's rough hand in his own, Abbas Khan clasped it to his heart and fell gently into slumber.

"Oh! I vowed sheep to thee, Mother, for his life, and thou hast accepted the vow, and he is safe. Safe, lady, safe!" he said eagerly to Zóra, in a low voice full of emotion. "Safe, and he shall ride again with me against his country's enemies. Now more covering if thou hast it, for cold must not strike him. And do thou take rest, for the night has been a weary one to thee. See, the old man sleeps softly; Meeah said truly, thou art of heaven."

The excitement had been great, and the girl had not once closed her eyes. Now the kind words of the stranger affected her deeply, and as she lay down on her carpet, which had been spread in a corner of the room, tears burst from her eyes and low sobs rose which she could not control; but they soothed her, and she fell into a deep sleep.

The world abroad was astir in the early morn, the birds twittered and chirped in the great tamarind trees, pigeons fluttered in the little mosque, cooed and greeted each other, ringdoves seemed to answer them, and noisy paroquets flew screaming abroad to get their early food. As the sun rose, his ruddy beams rested on the grim rocks and feathery foliage of the deep glen with glowing lustre, and at the end of the Fort Island the noble river spread out into a large, quiet, lake-like pool. The cataract above still roared with a sullen moan, but the water was not so high, for, like all sudden and early floods, the river had subsided continuously during the night. The only one stirring in the house was the old woman servant. She had milked the cow and the goats, and turned them loose to graze, and had sat down to pick rice for the morning meal.

"It must be kicheri and dall, I suppose; they had phoolkas and dall yesterday. No, I will make the kicheri; too much dall is not good for the Huzrut, and it will be good for the stranger too, if he wakes and the fever is gone. Ya Kureem! what a night it was, and yet that child never flinched once nor feared the wild raving she heard. Punah! I could not have borne it—not I; and when I looked in last, who should be sitting by the bed but that bloody reiver Runga Naik, who shook his finger at me and then put his hand on his lips and motioned me away; and Zóra lay in the corner sleeping, never thinking that that man of blood was nigh her. Ugh! I should have trembled too much to have attempted to sleep; but God only knows what that child is. Mayhap an angel from before the Lord, for she is born for good works and loving deeds. 'Nurse,' she says sometimes, 'are there none sick in the village whom I could attend? are there none poor whom we can feed? Go, look round, and bring me news.' She would be doing good now, I warrant me, if she were not asleep. But let her sleep and wake of herself, my fairy! my darling!"

"Mother! Mother Mamoola!" cried a rough strong voice at the entrance of the little enclosure before the Dervish's dwelling. "Mother! where art thou? I have been looking everywhere about, but no one is stirring. Art thou dead? Is the Dervish dead?"

"Get away with thee, O bawling wretch!" cried the dame angrily, as she put down her rice sifter, not relishing this interruption to her soliloquy. "Get thee gone, I say, and keep silence. They are all asleep, after a fearful night with the wounded man," she continued, as she reached the entrance. "Ah! it is thee, Ghuffoor. Why art thou bawling so?"

"Do not be angry so early in the day, mother," said the man; "it will spoil thy temper. My lord the Nawab is even now coming down the hill with all his retinue, and must be admitted to see his cousin. I am sent on to warn ye all. Where is the fairy face? and the Huzrut ought to be at prayers in the mosque; let me go to him, wherever he be."

"I tell thee, again, begone!" retorted the dame. "Tell the Nawab Sahib that they are all asleep, and neither I, Mamoola, nor anyone else shall rouse them for the Nawab, or fifty Nawabs. Tell him this from me, Mamoola, and bid him go back as he came. The youth's spirit hovers between life and death, but, praise to the saints, he sleeps; and they all sleep, too, except Runga Naik, who watches the youth as though he were his own son. Begone, I say, and run at thy best speed, or we may have the crier shouting my lord's titles, and horns blowing, and a din enough to wake the dead."

"Well, if it be so," said the man, laughing, "I will deliver thy message, but the Nawab will not relish it. Hath he not prepared chambers, and have not the cooks been at work since daylight?"

"Ah me!" said the dame, wiping her eyes with the corner of her scarf; "you will have to eat the good food yourselves, for the youth may not eat except what the Huzrut allows him, even if he eat at all for many a day, except a mouthful. He is as weak and helpless as a child, after that wound and sun burning; and I am going to cook a mild kicheri myself. God grant him strength to eat, if ever so little. But I am prating to thee while thou shouldst be half way up the mountain. Away with thee, and return soon; if the youth recovers we will send word that the Nawab may come in the evening."

"Now I did what was right," crooned the old dame to herself, as she resumed her rice picking on the steps of the dwelling. "Perhaps my lord, the Nawab, may be angry; but who cares? What would the old man have said if I had let them all in, I wonder?"

"Mother!" said a gentle voice behind her; "Mother! he sleeps still. Runga hath not even withdrawn his hand that the youth took and held fast; but he motioned me to feel his head, and said it was painful. And I looked, and behold! there is a wound in it. Yet he has never flinched or complained. Mother, come with me; we can wash it gently, and we can put on the cool herbs and tie it up. And Abba still sleeps peacefully, and the youth like a tired child, and never stirs. O, mother! he will live! he will live! May the good saints preserve him for his mother."

And the girl and her attendant went and did their kindly office. The Naik's wound was not deep, but he had narrowly escaped death, as he knew; and as the cool dressing was applied, tears of relief and gratitude coursed down his rugged cheeks.

"He sleeps: he is cool as an infant," he said in a whisper. "He has not moved nor let go my hand. Yes, he will live, lady; live to be grateful to thee, as I am."

Zóra marvelled at the man's endurance and heroism, so truly proved. All the previous day, though badly wounded in the defence of his young master, he had borne heat, and dust, and fatigue without a murmur or a thought except for him whom he had rescued from death, and he had watched through the night without food or relief from pain. "What am I to him?" she thought, sadly; "but I am only a child, only a child."

And the hot day passed, and they fanned the sleeper gently. The old Dervish, when he awoke, examined his patient carefully, and was satisfied. Nothing could induce Runga to leave his post, but having bathed hurriedly in the holy river, he ate a little of the dame's good mess, drank some of the cooling sherbet, and was refreshed. The Nawab had turned back as he had been bidden to do, but he sent continual messages of inquiry, and was told in reply that the youth still slept. So the day passed in perfect quiet to all, and when the sun was declining, and the birds were coming to rest, the young Khan woke quietly.

At first he could not remember where he was, or what had happened, and his first glance rested upon Zóra, who was gently fanning him, and he said, almost in a whisper, "Who art thou? I know thee; thou art the angel that came to me in the night and gave me sherbet of Paradise. Who art thou?"

"I am only Zóra," she said, modestly, while she covered her face with her scarf, as if for the first time she became aware that a man gazed at her. "But you are not to speak, sir; I am bid not to let you speak; close your eyes and sleep again."

"No," he said; "I have slept enough, and the burning fever hath departed."

"She is right, Meeah," said Runga Naik, bending over him. "Sleep now, again, for danger is past, and Huzrut says you will live. When you wake again you may have some light food."

"Runga, thou here! I thought I saw thee in a dream, and had thy hand in mine. But why is thy head bandaged?"

"'Tis only a scratch, and the Huzrut has dressed it," he replied. "I will tell thee all another time. I am well of it now that I hear thy voice."

"It seems all like a hideous dream, Runga; the fight, the ride through those billows of heat and dust; and I remember, too, seeing a cataract, and seething water below, tossing like horses fighting. Who told me that? And then I thought I was on a raft, dancing on the waves, and thou supporting me; and I swooned, and remember no more except the angel who came to me and cooled my parching thirst."

"Enough!" cried Zóra, stamping her little foot. "Do I not tell thee thou art not to speak? Art thou mad?"

The oddity of the child's vehemence, and her tone of absolute command, seemed to amuse the sufferer, for he smiled gratefully as he looked up at her.

"Yes, fairy face," he said, "I will try to sleep again, and do thou come to me in my dreams."

The next day, however, the Nawab was not to be silenced. His physician had arrived from Moodgul, and having visited the wounded man, declared that he might now be removed to the upper fort in a closed litter with safety, and that the comparative freshness of the air of the citadel would conduce to his recovery. Towards evening, therefore, the young Khan took his departure, promising to return to see them when he was able.

CHAPTER III.
THE PRIESTS OF MOODGUL.

The town of Moodgul is situated in the western division of the district which lies between the Krishna river to the north and the Toongbaddra river to the south, and has always been a place of importance in the country. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries it was a never-failing object of contention between the Hindoos of Beejanugger and the Mussulman kings of the Dekhan, and many a bloody action between immense armies on both sides had been fought near it for its possession, and that of its dependencies. Ráichoor, the capital of the eastern portion of the Dooab, as the province was called, was at that time of comparatively small importance, and Moodgul was the capital of the province and the seat of the local Government. The league of the Mussulman kings of the Dekhan against the Maharajah of Beejanugger terminated in a desperate action called the battle of Talicota by historians, but which was fought in December 1569, on the south bank of the Krishna, about thirty miles west of Moodgul. The destruction of the Hindoo kingdom ensued, and at the period of this tale the town and its fortress were in quiet possession of the Mussulmans, who have still retained it. It was then the chief station of the south-western province of the Beejapoor kingdom, and a very considerable force was always stationed there ready to act against any disturbance of the frontier, and to overawe the various military tribes of Beydurs and others, who, though they paid tribute and professed allegiance to the Mussulman Government, were yet turbulent and often defiant, and much given to marauding, cattle lifting, and other nefarious practices.

Even now, ruined as it is for the most part, the fort of Moodgul is a striking and picturesque object. Built partly by the Hindoos and partly by the Mussulmans, it occupies the summit of a group of singularly fantastic granite rocks, which seem to have been raised one upon another, but which belong to one of the great eruptions that took place at some immensely remote period. They are quite isolated, and rise from a level plain, which is fertile to their very base. Necessarily the fort is of very irregular construction, advantage having been taken of the highest accessible portions of the rocks on which to build bastions, while the intervals between each group are closed by single, double, and treble rows of curtains and bastions, as the ground requires. On the north side is a considerable tank, or lake, for irrigation, which is still perfect, and affords means of cultivation of a tract of land; and there are many groves of fine mango and tamarind trees about its shores, which soften the otherwise rugged character of the landscape, and above which the rocks and towers of the fort rise with very picturesque effect. The town lies to the eastward of the fort, and is still tolerably populous; but the ruins on every side show that the prosperity of the place was at one time much greater than at present, and the fort itself is utterly deserted: many of its proud towers and long portions of the curtains have become heaps of ruins, and those that remain only show how strong the citadel must have been in the early times we write of. The place was famous for two kinds of manufactures: one of weaving cotton fabrics of all kinds, for which the adjacent parts of the province furnished ample material; the other, of a kind of camlet blankets, some beautifully fine and others coarse, woven from yarn spun from the fleeces of the large herds of sheep which were tended on the wide plains by local shepherds—a powerful and numerous clan, which, though ostensibly following a peaceful, industrious calling, had notwithstanding taken part in local wars and the defence of their fort; and both weavers and shepherds remain still in their normal condition.

It will be deemed strange, perhaps, that these shepherds and blanket weavers were Christians at the period of this tale, and that they have continued faithful through all vicissitudes to the present time. At what exact period they were converted, or by whom, is not precisely known, but a Jesuit monk belonging to the mission of St. Francis Xavier had penetrated to Moodgul, gathered the shepherds about him, and, preaching to them in their own language—Canarese—had converted and baptised them, and they proved steadfast and obedient. In the town of Ráichoor other conversions followed, chiefly among the potters, and there were, and still are, smaller congregations in other villages; but the most numerous flock was that of Moodgul, and the church there is pre-eminently the head of all others in the province. The building itself is a small one with a tiled roof, and in the Goanesque style of architecture, and there are two supplementary chapels. The decorations of the cathedral, as it may be called, are poor and tawdry enough; but there is, or was, one picture of the Virgin by some Portuguese artist which has merit. There are schools attached to the mission in which Canarese is taught, and which are presided over by the priest, if he be present, or, in his absence, by one of the deacons.

King Ibrahim Adil Shah I., who died in 1557, was the first benefactor to the mission by recognising it, and conferring lands upon it by his Royal deeds of grant; and Ally Adil Shah followed, with settlements of money from the customs duties and other sources, which have hitherto been respected by local and general rulers. Dues are also collected from the congregation, both in money and in kind, and in all respects the mission is self-supporting and independent. The service, when by a priest, is generally in Latin; but the offices of the church have been translated into excellent Canarese, as also homilies, which are preached, and selections from the Old and New Testament. Portions of these are read on saints' days and other solemn occasions, and invariably on the Sabbath by the deacons of the Church, who, when the priest is not present, carry on the regular services, except the mass, which is reserved for the priest alone. Some of these manuscripts are exquisitely written in a somewhat older and stiffer character than prevails at present, and the authors of them were unquestionably excellent scholars in the copious language they had to deal with, though it is impossible to conceive how they could have acquired it so perfectly.

It may be difficult also to account for the unusual toleration of the Mussulman kings of Beejapoor in allowing Christian missions to be established in their territory, and endowing them with Royal gifts; but Ibrahim Adil Shah I. and Ally Adil Shah had intimate relations with the Portuguese, who had assisted Ibrahim on one occasion with 3,000 European infantry; and though both kings had quarrels with their neighbours, and Ally Adil Shah on one occasion beleaguered Goa for nine months and was obliged to raise the siege, yet the Mussulmans and Christians contrived to make up their quarrels, and at the period we write of were very good friends. The mission at Moodgul was, therefore, in an easy and flourishing condition—outwardly, at least—but within there was trouble.

There were two priests in charge of the Moodgul church and mission. One, Dom Diego di Fonseça, had been for some time in the office of the Inquisition; and the steadfast character of the missions being doubted, he had been sent specially to relieve his predecessor, who had been suspected of laxity in morals and practice. This man professed himself to be a champion of the Church, a Jesuit. He had already visited Bengal and China, and had, after the fashion of the time, made many converts, and examined the internal discipline of the missions with a notorious severity; but his private character was infamous, and, but for his official zeal and services, he might, indeed, have been condemned to the horrible death to which he had assisted to devote so many. Dom Diego was of a noble family in Portugal, and had been intended for the Church there; but his fiery disposition would not brook control, and he chose a missionary life in the Indies, where his peculiar qualifications would find full employment. In person Dom Diego was remarkable. His noble figure towered over all around him, and the haughty expression of his features was in accordance with his bodily power; but though handsome, they were vicious and repellant. In complexion he was dark, and the sun of India had still more bronzed his face and hands, till they were darker than those of many of his Moodgul flock. All soon feared him; none loved him. He was to their simple minds an incarnation of power and force which must be obeyed, and, knowing his official authority and rank, the native Christians did not dare objection, much less disobedience. God would punish his evil ways some time—in His own time—they said among themselves, and they watched his actions alike with wonder and amazement. Could this fiend be a priest of the Holy Church of Christ and His tender-loving mother, whom in their simple faith they adored?

Dom Diego's colleague was a very different person. Francis d'Almeida, a Franciscan friar, was a very personation of a devout and humble follower of his order. It was some years since he had left Portugal, and on his arrival he applied himself with great assiduity to the study of the native languages. Canarese and Mahratta were both used and spoken at Goa, as well as the rough Oordoo of the Dekhan, used by the lower orders of Mussulmans; but he had devoted himself to Canarese as the most copious and expressive language of all, and best suited to the translation of the Scriptures and the offices of the Church. In the stirring ecclesiastical affairs of Goa he took but little part, and succeeded in avoiding them, and only prayed to be sent to some distant and lonely mission in Canara, where he could finish the work he had begun. The two priests were as different in appearance as in character—the one, dark, saturnine, and vindictive; the other, fair for his country, with clear, soft, brown eyes, brown silky and curly hair, which flowed over his shoulders, a gentle, expressive face, full of devout thought and pity for the religious ignorance he found to be existent. A selection from a thousand could not have supplied a teacher and guide more fitting for his post than Francis d'Almeida. His flock adored him. His gentle teachings and admonitions, delivered with a purity of language which only a Brahmin could equal or surpass, attracted others besides his flock to the mission church, and his eloquent illustrations of true Christian life often moved his hearers to tears. To the simple shepherds he was an incarnation of Divine love and mercy, and under his pastoral care many new converts had been registered and baptised, who had been prepared by teaching, for the new creed.

He was not alone. His sister Maria, whom he had left in Portugal a child, had grown up, and married Colonel Dom Philip de Pereira, who commanded a battalion of infantry not long arrived from Portugal; but he had been speedily affected by the climate in jungle warfare on the frontier against the Mussulmans, and he had succumbed to the treacherous, deadly malaria of the forests. Doña Maria might have returned home, or, staying at Goa, might have re-married; but she had seen her brother Francis, listened with wonder to tales of the manners and customs of his flock, and at once dedicating herself, as she said, to the Lord's work, she was sent up to Moodgul under an escort, and had joined her brother some three years before the time we write of. She was clever and studious. Under her brother's care she had learned Canarese as perfectly as he had, and in her beautiful handwriting had copied all her brother's rougher translations into the great volumes of the Church, and these manuscripts were illustrated by her own simple and elegant designs and quaint initial letters.

If her brother were almost worshipped by the shepherds, she herself had a place in their affections even more tender. She visited the sick and afflicted, and could comfort them; her sweet, persuasive tongue soothed many a sad death-bed. Her instruction to the children of her school was received by them as a joyful treat rather than in dull routine. All she knew she communicated to them as they showed capacity. It was not very much, perhaps, but it was pleasant to teach and pleasant to be taught, and teacher and pupils enjoyed themselves. Doña Maria was also a welcome guest in the Nawab of Moodgul's family. Dilawer Khan, a famous general of the Beejapoor army, was no bigot; he loved the Padré Francis for the good he did and for his consistent piety. He even enjoyed arguments between the Padré and the local Mussulman priests and learned men; and the fair Doña Maria was not only admitted to his hareem, but was a welcome guest whenever she came. Then noisy children gathered round her, and matrons too, and she told them of the holy child Jesus of Nazareth, and what He did as He grew up; and taught the elder ones embroidery, and almost persuaded some to be Christians. Doña Maria was very fair, and the bright colour of her native land had come back to her cheeks with the fresh Dekhan air; and it was a great delight of the younger children to declare she had painted her face, and to insist on washing it, which only brought out the rich colour more vividly. And she sung to them in her sweet voice, accompanied by her lute, the ballads and songs of her native land, and the noble hymns of the Church, and these were ever welcome.

So in peace and love with all around them the brother and sister had lived with great happiness. They had pleasant morning and evening walks among the groves and by the little lake. They had each a Dekhan jennet, and a gallop over the downs beyond was a rare pleasure, and gave them health among their hard labours. They had their garden too, and grapes and oranges grew well, and still grow in the Padré's garden. What could they require more? What they had was spiritual wealth and comfort, and as to worldly affairs, they needed no more. Would it but last! but since Dom Diego's arrival, now a few months, they had had many grave anticipations for the future.

CHAPTER IV.
AN INSULT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

We need not describe the progress of difference between two such men as the priests of Moodgul—the one violent, overbearing, and unscrupulous, the other gentle and peaceful, but enduring, and, after the manner of such men, brave, and, in the service of the Church, undeterred by threats or persecution. Often had he remonstrated, as it became him to do, against his colleague's violence towards the congregation, against repeated instances of notorious immorality and irregularity in his ministry, but in vain. Dom Diego knew that he had strengthened his influence with the Archbishop of Goa; that the Inquisition at large were his friends, and that he need not fear the remonstrances of the humble Franciscan friar who was associated with him. He had formed, too, a party among the shepherds, which consisted of some of the most unmanageable of the youthful members, who scoffed at the friar's devotion, resisted his admonitions and decrees of penances, and, in short, set him at defiance. This was Dom Diego's first step towards ridding himself of his colleague altogether. What more easy than to denounce him to the Inquisition for interference with his own measures?

What more certain to succeed than to accuse him of the laxity in spiritual affairs which he himself had been despatched to redeem? Even were that not sufficient, accusations might be made of improper intimacy with Mussulmans, the worst enemies of the Church, and constant visits to the Nawab of Moodgul paid by him and his sister, Doña Maria. Ah! could he but separate them, who could protect the beautiful girl? From the first sight of her, so young, so lovely as she was, a guilty passion had absorbed any better feeling he possessed. No risk could be too great to run for her possession, and yet, to take any active part—to carry her away by force—would but be to ensure his own ruin, and perhaps death. No, the event must be gradual; and when her brother was once made over to the Inquisition he would be in Goa for months, nay, possibly years, where no possibility of aid or even news from without could reach him. It was a fiendish plot, and day by day he found it more and more difficult to restrain himself, for the constant sight of her great beauty inflamed him, and in the services of the Church he was brought into constant connection with her.

He had written his report to Goa. He had described Francis d'Almeida as a mere bookworm, careless of the honour and discipline of the Church, and absorbed in studies of heathen books; that his most intimate friends were Brahmin priests and Mussulmans; that his lectures in the Church to the shepherds were, so far as he could comprehend them, mere adaptations of heathen doctrine, into which if he had not lapsed himself, he might do at any moment, and thus the Church, which had been built up with vast labour by faithful missionaries in a foreign land, might be lost, and relapse into heathenism, a scandal and a reproach to Christianity. As to his sister, Doña Maria, though she openly made profession of faith, yet she was in reality more corrupt than her brother. One of her constant resorts was the Nawab's house, where she was admired and courted for her beauty and accomplishments. The Nawab was very wealthy, and had a son, now absent in the wars, but it was currently reported that he would marry Doña Maria when he returned. Finally, Dom Diego advised that Francis d'Almeida should be at once sent for alone, admonished, and, if needs be, prosecuted for his laxity; and that his sister might remain for the present to await her brother's return, or to be forwarded to Goa, as the Council might decree.

There was no suspicion of sinister motives to be gathered from this document, no violence of expression. It led to the conclusion that an able but over-studious character had been gradually led into laxity of observance, and could only be recovered by admonition from his superiors, and it had been determined by the ecclesiastical authorities to order the priest to appear before the Council on as early a date as practicable. It was not easy to communicate with Goa from Moodgul. Special messengers could only be employed, men who at some personal risk could traverse the country intervening and return with replies; and sometimes merchants and carriers from the two cities made their annual journeys with coast produce, to be exchanged for the cotton and woollen stuffs of Moodgul, and who took letters to and from Goa, and delivered them safely enough; and by one of the parties returned from the coast, Dom Diego had received the long-expected despatch from the Council.

To him it was all that he desired. It authorised Dom Diego to suspend his colleague from all Church offices, and to despatch him to Goa as soon as practicable, and it contained a citation from the Inquisition to appear. It praised Dom Diego's vigilance and zeal for the welfare of the Church, and admitted the justice of his proposal in regard to Doña Maria, whom he was enjoined to watch, and keep within the precincts of the Church, till she should be required.

Dom Diego was not long in deciding on the course he had proposed. After the morning mass, on the Sabbath after he had received the despatch, he proclaimed the suspension of his colleague from ministrations, and delivered to him the citation from the Council, which was received by D'Almeida with reverence; and Dom Diego also announced, through his interpreter, that another priest, well skilled in Canarese, had been despatched, and would shortly arrive.

Doña Maria heard the proclamation with dismay that cannot be expressed in words. Her brother was officiating at the altar, and she, with her children classes, was seated at the side at some distance. She saw her brother depart sooner than usual, for he generally came to examine the children, and he now omitted to do so. So she dismissed them, and went at once to their house, where she found her brother, in his chamber, on his knees before his crucifix, and the citation lying at its feet. He had been praying, and the drops of sweat stood out on his brow, in his agony, as those of his Lord's had done when He endured the cross and the shame. Doña Maria did not interrupt him, and withdrew behind the door, hearing only the last words of the prayer.

"And now protect me, O my Lord, if Thou wilt, from this danger. If I have to endure shame, or torture, or death, do Thou in mercy support me. I am not conscious of neglect of thy work, but I am conscious of many errors and shortcomings, of many secret sins. Chasten me, then, O my Saviour, as Thou seest I have need of; for I commit myself into thy pitiful hands and care, doubting not, fearing not, but saying, with all my trust and faith, O Lord, thy will be done."

Then he bowed his head to the foot of the cross, and wept passionately for some moments, and arose calmed and prepared for the worst. His sister met him at the door of the chamber, and cast herself upon his neck. She could not weep, though the humble prayer had moved her; her mind was in utter and blank despair, which no ray of comfort had penetrated. "My brother! my brother!" she cried, continually, "how wilt thou bear this? What hast thou done to deserve this shame he has put on thee?"

"I will bear it, Maria," he said gently, touching her forehead with his lips. "He, our Lord God, endured the shame that He might win the victory, and I fear not, neither shouldst thou fear. The soldiers of Christ and the Church should never flinch from danger. I say to thee, fear not."

"I am but a weak woman," she said, "and women have not the power of men; but even I could bear what is the Lord's will, though against Dom Diego's I should rebel. Is the citation regular and legal?"

"It is both," answered her brother, returning with the document which he had left where he had laid it. "It is both; nay, the purport is even tender, sister; read it yourself. I now go to receive the admonition and instruction of the Holy Council, and they may think I need them. Surely a son of the Church need not fear to meet his fathers in the Lord."

"I know not," she replied, with a shudder. "I know not. When I was at Goa many were led to a fearful death, and——"

"Nay, but dearest sister, it was because they deserved death. Incorrigible sinners and apostates the Church deals fiercely with, as it needs do in a heathen land; but I fear not, and our beloved flock will testify for me; and the translation of the homilies, which no one hath attempted to produce but me, will plead for my devotion to the Church's interests. Nay, Maria, thou shouldst not fear, but the rather rejoice that I have this opportunity of making known what I had too modestly kept back; and thou wilt remain at peace in this our home, and do thy work fearlessly, as thou hast done. It will not be long ere I return in safety, under the Lord's guidance.

"Oh, do not say that," she cried, clinging to him in fear. "Not alone with that fearful priest. Oh, for the love of the Mother Mary, leave me not alone; I dare not stay."

"If thou hadst been summoned, too," he returned, "we could have gone together; but bethink thee of the fierce heat now, and the rain and wind that are to come, to which I dare not expose thee. No, sister, it is well as it is, and in the good Nawab and our own people thou hast protectors enough. What dare he do to thee?"

"Perhaps it is idle fear," she said, sobbing, "and I am but a weak woman to bear solitude and anxiety alone; but if thou thinkest it is my duty, I bow to the Lord's will and thine, and will surely do my best."

"Ah!" he returned, with a proud smile, "there my brave sister's spirit speaks out again; and I tell thee, Maria, if he or anyone threatened thee, there is many a sword among our shepherd flock that would be drawn for thee; peaceful as they are, they are yet soldiers to a man, and would defend thee. Fear him not; he dare not hurt thee!"

Maria was silenced, but not satisfied. She did fear the priest. She could not conceal from herself that his foul, sensual admiration of her sometimes overpowered his discretion, and that his looks and demeanour were not those of a priest, but of a dissolute soldier. Still, he had never offended her in speech; and, except in the affairs of the church, she had held no conversation with him whatever. When he came to the house she invariably withdrew to her chamber, and left her brother and Dom Diego to consult together; but what virtuous woman could doubt the expression of those burning eyes? But for these secret fears, fears known only to herself and to God, she would have bid her brother Godspeed, and rejoiced in the prospect of his holy useful labours becoming known to those who could really appreciate them.

Many of the congregation came to them that day, both men and women, and the time passed in prayer and conversation with them, as was usual on the Sabbath; and both were consoled by the sincere professions of affection made by all, and the assurances of help and protection, if necessary, given by women as well as men.

"We are three hundred stout fellows," said one stalwart old shepherd, who held the office of deacon, "and most of us have seen war in our time, and we are well armed. So fear not, lady, for three hundred good matchlocks can escort you anywhere, were it even to Goa or Beejapoor. Thou art our loving friend, and if the noble Queen Chand could but see thee, she would take thee to her heart, and the good old Nawab would be thy protector too. Bah!" continued the old man, "with all these to do thy bidding thou needest not fear."

So the day passed; and though her brother could not perform his afternoon duty, Maria went to the church as usual for the service, which, on account of the great heat, had been deferred till evening. She took her guitar with her, for she purposed to teach some of the elder girls a new hymn, and they could only be taught by ear. Only the altar was fully illuminated, and the rest of the church had a light here and there from dim lamps.

Dom Diego performed the service as usual, and apparently departed; and Maria, begging of the sexton to allow her the altar lights for a while, led in a little troop of girls to the altar steps, and sat down there, tuned her instrument, and began the simple music of the hymn. What a voice it was! full, rich, and penetrating, it echoed through the empty building with a peculiar resonance and sweetness. No one could have heard it unmoved. The hymn was a Canarese translation of a Latin one used in the church, and accorded with the music perfectly. Presently, after an interval and directions to the children, she began the air again line by line, and the shriller pitch of the girls' voices required much patient instruction to modulate. At last she was satisfied, and dismissed them. It was but a step to her house across the small enclosure of the church, and she had no fear of meeting anyone, although it was now quite dark. The day had been very hot, and the fierce hot wind had continued almost without a break from before noon; now it had quite fallen, but the heat had not decreased. All was still around the church, except the cicadas, who kept up their shrill chirrup in the large tamarind trees, and the little grey owls, who seemed to increase their strange twittering hoot as the night advanced.

Maria knew she was alone, for the old man who would put out the lights was snoring in a corner. "One more hymn," she said to herself, as she made a deep reverence to the picture of the Virgin, on which the light shone brightly—"One hymn and prayer to thee, O pitiful, gracious Mother! to whose care I commit him—thy servant—and myself;" and striking a chord on her instrument, and playing a simple prelude, her voice rose through the building with a power and effect of which she was not conscious. Who could have heard it without emotion! But she herself was refreshed, and felt strengthened by the exercise. "And now, sweet Mother," she said, looking up at the picture above her, which almost seemed to smile, "I have sung to thee with all my heart, as I used to sing in my own beloved Portugal; and thou must graciously accept the hymns, and protect us. Good night, sweet Mother. Good night!"

She had spoken aloud, but now her lips moved in silent prayer; and as she stood upon the lower step, with her tiny bare foot resting on the one above it, and her arms stretched out to the picture with closed hands, her exquisitely-moulded figure and attitude were seen in perfection. As she had raised her arms the sleeves of the loose black dress she wore had fallen back nearly to her shoulders, displaying their pure whiteness and rounded contour against the gloom beyond; while the delicate white throat, and soft, bright complexion, stood out in strong relief. Her large blue eyes were raised in a rapt devotion, in accordance with her thoughts. Such faces and such attitudes are seen in the great old masters' religious pictures, but even such as Maria de Fonseca's are rare.

She had finished her prayer, when, as she turned to depart, she saw the figure of Dom Diego standing close beside her, and she shrunk back instinctively and cowered down to the ground.

"Forgive me for disturbing thee, lady," he said; "and I dispense with thy salute to thy superior; but as I sat alone, thy voice—so tender, so sweet—reached me, and I stood at the door till thy vesper hymns were finished. Would I could hear thee more frequently; but thou art chary of thy voice, except to the children, and to thy brother. Why am I excluded, and have to listen in stealth? Nay, I have a voice, too; and, I have heard it told me, a good one. We might join together in some of the old duets of our land, even here among the heathen."

"I pray thee let me pass, Signor," she said, timidly; for he stood between her and the door. He was not dressed in his robes, but in rich black velvet, and wore the plumed hat of a cavalier, which he carried now in his hand.

"Nay, be not hard on me, sweet lady, now that we shall have to spend so much of our time together till thy brother returns from Goa. Thou knowest thou art to be under my pastoral care, and fortunate am I to have so beautiful and so accomplished a companion. Ah, yes! thou wilt be kind to a solitary priest like me, and we can be happy if thou wilt till thy brother returns."

"Will he return?" asked the girl, eagerly. "Is this a true citation? Will he be safe? Answer me, Dom Diego, before the Mother of God, who sees us."

"Nay, if she can see," he cried, sneeringly, "if she can see, she will know what is in my heart. Safe? Thy brother safe? Yet, if thou wilt, he is."

Her pleading face, her hands uplifted to him, as it had been to the Virgin's picture, made him think for a moment that she had yielded to him; and the temptation in that foul heart was sudden and irresistible. "Maria!" he almost hissed between his teeth, "I repeat, if thou wilt, he is safe; but——"

"Speak," she said; "as a priest of the Holy Church give me thy assurance, and I will pray for thee day and night."

"Priest!" he exclaimed, with scorn. "I am a priest when it suits me to be so, and for the rest a cavalier of the world, like my Jesuit brethren. Love me, Maria," he cried, bending his knee; "love me, as I have loved thee for months in secret, and I can make thy brother pass through the terrors which await him at Goa with safety; but if not, he is a doomed man, and will die at the stake. Ha! ha! for the love of God! Nay, Maria, think me not cruel; 'tis thou who art cruel, my sweet. See, before the Virgin, to whom thou wert crying, I devote myself to thee; I am thine henceforth. If we may not stay here, there is the world before us. India, the Moghul, the Chinese, the sweet Spice Islands, where we may dream away our lives. Europe, if thou wilt, where many a priest like me hath his sweet leman, and no one unfrocks him. Come! I say," he urged tenderly; "come! Thou art young, thou art lovely, thou mightest be a queen. Come! the world is wide enough for us."

The girl's passion had risen with every sentence he spoke, but his utterance was rapid, and she could not speak; her bosom was heaving with scornful emotion, and her bright eyes flashed with angry fire. She was more beautiful in her wrath than in her submission and petition.

"Traitor!" she cried, as he ceased to speak; "perjured priest and liar. Thou hast insulted the Holy Mother; thou hast proposed infamy to her votary; thou hast denied thy Christian faith. I defy thee! I, a poor, helpless widow, defy thee in her name, and spurn thee. Let me pass, Dom Diego. If I walk barefoot to Goa, those whom thou boastest of shall know this. Yea, if they send me to the stake, I will testify against thee till I die."

"Thy beauteous limbs would fare ill on the wheel," he said, with mock piety. "Thy charms should be seen by another than thy executioner, lady. Dost thou wish thy brother's safety? Do as thou hast spoken, and he dies; listen to me, and he lives. Speak! the last chance resteth with thee." And he drew up his tall figure, and folded his arms on his chest. "Not now," he added hurriedly; "not till he is gone, then thou wilt be alone and I with thee."

Maria could make no reply, her speech seemed paralysed with terror. She essayed to escape, but he stretched out his arms and prevented her, caught her in his own, and strained her to his heart. "Maria!" he said; "Maria!" But with a piercing shriek, which resounded through the church and through the grove, she sank down insensible. "Fool!" cried the priest, "I have betrayed myself, and they or I must die." And he fled out of the building.

Francis d'Almeida had sat musing over the events of the day, and wondering why his sister stayed so long, as the music had ceased. "She may have gone to see Catarina, who is very sick; or—or—but it is late, too late." And as he was thus thinking, the shriek reached him. "'Tis Maria's voice!" he cried, snatching down his sword from the wall. "What can have happened?" And he ran out.

In the church the altar was still ablaze with light, but no one answered his anxious call. "Maria! Maria! Where art thou?" He dashed towards the altar, where, partly on the steps and partly on the floor, he saw his sister lying insensible. Though at the first sight of her body he had thought her dead, as he gently raised her he felt a strong shudder pass through her, and a plaintive cry escaped her, in which he could only catch Dom Diego's name; and had he appeared he might not have escaped.

"This, then, was that fiend's object," he muttered to himself, as he raised his sister's form and bore it out of the church. "Before God, and before men, I swear he shall answer for this outrage. Courage, Maria! be brave, and have no fear, the miscreant has fled, but he may be found. Come, if thou canst walk; if not, I will carry thee; when thou art in the house thou canst tell me all."

The air had revived her, and the strong arm of her brother was around her; and, though still dizzy, she went on, her brother supporting her till they reached her chamber, where she fell prostrate upon her little bed. For some minutes she could not speak, but as she drank some of the water offered to her, she rose up, and seeing her brother's naked sword in his hand, cast her arms around his neck.

"Not by that, Francis," she murmured, "should he meet thy punishment. He hath insulted God and the Holy Mother, leave him to them, leave them to chasten his cowardly insult to me; but, oh, brother, we cannot remain here now; let us fly while we have time, and escape from his infamous purposes."

But Francis d'Almeida was not to be restrained; there had been an insult done to his sister, and his gentle nature was inflamed to desperation. Without answering her, he tore himself from her arms and rushed out of the house. He searched every part of the church and the enclosure; he rushed impetuously into Dom Diego's dwelling, but he could not find him, and his servant told him that his master had dressed and gone out some time ago; where, he knew not. Again Francis searched the grove and the adjacent bushes, but there was no one. It was no use searching farther, for Maria might need his aid, and he turned towards his house. As he approached it he saw a number of figures standing near the gate, and for an instant his thought was that there might be danger; but he was relieved by the hearty voice of the old deacon, who cried—

"We are friends, your own people, and are watching the house for you. Come, thou art safe among us; come!" Then the old man took Francis aside and said, "There have been ugly rumours about for several days, O Padré, that some violence was intended against the Lady Maria, your sister; and to-day many Beydurs of Jalhali were seen about the town, who are known to my clan as bad and desperate characters. Some of my men mixed with them, and one who was intoxicated declared, only just now, that there was a dacoity planned upon your house, which would be attacked before daylight in the morning. So I thought I had better bring some of my lads; and here are thirty of us, enough to guard thee and them from all danger. Whom dost thou fear? Hast thou any enemy?"

"None but my superior," he said; "I have no enemy but him."

"Ah!" returned the old man, "and he would possess thy sister."

"Even so, friend," was the reply. "He hath already insulted her, and had I met him——"

"Thank God," returned the deacon, piously. "Thank God that thou hast not his blood upon thy sword. Let it pass. If thou hast to depart to-morrow, we will guard thee and thine, and watch here till morning, and till we can get a guard of soldiers from the Nawab. Come, see to thy lady sister, for she hath been anxiously asking after thee."

"How can I thank thee enough for this care of us; we are strangers in a strange land, and feel your interest keenly. Ay! I do thank the Lord that I met him not, else I should have been a murderer."

Maria had heard her brother's voice, and ran out to meet him. "Oh! thou art safe," she cried; "but I have been miserable. I prayed, I asked the Holy Mother that thou mightest not meet him, and thou didst not. Oh, say thou didst not, Francis."

"Thy prayer was answered, sister," he said. "I searched for him everywhere, but I did not find him, else, for my blood was hot, I had not spared him. Soldier as he is, I had not spared him, or should have died myself. Oh, I am grateful, Maria, for thy sake, that I met him not. But what shall we do to-morrow if I obey the citation? I must depart to Goa; who can protect thee? Thou canst not remain in the Nawab's family without scandal to thy fair name and the Church, and dire offence to the Inquisition; nay, wouldst thou be safe, even then, among the Moors, who little respect even their own women?"

"I see it," said the girl, sadly, "we have no friends but the Lord and these faithful children of our flock; but my remaining with them would only bring trouble and his vengeance upon them; and if, as the deacon told me, he has allied himself with Beydurs, it is an alliance with the evil one, and in your absence what would become of me?"

"It is all true," said her brother, burying his head between his knees. "Only for the citation I would accept our deacon's offer, who would, doubtless, know of some place of concealment; but I dare not disobey it without danger, even death at the stake. Lord, look thou down upon thy servants, and direct us in thy mercy, for we know not what to do!"

They were both silent for some minutes. At last Maria said, "Let us go to the Nawab and ask his advice. He is kind and wise, and is our local governor, with all temporal powers. His wife, Zeenat Khanum, is my friend, whose kind heart I could not doubt; yet though she would press me to stay with her I could not, brother; thou art right, there would be scandal to me and to the Church, and he, our enemy, would make the most of it. Perhaps he may send us both to Goa, and he hath the power. It is not late yet, brother, and I am now strong. I was not harmed but in heart, brother, when he asked me to be his leman when thou wert gone. Then, indeed, I fainted, and till you raised me I was bereft of sense. Come, now, we linger, we have not long to deliberate; our choice must be decisive;" and throwing her usual scarf over her shoulders, and putting her feet into her sandals, she stood ready, and, with a smile, beckoned her brother on.

"All thou needest is already packed, and old Pedro is ready for his journey. Anna," she said to her attendant, who was Pedro's wife, "do thou pack up what I may need, and be ready."

"Stay," said her brother, as if struck with a sudden thought, "I will deposit the manuscripts in the sacristy, and the deacon will see that they are kept safely;" and when this was done they set out, escorted by twenty of the shepherds, leaving the deacon, as he said, to watch, and bidding him a loving farewell, with their blessing to all, men, women, and children, whom they loved so dearly, and by whom they were so deeply loved.

The gates of the Nawab's palace, as it was called by the people, were shut, but at the earnest entreaty of Francis they were opened; all knew the good Padré, and the officer on guard saluted the brother and sister respectfully as they passed him. "The Nawab is sitting in the audience room," he said, "playing at chess with a learned Brahmin; but I know you will be welcome: pass on. Need your men wait?"

"Not all of them," said the priest, and, calling out several by name, he bade the rest return to the deacon.

They knew the premises well, and were ushered through the outer court to the inner one, where the Nawab sat, apparently deeply engaged in his game. A woman servant took charge of Maria and led her to the hareem, while the Nawab, rising, saluted Francis courteously, and bade him be seated. "I have nearly beaten my enemy," he said, laughing, "and it has been a stiff fight, so, with your leave, we will finish this game;" and they played on.

"Mât, at last," cried the Nawab; "but never mind, Gunnesh Punt, thou shalt have thy revenge to-morrow; methinks thou hadst too little fear of the pawn which beat all thy forces; but we will not discuss the game now. The Padré Sahib has no doubt come to me on business;" and he ordered in the usual offerings on a guest's departure. Presently all were gone, and he beckoned to the Padré to draw near and speak freely.

"What is this I hear of disputes between you, my friend, and thy new priest, who looks to me more of a fop and dissolute soldier than a peaceful Padré? Speak out fully to me as a friend, and I will help thee if I can."

Then Francis d'Almeida told all; how he had been suddenly cited to Goa to be admonished; how he dare not refuse the summons; and how that enemy, Dom Diego, had made his vile proposal to his sister.

The old nobleman took his flowing beard in his hands and meditated. He had always avoided interference with the affairs of the Mission, and had had no trouble in regard to it while d'Almeida was in charge of it; but he saw things were changed. He had been an ambassador to Goa, and knew of the Council of the Church and the Inquisition, at which he had marvelled, and then blessed God that neither among Mussulmans, nor Hindoos, though they were deemed infidels, could such a thing be. He saw that d'Almeida must go to it, and to dissuade him from doing so would be to give the worst possible advice under the circumstances. The only difficult point was the Lady Maria.

"I could send thee safe, my friend, to Goa," he said, "but the Lady Maria is ordered to remain, and is not safe. My house should be her home, and she is loved by the Khanum and all the children. But, Padré, she is so beautiful; and I have a son, who is now absent, as you know, but who is expected by us in a few days. I dare not risk a sight of her by him, nor should you, and I speak of her as I would were I truly her father. Let me hear what the women say," he continued. "Do thou remain here, I will not be long away;" and pushing aside a curtain near him, he went into his Zenana.

For some time the priest sat in a very confused state of mind, from which he could see no means of extrication. To take his sister to Goa when the citation forbade it, to risk the chance, having no special friends in the great Council, of accusing his colleague when he himself was under suspension, might be even worse, and would, he thought, be courting self-destruction. To leave the dearest object of his love on earth to the chances which the Nawab more than hinted at, was equally impossible. Whither should he flee? There were other Christian churches he knew in India, but they were far distant, and held heretical tenets. What could he do? He was naturally timid, though brave when aroused, and unable to restrain himself: he wept silently.

Meanwhile the discussion had continued above, partly before Doña Maria, who was surrounded by the children, many of whom had roused from their slumbers, and partly between the Khan and his wife, who was weeping plenteously at the tale of distress. But on one point they agreed perfectly, that to expose the lovely Christian lady to their son's admiration would not only be dangerous, but bring scandal on the family and the Church; while, as the remedy appeared to be in their own hands, they were bound to provide one. All that Maria could say was that she was ready to face death if needs be, but to remain for further insult by the superior she would not, and death were better.

At last a thought seemed to strike the Nawab. "I have it, I think, now," he said; "the remedy will not be pleasant perhaps to either, but they must be saved, and I think the Padré will agree with me."

"What is it? Ah! what wilt thou do with Maria, tell me?" cried the Khanum.

"I had better not," he said, laughing; "women's wit is sometimes great and ready, but sometimes small, as thine hath been to-night. O wife! if I were to tell thee what hath passed my thought, thou and Maria might set thy wits together and spoil all; but 'tis a sure plan, and bethink thee, wife," he added, gravely, "we must save them from shame and from death," and, so saying, he departed.

"We have been consulting," he said to d'Almeida, when he returned to the audience chamber, "but my wife can suggest nothing, all her wits have departed with poor Maria's, and so far we are as we began; but I think I have a good plan now, and, Inshalla, thou wilt make no objection. I must make State prisoners of ye both for a while."

"State prisoners! and of what are we charged?" said the priest, drawing himself up proudly. "Do you forget that Portugal can defend its servants?"

"Nay, I mean no offence, Padré Sahib," said the Nawab, laughing; "we all know what Portugal can do when she has a blow to strike. This morning only, as the flood has subsided, I received despatches from the Court, written by the Queen's own hand, the King being absent in the field. You may not have heard of it, but the Prince Ismail rebelled against the King, and, aided by Eyn-ool-Moolk, raised the standard of revolt, and offered to your people at Goa any terms they liked to ask, even to half the kingdom, if they would give him aid in troops and arms, especially in guns. The Queen was much alarmed, and Humeed Khan had marched against the rebels; but it had transpired that intrigues with Eyn-ool-Moolk and the Prince had been carried on with the Church here, and I am ordered to watch it carefully.

"Now, listen further," he continued, as the Padré was protesting his innocence of any political intrigue. "I know thou art innocent as a babe, though the superior may not be, and I shall watch him. I shall put it out of thy power to obey the citation. I shall not separate thee from Maria. I shall place you both in absolute safety, and when thou wilt thou canst fulfil the summons. Thou art not a free agent now, nor shalt thou be, perhaps, for a few months; but ye will be treated with all distinction, and all your expenses will be defrayed. I do not even ask your permission, but prepare at once to send you to Juldroog, where, from all your enemies, bodily and spiritual, you are safe."

Then he clapped his hands, and by an attendant sent for Peer Mahomed, his secretary and chief scribe. "Write to Jan Beg Risaldar to send fifty horsemen for service here, at the third watch of the night, with two closed litters. Write also to the Nawab Osman Beg of Juldroog to receive the Padré d'Almeida and his sister with honour, and afford them the best accommodation possible. The last, Padré Sahib, I shall write myself to my old friend the Dervish, who lives there, to give ye what ye need freely."

There was no use resisting the Nawab's impetuosity. "As to your effects, do not fear. I will have the house, &c., shut up under attachment, and everything will be safe till ye, as I hope, return to us. Some of your people once there, send for what ye need, and I will despatch one of my own men to see they are brought."

Padré Francis thought of the centurion who had men under his command, and obeyed. His sister came to him, and the Nawab kindly explained what they would have to do. "If our beloved Queen can send for you, 'tis but a short journey, and a special messenger will leave to-day for Beejapoor to tell her what I have done, and that ye are noble, and ye have not only nought to fear, but joy and peace will await ye. Remember, ye are not free agents. I do not ask you to go, but send you hence and for your good."

Then the Nawab embraced him, and as a priest of Jesus asked his blessing. Maria, with one of the children, lay down to rest; and, as the cool morning air began to blow, Francis d'Almeida was roused from his sleep, as he had laid down, and going to the gate was saluted by the officer in command of the party, a grave old warrior; and on Maria's arrival, closely covered by a shawl the Khanum had insisted on her taking, they entered their litters, and the cortège moved on. It was not more than fourteen miles to the river fortress, and they would arrive before the sun was hot.

CHAPTER V.
A NEW ARRIVAL.

A few days had elapsed since, badly wounded and in strong delirium from sunstroke, Abbas Khan had reached the solitary fortress of Juldroog. He was now recovered from the fever, and his arm and breast were partly healed, but not sufficiently to allow of his proceeding to Beejapoor, as he desired to do. Momentous events were passing there. Humeed Khan, his uncle, had routed the rebels, who had supported and encouraged the Prince Ismail in his revolt. The chief of them, Eyn-ool-Moolk, a man who had in turn been true and faithful or rebellious to the kingdom, as his interest seemed to sway him, but whose reputation for consummate ability was believed by all—a man to be feared as well as loved—had been at last killed in action, and his head sent to Beejapoor, and stuck upon a pole opposite to the chief gate of the citadel, a warning to all traitors. The King of Ahmednugger, Boorhan Nizam Shah, was in the field with a powerful army and large train of artillery, intending to strike in with Eyn-ool-Moolk and the young Prince. Ibrahim, King of Beejapoor, himself only a youth, was in the field also, watching his uncle Boorhan's movements, and prepared to check him if he advanced, or succeeded in inducing the Portuguese to join him in a combined movement with Prince Ismail and Eyn-ool-Moolk on Beejapoor. But the whole scheme had been stopped, in its apparently successful course, by the death of one and the defeat of others of the conspirators. The Prince Ismail was in confinement, and the King of Ahmednugger was the last enemy to be dealt with, to give to Beejapoor the rest and peace it had so long yearned for. During the King's absence in the field, the Queen Dowager Chand Beebee carried on the Executive Government, as she had done for the many years of the King's minority, with the same calmness and profound ability she had always shown since she was called upon to take part in public affairs.

On the morning we write of, the Governor of the fort and his guest had risen early, performed their stated devotions, and were sitting in a cloister of the Governor's house, which, for distinction, was called "the Palace." It was a plain edifice, built of hewn granite, stuccoed inside, and contained some few comfortable rooms, but much confined, as the space on which the building had been erected, the very apex of the cone of the hill, was necessarily very limited. Around it were huge masses of smooth granite rocks, in every fantastic form, which rose almost perpendicularly from the river bed on three sides, sloping more gradually to the east, where, on a portion of tolerably level ground, lay the little town of the fortress. To a lover of natural scenery, if such a person had existed among the unobservant and indifferent Mussulmans who formed the garrison, Juldroog would have been a welcome residence; but Osman Beg, the present governor, was not one of such persons. The son of a distinguished officer in the army of the State, by birth a Persian, he had been unruly and disobedient at home and strongly disposed to intrigue, which had made his presence at the capital somewhat dangerous for him; and the command of Juldroog becoming vacant, he was, as it were, rusticated for a while, and his father held responsible for his fidelity.

He had now been two years in the fortress, and though he had written many penitential letters to his father, and petitions to the King and the Queen Dowager, he had not been relieved. The times were too exciting for a restless spirit like his to be allowed full liberty, and he had been kept at his unenviable post sorely against his will. If the Prince and Eyn-ool-Moolk had succeeded in their enterprise, he would, no doubt, have joined them; and this, from his intimacy with the young Prince, being more than suspected, his petitions for return were, for the present, disregarded.

I have already said that the situation of Juldroog was eminently picturesque and beautiful, but it was beauty of a savage kind. The river Krishna, in the course of ages, in which the great cataract had been formed, had cut its way through a range of rocky hills which continued northwards and southwards from the brink of the ravine, through which its waters flowed. Throughout the ravine, which was about three-quarters of a mile long, its sides were formed of rugged and precipitous rocks, amongst which there was enough foliage to redeem them from entire savageness. Towards the end of the ravine the fort was situated, evidently a portion of the main range, through which the river had cut its way. Looking from the crest of the cataract above, it seemed as if the giant mass of the fort blocked up the narrow ravine altogether; but at the angle opposed to the river it separated into two branches, one to the north and one to the south. Abbas Khan had crossed over the northern branch, which was comparatively narrow, and at a somewhat steeper incline than the southern, which was more spread out and more full of scattered rocks.

Both branches united at the end of the island thus formed, and the noble river flowed on unbroken, except by low rocky islands covered with wood. In dry weather the stream was reduced to a comparatively small compass, the cataract was divided into many portions threading through the rocks in their white streams, and disclosing the whole of the wonderful construction of the fall, huge masses of granite rocks crossed by veins and dykes of basalt. From the crest of the cataract to the pool beneath, the measure by level of the descent is four hundred and eight feet in about a quarter of a mile; and, as I have before attempted to describe, the fury of the descending mass of water when the wide river is in flood, is majestic and wonderful in the extreme; but the place is so lonely, so entirely out of the way of ordinary travellers, that few, except the people of the country immediately around, know of its existence.

The young men were sitting together near an archway, which commanded a noble view. To the west was the ravine of the cataract, with the majestic fall now reduced, but still showing sheets of rushing water, and its foaming, agitated passage through the rocky channels and bed of the ravine. The sun had not risen, and the east was full of orange, purple, and crimson clouds rising almost to the zenith, with a pale green streak of clear sky near the horizon. To the north and south the sky was flecked with fleecy cloudlets, which caught, now golden, now crimson, now orange and pink rays, growing fainter and fainter as they receded; but the glory of all was in the centre, which glowed like molten metal, and was reflected in the large pool where the two streams met below. To the east the river pursued its course through a level, fertile plain, its pools and current glistening in the morning light, till it seemed lost among the hills far beyond.

Suddenly the sun appeared to leap into the sky, and for a few minutes his glowing rays touched every object with gold and crimson colour; the hoary pinnacles of the hills beyond the river north and south, the rocks and foliage of the sides of the ravine, flamed in the brilliant light, the foam of the river seemed to flow in crimson flakes, and the cataract glistened and shimmered like streams of fire.

For a brief while the spectacle was one of extraordinary grandeur and beauty, and even the two young men were affected by it, for both had started up from the soft cushions on which they had been reclining, and were looking out in silence, when, as suddenly as it had broke forth, the sun entered the bank of cloud above it, the gorgeous light faded, and all became dull and grey.

"'Twas a pity it vanished so soon, brother," said Abbas Khan, as he went to his hookah again, and the gurgling murmur succeeded. "'Twas, methinks, like the glance of a beauty's eye, which sets one aflame, and when withdrawn leaves one as grey and desolate as yonder rocks, which a moment ago flashed like jewels. Hast thou often such exhibitions?"

"If I had them every day, Meeah," was the reply, "dost thou think I should waken to see them, or care if I did see them? No; if thou hadst been here two years like me, thou wouldst send thy curse against every rock and tree, against all that roaring water, and most especially against yonder frightful cataract, which for three months in every year seems to clamour at me like a devil; mingles with my dreams if I am asleep, and carried by the wind when it is in flood, the noise and spray even enter here, and I am deafened and drenched. Thou hast heard of the hell where infidels burn, but this is a water hell for poor fellows like me, who have no friends. For the love of Alla, when thou art at Court again, and of thy brotherly love, say a kind word for me, and get me withdrawn. Surely even our prim Dowager Queen can see no evil in me now. Wilt thou speak for me, O brother?"