CHAPTER I.

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 'SEBTA,' 'TARA,' AND OTHER TALES.

'O, never was there queen

So mightily betray'd!'

_Antony and Cleopatra_, act i. sc. iii.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL III.

LONDON:

C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.

1878.

(_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._)

CONTENTS

OF

THE THIRD VOLUME.

_BOOK IV._

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE KING'S ENTRY 1

II. PARDON 11

III. THE TRIAL 25

IV. FREEDOM 50

V. CHANGES IN SOME POSITIONS 68

VI. PROCEEDINGS AT GOA 85

VII. THE INQUISITION 104

VIII. A DEATH, A MARRIAGE, AND A DEPARTURE 126

_BOOK V._

I. A SKETCH OF LOCAL HISTORY 148

II. A PLEASANT JOURNEY 154

III. THE PROGRESS OF THE SIEGE 168

IV. THE ASSAULT 187

V. DIEGO'S DEATH AND THE BISHOP'S EMBASSY 208

VI. PEACE FOR AWHILE 228

VII. THE SECOND SIEGE OPENS 244

VIII. THE LAST TRAGEDY 257

IX. CONCLUSION 273

NOTE 286

GLOSSARY 287

A NOBLE QUEEN.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

THE KING'S ENTRY.

The triumphal entry of King Ibrahim II. into his capital was not only

a glorious sight to its people, but an assurance that the long and

disastrous wars between the rival States of Beejapoor and Ahmednugger

were at an end. King Ibrahim had kept the field against the conspiracy

of his cousin, the Prince Ismail, who was supported by a large portion

of his own army under Eyn-ool-Moolk, and by his uncle, Boorhan Nizam,

Shah of Ahmednugger; and against the possible advance of the Portuguese

of Goa, whose skill in war was well known in the Dekhan. The King

of Ahmednugger, however, could make no impression on the Beejapoor

troops, who defended the frontier stoutly, and, falling ill, died in

his camp at Puraindah. His son Ibrahim, a youth, was placed upon the

throne, and soon after again pressed the war against Beejapoor, which

brought on the general action in which Humeed Khan, the uncle of Abbas

Khan, had proved victorious; and as the troops of Ahmednugger fled

from the field with the loss of the whole of their artillery and war

elephants, the long continued struggle came to an end, and the Royal

army returned to Beejapoor, escorting their King in triumph. "On the

18th Mohorrum," writes the historian of the period, "the King made a

triumphant entry into Beejapoor amid the acclamation of the people, who

on this occasion had adorned the streets with gold and silver tissues,

velvets, brocades, and other rich cloths and ornaments." But it was

not the splendour of the spectacle which gratified the people; it was

the assurance of safety and security from further disturbance, for

which all were thankful. Those who had wavered in their allegiance now

declared a hearty loyalty; and the southern invaders, under the Hindoo

Prince of Penkonda, who had joined the conspiracy on the assurance of

the conspirators that they might thus regain the dominions they had

lost, having been defeated and driven back, there remained no part

of the Beejapoor dominions that was not in profound peace after a

long series of years of rebellion; and the people rejoiced in a real

gladness which had not been felt for several generations.

As we already know, the force under Abbas Khan had marched northwards

to the aid of the King; but as the rainy season was at its height,

King Ibrahim had taken up his position at the fort of Shahdroog, or

Nuldroog, and had left Humeed Khan with the main body of the army to

watch the frontier and repel incursion should it take place. Abbas

Khan, therefore, on receiving orders from the King, had marched to join

his uncle, and arrived in time to take part in the finally victorious

battle.

From his uncle he had received a very hearty and affectionate welcome,

the particulars of which need not be recorded here; and it was with a

great satisfaction that the veteran commander heard the details of the

combat in the presence of the Queen Dowager, and the discovery of Osman

Beg's treason. Abbas Khan had, indeed, to recount all the passages

in his life which we already know of, which to his uncle had been so

grievously misrepresented. There was nothing left but for Abbas Khan to

show his valour in the next engagement that ensued, which proved to be

a very severe one, for the left wing of the Beejapoor troops was broken

by an impetuous charge of ten thousand of the Ahmednugger cavalry. Many

nobles and high officers of rank were slain, and many fugitives rode at

once to the King's camp declaring that the whole army had been routed.

For three days the King was in the last degree of anxious uncertainty,

till a despatch from Humeed Khan, sent by the hand of his nephew, who

could describe the action, assured him of the most perfect victory.

Then it was, too, that the day might have gone hard for the Royal army

but for the exertions and daring bravery of the fresh force under his

nephew; and he related, also, how bravely the enemy's heavy battery had

been stormed by the Beydurs, who appeared unconscious of danger, and

how both Abyssinians and Dekhan cavalry had vied with each other under

their young leader. In a few days the King's forces joined those under

Humeed Khan near Sholapoor, where public thanksgiving was made for the

close of the war, and some rewards and honours were publicly bestowed.

But the grand ceremony of all was to take place at Beejapoor on the

day of entry into the capital; and the King, carrying with him the

whole of his army, with the trophies in artillery and elephants, Royal

camp equipage and treasure that had been won, crossed the Bheema river

slowly, and, as we know, safely reached his destination.

While in camp together, our friends Runga Naik and Abbas Khan had held

many an anxious conversation on the subject of the old Syud Dervish and

Zóra. Runga had told him of the forcible abduction of the girl, and

of her rescue by himself and Burma; how, when he was obliged to leave

Korikul, he had made her and the Syud over to Burma's care, but from

that time he had no news of them.

If they had left Kukeyra they might be at Sugger, or, possibly, had

gone on to Gulburgah; but nothing could be known for certain till

the men who were returning from his own force should reach their

territory, and either bring the old man and Zóra with them to camp or

to Beejapoor. It was this very party which, crossing the country direct

from the Royal camp, so providentially rescued Zóra, unharmed, and took

her to her grandfather; and regulating their movements by those of the

King himself, arrived in time to witness his triumphal entry. I trust

this slight digression will be pardoned, for, indeed, without it the

position of the parties would hardly be understood with exactness.

After the slight interruption caused by raising the infirm old man, the

grand march was resumed; and the young King rode on, with the bitter

cry of the old Syud, "Daad! Daad! Justice! Justice!" ringing in his

ears, and the sightless eyes and feeble arms raised to heaven. Abbas

Khan's tale had distressed him seriously; but he was here face to face

with one instance of the first King Ibrahim's cruelty, and the sin

of it rested on his house. Well, it could be condoned, perhaps, for

the curse of a holy Syud could hardly be averted even by penance; but

he would do, as he had vowed to Alla, what it was possible to do ere

the sun set. So the young Monarch rode on in his pride; Humeed Khan

on his right hand, Soheil Khan and the brave commander on his left,

preceded by his gold and silver mace-bearers shouting his titles, and

followed by the crowds of nobles and officers who composed his train.

The day was as yet young, but it was bright and clear; and the flood of

light glittering on morion and coat of mail, on cuirass and greave,

on trappings and housings of gold and silver cloth, on banners and

standards, and the great white buildings and palaces which stood out

against the clear, deep blue sky, formed a combination of splendour

which the mind can hardly realise, and which was well-nigh overpowering

to all who saw it.

As to Zóra, she--who had seen nothing in all her life of splendour

such as that--was fairly overpowered. She trembled, and her cheeks

flushed as the first portion of the troops issued from the gate and

passed them, drowning the feeble chaunt she and her grandfather were

raising. But alms were showered upon them, and Ahmed had gathered up

several times already what lay on the sheet. When the hoarse cry arose

of "The King cometh! The King cometh!" and all heads bowed to the earth

as he passed on, she did not think of him, but of one that might be

with him. And yet, if he were, would he remember her? Would he even

see her? Ah! it was an anxious moment, and her beating heart fluttered

till she could hardly breathe. As the glorious pageant went slowly

past, she could see the face she sought distinctly. Abbas Khan was

riding near his uncle, conversing joyously with him and others around

him; and the appearance of the gallant cavalier, dressed in glittering

armour and cloth of gold, was almost too dazzling to look at. There

were hundreds of Fakeers lining the road, crying for alms in stentorian

voices. How would the faint chaunt of an infirm old man and a girl be

heard amidst the din--the jangling bells of elephants, the neighing of

excited horses, and the cries of the Royal titles? And Abbas Khan must

have passed the group but for the sudden action of her grandfather,

who threw himself forward with his shrill cry. Even then the grooms

who ran by the King's horse, which had been somewhat startled, would

have removed the old man, roughly enough, perhaps, from the Royal path;

but the action of Abbas Khan had been rapid, and instantaneous, and

decisive. What he had said to the King she could not hear; but the

King's reply, "Bring him to the palace instantly," at once gave her

the assurance she needed. Now Abbas Khan had dismounted, and stood

embracing her grandfather; and was telling Runga Naik, who had seen

all, to seek for his litter, which was under some trees at a little

distance. Poor Zóra had not been able to obtain one at Almella, and she

had ridden her own stout pony, which was also brought up; and she was

preparing to mount it when Abbas Khan cried, "Stay, Zóra! not in this

crowd; here is a palanquin of the King's for thee." So she entered it,

shut the doors, and was carried on. There was no time for words. The

whole scene was to her so altogether strange and unexpected that she

could not find speech to thank any one; and as she shut the doors of

the palanquin, and was safe from observation, her overcharged heart

found relief in a burst of grateful sobs and tears.

As the King's procession went on towards the city, outside the walls,

for he had to receive the blessing of the Chishtee priest whom we know

of, it was easy for Abbas Khan to turn off with his charge into the

gate of the citadel, while Runga Naik brought up the baggage ponies

behind. All was comparatively clear in the citadel, and would be till

the King arrived; so that Abbas Khan had no difficulty in speaking to

one of the chief eunuchs of the private apartments, whom he knew, and

putting his old friend and Zóra under his charge. He could not stay;

and galloping after the procession soon overtook it, and resumed his

place by his uncle's side.

"Who was the girl beside the old man who helped to raise him up, and

whom my horse well nigh trampled down? I never saw a more beautiful

and expressive face in my life," said his uncle with, as it seemed, a

peculiar smile.

"She is the old saint's granddaughter, sir; and has devoted her life to

him. Yes, she is beautiful."

"Then thou hast seen her, Abbas?"

"I have, uncle. The night I was in delirium at Juldroog she watched

me, and gave me medicine and cool sherbet; but I could only see her

face as that of one in a dream, and I have never looked on it since but

once, and that only as a passing glance, till to-day, when I could not

help seeing her, for the handkerchief she had tied over her turban had

fallen off. It is evident that the Syud hath taken the vow, perhaps at

Gulburgah, where His Highness Geesoo Duráz made him a Wallee."

"Was he a Fakeer before then?" asked his uncle.

"No, sir. Though he called himself a Dervish, yet he had not taken

any degree as a Fakeer, and people only called him Dervish. When he

confided to me his identity his chief prayer was to be allowed to go

free, that he might pay his vows at Sugger and Gulburgah, where, it

appears, he was raised at once to the highest rank; and his title now

is Luteef Shah Wallee. His is a sad story, uncle. Dost thou remember

it?"

"I was a mere boy then," was the reply, "and used to attend the durbar

with thy grandfather; but I quite remember the sadness with which all

the city heard that Syud Ahmed Ali, the physician, had been blinded

and sent to Juldroog. Everyone grieved for him, for he was not only

the most learned of all at Court, but the most charitable. Many will

remember him, and Ekhlas Khan was an intimate friend. Yea, it will

cause a murmur in durbar when his name is mentioned, for he has been

clean forgotten; and it was believed he had died soon after he was

imprisoned. And thou hast told the King all?"

"All," replied the young Khan. "As the old Dervish told the tale to

me, so did I repeat it faithfully; and I told him, too, how, under the

Lord's will, he had saved my life."

"And what said he?"

"He wept, uncle; and said that the curse of a Syud should never rest

upon the Adil Shah's realm or people; that search should be made for

the Dervish. Then one day there came a holy man with a great retinue

from Gulburgah, and told him--I was there--how a Fakeer had preached in

the mosque, and a miracle had been done, and the heretofore Dervish had

been made a Wallee at once, as the people demanded. And the King said

to me, 'Thou art witness, Abbas Khan, that if I ever am blessed by the

old man I will restore to him and his all he has lost.'"

"And he will do it, too," replied Humeed Khan. "And amidst the

rejoicings of to-day one heart will be gladdened."

"Ameen! Ameen!" was the reply; and the conversation dropped.

CHAPTER II.

PARDON.

Meanwhile Zóra and her grandfather had been conducted by the eunuchs

through the entrance corridor into a suite of small but elegant

apartments, which opened into a court and garden behind the palace.

Their servants were brought in by a separate passage into a little

kitchen and adjoining room; and there were baths and everything

necessary for a pleasant, though necessarily confined residence. Here

Zóra and old Mamoolla soon spread her grandfather's carpets, and they

found cushions and bedsteads already provided. Presently, when all was

arranged, Zóra led the old man to the cushions, and he sat down with a

sigh of thankfulness.

"Where am I?" he said. "Surely I heard Meeah's voice? Where has he

gone? Bring him to me."

"You are in the King's palace," said Zóra, throwing her arms around

him. "Be thankful, Abba, that all thy sorrows and trials are over. We

are safe in our refuge at last."

"Yes," he said, "at last! More than forty years have passed over me

since they sent me away to exile, blinded and in torment. Dost thou

think I have forgotten that?"

"O, Abba!" cried the girl, putting her hand over his mouth, "didst thou

not tell me when the Fateha was said before the tomb at Gogi that thou

hadst forgiven King Ibrahim? Was it for thy blindness, Abba?"

"I am again rebuked, Zóra, and will forgive still; but it is hard to

forget the past, and the joy with which I came forth from Almella, and

within an hour was taken out, blind and bleeding! Forgive me, child!

that I am false to thee. And forgive me, O Ibrahim! who hast received

me back, that this bitter thought should have come into my mind. Yes,

as I entered, I felt I was within the palace. This I am sure, by the

turns we took as we entered, was the very apartment which I used

to dwell in whenever my visit was prolonged. I even now scent the

jessamine and tube roses of the little garden, and I feel as though I

were in my old seat, with the soft south wind blowing on me. Methinks I

see the blue Damascus tiles which are inlaid round the arches, and the

carved window of the Zenana beyond."

"It is even so, Abba," said Zóra, much moved, as her grandfather

pointed out the several objects with his finger. "Nothing has been

changed; everything is as perfect now as it was then, and looks as

quiet and peaceful as our little Zenana used to do at Juldroog."

"But it is only a gilded cage, my child; and I shall long to be free

again, and to teach and preach, ay, and beg as I used to do even at

Juldroog. And here there is more to do, else the Lord had not brought

me."

"But, Abba, dear Abba!" began Zóra; and he interrupted her with, "Be

patient, child! Dost thou think I do not welcome this as a place

of rest, even as thou dost? And when Meeah comes he may bestow us

elsewhere, when we can go and come with freedom. Then we shall have

our own house, and our own servants, and palanquin, and bearers; and a

sweet garden where I shall love to sit and discourse on the mysteries

of holiness with the learned of the city, and on medicine with the

physicians; and thou wilt have thy pigeons and flowers, and find out

poor people and relieve them."

"Enough, enough, Abba!" cried Zóra, laughing and crying at the same

moment. "Thou wouldst make a princess of me at once, and art tempting

me by a hundred delightful anticipations fit but for the noble and

great. But I see only my Fakeer's garments, and think of my uncompleted

vows. And after all, am I not your humble little Zóra?"

"Thou art my precious treasure, child!" replied the old man, with

emotion; "and the most noble house in Dekhan cannot produce one like

thee."

Almost as he spoke, the curtain, which was drawn across the entrance,

was partly raised, and a man's voice said hurriedly to a companion,

"The rooms are occupied by strangers, Maria; we must retire."

Zóra started to her feet, and rushed hastily forward. She saw two

figures she at once recognised retreating into the corridor, and cried,

"Maria! Maria! it is only your little Zóra; and Abba is here. Oh, come

to us, we are alone."

In their turn Maria and her brother started. There was no doubt left

when they saw the slight figure stretching out its arms with a low cry

of joy, and the soft, flushed cheeks wet with tears; and a moment after

they were locked in each other's arms, and approached the old man's

seat, who was crying out joyfully, "Come! come to me, my friends; we

are, indeed, with you at last. O Padré Sahib, thank the Lord with me

that we are here safely, and in honour, for of a truth we have endured

much."

Maria was not changed, save that the bright rosy colour of her cheeks

had increased under the effects of better health; and she had attained

a true majesty of beauty which far exceeded that which Zóra used to

look on with wonder at Juldroog. Zóra seated her beside her on the

cushions, but she could not give vent to her feelings of delight. Her

loving brown eyes looked up like those of a dog to her friend; she

threw her arms round her, and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips,

passionately, hardly able to speak, except to say, "Thou art here,

Maria, and restored to me. Oh, yes, to me, who in all my troubles and

tears have never forgotten thee; and this which thou gavest me," and

she drew the little silver cross from her bosom, "has never left me,

and has been my charm and deliverer of my honour when all hope of my

deliverance seemed gone. And thou hast been happy, Maria?"

"Very happy, my darling," returned her friend, "longing to hear of you

and Abba, but could obtain no news of you. Your little letter and the

feather reached me safely, and I have them still at home. And I wrote

a reply to you, Zóra, and my brother gave it to Abbas Khan, for I was

able to write that the Queen had ordered Abba and you to be sent to

her, and that he would be restored to his old rank; and I knew you

would like to hear the good news from me, Zóra. But we had no reply,

and then I heard of the Nawab's ill-treatment of you, and that you had

escaped, and the Queen thought you might come direct to her."

"And I would have done so had I heard from Meeah," said the old man;

"but I soon learned he had reached the city, and what could I have done

alone?"

"Yes," observed the Padré, "we were more than a month detained on the

road, as Abbas Khan's horse fell, and his wound opened again. He had a

severe return of the fever, and I feared for his life. Nor did he stay

when he arrived; after the combat with the Abyssinian champion, whom

he slew, the Queen sent him to the army, and I hear he has returned

to-day."

"Yes, and we have seen him," said Zóra; "and he brought us here. And

thou art with the Queen, Maria?" she continued.

"I am with both of them, Zóra; but chiefly, by desire of Queen Chand,

with the Queen Taj-ool-Nissa, whom my brother hath restored to health,

and she is now strong and well. It is such a change, Zóra, and we

laugh, and say the King will not know the miserable wife he left. And

she has grown very dear to me, and loves to talk of you, who, she says,

must be her sister. Come, shall we go to Queen Chand, she will be vexed

with me if I take you not?"

"But I must change these clothes, Maria; it is not fitting for me to

appear before her with these Fakeer's garments."

"On the contrary, child, she will love thee the more, and honour thee

for wearing them. See, Abba, I am carrying off Zóra already," she

continued, "and my brother will be security for me that I bring her

back safely."

It was a strange thing to Zóra to feel herself guided through the

intricate passages and corridors of the huge palace, and to see the

strange deference and respect shown to Maria by all the eunuchs and

Mámas on duty. At length they reached the entrance to the private

apartments of the Queen Dowager, and after a brief colloquy with the

eunuchs at the door, were admitted, and led to the Queen's seat by one

of the women in attendance.

"Thou art welcome, Maria," she said, kindly; "but who is this thou hast

brought with thee?"

"It is Zóra, your Majesty, of whom I have so often spoken. She would

have taken off her Fakeer's dress; but I said I was sure she had better

come as she was."

"And you were right, child. I welcome thee in the name of the King,

thee and thy grandfather. By the blessed Prophet, how lovely thou art:

come hither and embrace me."

What idea Zóra had previously entertained of a real Queen it is

difficult to say: something very awe-inspiring, no doubt, and

magnificent; but at the sight of the slight girlish figure and plain

muslin dress of the great Queen whose praises were in every one's

mouth, and who had held the power of the whole kingdom, Zóra became

assured, and advanced to kiss the Royal lady's feet, and embrace her as

she desired.

"Power of God!" cried the Queen as, having embraced Zóra she took both

her cheeks in her hands and turned them alternately to the light,

and looked into her soft glowing eyes; "Power of God! she is lovely,

indeed, even in this poor dress. But thou hast not taken the vows,

Zóra?"

"No, my Queen, not yet; but when my grandfather was exalted in rank at

Gulburgah I would have done so, but for a worthy lady of Golconda, who

would not allow me."

"And she was right, child," returned the Queen; "such vows only

belong to widows and devotees; but thou, may God forgive the thought,

art neither one nor other; and if the blessing of Chand Beebee

avail aught, she will live to see thy children about thy knees;"

and, stretching forth both her hands, she placed them upon Zóra's

head, praying for her welfare. Then Zóra sat down and told her what

had befallen her since the time that Osman Beg carried her off, and

the escapes she had had, particularly the last. How her grandfather

attained the rank of Wallee; and, in short, all the story we know up to

the events of the morning.

"Remember that thou art my guest," said the Queen, as she dismissed

Zóra; "and thou shalt want for nothing. Perhaps," she added, "thou

mayest be required to-morrow at the durbar, for Osman Beg hath arrived

in custody, and there may be need of thy evidence, should he deny what

is alleged against him. Thou wilt not be afraid of the King's presence

and the durbar?"

"I am only a poor weak girl," said Zóra, casting down her eyes; "but

I have never yet been ashamed before God or man, and have no reason

to fear the King or the durbar. But I have forgiven the Nawab freely.

I have no claim upon him or against him; I have left all to the good

Alla to judge between us. Yet, lady, had not my poor friends Runga and

Burma Naik, whom I have known since I was a child, rescued me, I had

surely been despoiled of my honour, and become an outcast. Now, blessed

be the Lord, I can stand before my lord the King, or you, gracious

lady, without shame, or a thought of shame. Forgive me that I speak

so freely, lady; but thou art as a mother to me, and my tears and my

thoughts well up together without restraint. I know none of the manners

of a court, for hitherto I have been secluded, and my speech may appear

curt and abrupt; but my thoughts are not so--indeed, indeed, they are

as a child's before its mother."

"Thy speech is good courtly Persian, at which I marvel, child,"

returned the Queen, "and thou needest not be ashamed of it, Zóra; and

thy fearlessness doth thee honour. Yes, I will be thy mother truly; and

though thou mayest have forgiven thine enemy, the State hath not, and

it is not seeming that such acts as Osman Beg's should be passed by

unnoticed. Now depart, both of ye, for I hear the kettledrums from the

city, and I have much to do ere the King enters. Bid thy grandfather

eat something and be ready, for I have no doubt he will be sent for

soon after His Majesty arrives."

As they passed the entrance to the young Queen's apartments, Maria

asked whether they might be admitted; but it was too late; the Queen

was in the bath, and her attiring would scarcely be finished before

the King arrived. Then they went down to the old man and his friend,

whom they found deeply engaged in the discussion of the young Queen's

ailments; and in the Padré's treatment of the case the old physician

heartily agreed. Zóra delivered the Queen's message, and after a bath,

which Ahmed had prepared, the Wallee's costly robe of honour and his

crown were put on him. Zóra had changed her tunic for one of her

simple woman's dresses, and they sat enjoying pleasant converse in

regard to the past, while the salvoes of cannon, braying of trumpets,

and loud nobat music playing on the terrace above, announced to them

the arrival of the King.

Nor had they to wait long. Another salute from a battery of cannon

before the Hall of Audience announced that he had taken his seat;

and two of the gold mace-bearers in waiting arrived to request the

attendance of His Holiness Luteef Shah Wallee as soon as possible.

And then the old man rose, and, led by Zóra, whom he declared must

guide him, passed by the lower corridors into the great hall. It was

a strange sight to the nobles and commanders assembled there, to see

the venerable man led by the simply, not to say coarsely, dressed girl

to a seat apart from the rest, and near the group of holy men who had

already taken their places. All rose in deference to the new comer,

whose rank was indeed superior to that of any there; but he was spared

the difficulty of performing any act of reverence to the King himself,

who, rising, went to him, while Zóra fell back under charge of one of

the mace-bearers, an elderly eunuch, who took care of her; but she

could see and hear perfectly whatever passed.

"We have sent for thee, illustrious Syud," said the King, as soon as

silence was enforced--for the murmur of astonishment and pity had

been loud and full of emotion--"to do an act of justice, which shall

mark this happy day with a deed peculiar to itself. We had heard

of the illustrious Syud before from Abbas Khan, who was for a time

at Juldroog, and we had vowed to send for him. But, lo! as if by a

miracle, or the direct interposition of the Most High, as we entered

the city gate, we found him present before us. In the humble garb of

Fakeers he and his granddaughter appeared by the wayside, and he fell

at our horse's feet. The just and Almighty Alla had, by a strange

course of circumstances, guided them to our feet, not as they were in

their exile, but with increased glory and honour; for at Gulburgah the

Prince Geesoo Duráz, with other princes and learned doctors of Islam,

had conferred upon him, in regard to his power over men's minds, his

learning, and piety, the spiritual rank of Wallee; and as such, we

ourselves, as we vowed, present him to you, O friends and brothers in

the faith, and pray you to do him reverence, as we ourselves do, in the

presence of ye all; for the Lord hath brought to us in honour one whom

our ancestor Ibrahim--may peace be on his memory!--blinded and cast out

to exile, where he was forgotten and might have died, but for the aid

of Him in whose service his life had passed."

Then many wept. Many who had known the old man in his prosperity, and

thought him dead, pressed forward with tears and quivering features

to grasp his hand once more, and kiss his feet; while cries of "Deen!

Deen! A miracle! a miracle! May the saint live in peace and honour!"

rose from all parts of the vast hall, and were taken up without with

an enthusiasm which spread among the people even to the far ends of

the city; and men saluted each other with the message of peace and the

blessing of God, and the cry, "The sin of the State has been removed,

let us be thankful."

When the tumult had subsided, the King, standing on the step of the

throne, cried again with a loud voice, and said: "Know all men, and

brothers in Islam present, that before food or water hath passed our

lips to-day, we freely and entirely revoke the cruel sentence passed

on the illustrious Syud Ahmed Ali, now Syud Luteef Shah Wallee. We

implore, in the name of our ancestor, forgiveness for the shame and

pain he hath endured for forty years, and pray him to intercede with

Alla the Most High, and His holy messenger, to wipe out this sin, and

remove it for ever from us and our people. We further establish this

our illustrious saint in all the possessions and estates which were

granted before; and we give, in addition to these, the pergunna of

Kokutnoor, the scene of his child's delivery from violence. So let

it be, Ameen! Ameen!" Nor was a soul present who did not cry "Ameen!

Ameen!"

"Zóra! Zóra!" cried the old man, who was trembling with excitement,

and feeling about with his hands, "raise me up and support me, else I

cannot speak. Zóra, the Lord hath won the victory for us, and there

is no longer aught hid from thee, O my child. Let her come to me,

Sir, for I need her aid;" and there was a way opened for her, and he

felt the soft warm hand steal into his, whilst her gentle "I am with

thee, Abba," assured him. A strange sight was it to all that gorgeous

assembly; the venerable old man leaning on the shoulder of the slight

girl. He, clad in his rich saint's robe, and his crown with which he

had been crowned; Zóra in her humble dress of soosi, and her plain

muslin scarf now covering her face. But she was calm and dignified, and

her modest self-possession struck those who saw her with wonder and

admiration.

Then the old man stretched forth his hands and blessed the King, and

the Queen who sat above, and all the people. "What can I say, my King?"

he cried; "what can I say? My poor speech is dumb, but my heart goeth

forth to thee and thine, and to all present who behold me. As I came

hither, O King, I rested at Gogi, and distributed Fatehas at all thy

ancestors' tombs; but my heart was hot and hard and sore within me, and

I was about to pass King Ibrahim's tomb, when God sent me a rebuke by

the mouth of this poor child: 'Forgive him,' she cried, 'forgive him;

go not away from this place till thou hast forgiven him;' and I kneeled

down by his tomb, struck by remorse, and bared my head, and cast dust

upon it, and cried, 'I forgive thee, O Royal master, all thou didst

to me, and may it be forgiven to thee in the day of judgment.' And my

heart was softened, and I was accepted at Gulburgah because I preached

peace to the people, as, Inshalla, I will do here, and there will be

no more war or trouble. And now, O King, bid me depart home to rest,

for I am old, and the events of this day have overpowered me."

Then the King ordered the ushers to bring a robe of honour, and he

put it on the old man with his own hands, and hung a valuable string

of pearls round his neck, to serve as prayer beads, while the people

around the hall still cried blessings on them! and Zóra heard voices

in the Queen's balcony crying, "Ameen; Ameen!" with, as she thought,

Maria's blending with them, and sobbing too. While she led her

grandfather back towards their apartments, Zóra hitherto had been able

to repress her emotion, but finding Maria already there, she fell on

her neck and wept passionately. She felt not only thankful for the

honour accorded to Abba, but for what spoke to her heart more deeply

and fondly, that Abbas Khan, and a noble old officer, whom she supposed

to be his uncle, had been looking at her all the time. Nay, had she

not heard their cries of joy and congratulations rising high above all

others! And, late in the day, Meeah brought his uncle, and they kissed

the old man's feet, and delivered the King's command that he should

attend the great durbar on the morrow at noon. But Zóra had retired;

she dared not look on them.

CHAPTER III.

THE TRIAL.

Somewhat before noon on the following day the tall, burly figure of

a man, who wore a dress of red cotton cloth, advanced slowly over

the short turfy sward which lay beneath some huge adansonia trees in

the fort. They were situated at some little distance from the gate

of the citadel, by themselves, with no buildings near them, for the

spot was considered impure and unholy, being, in fact, the usual place

of execution in Beejapoor. A few persons were following him, and as

he stopped and seated himself in the shade of one of the trees, some

of those who had gathered round him began to question him as to what

was to happen, for the executioner rarely made his appearance in his

official costume unless some event were to follow.

"Who is it to-day, Khan Sahib?" asked one of the bystanders, with an

expressive jerk of his head. "Who is to be sent to Paradise or to Hell?

Nothing has happened for a long time past, but now the King has come

again, thy hands will be full of work."

"Yes, brothers," returned the grim functionary; "while Queen Chand

was in authority, there was no business. She is a great deal too kind

and compassionate, and she cheated me out of one fellow who was bigger

than I, and the greatest bully and villain in Beejapoor, by letting

that brisk young fellow, Abbas Khan, kill him. Now I should like to

have slain that devil, because he was too mean for the young Khan to

meddle with, and he was always mocking me and scoffing at my sword,

which, he said, was nothing in comparison to his 'kussab,' as he called

it, which I ought to have had also, but the Kotwal has taken it. Now

look, friends, can anything be more beautiful than this?" and, rising,

he drew from its scabbard a broad-bladed sword, rather broader at the

point than at the hilt, with a point nearly square, with some, to him,

strange-looking letters upon it, which he believed to be a charm. The

motto, indeed, was--

"Inter arma silent leges,"

and the sword had been forged in Germany. "All I know is, friends,

that the blade is a true 'Allemagne;' and though it is as sharp as

any razor, and I got Daood Sahib, the King's armourer, to retouch the

edge to-day, there will not be even a notch in it when I have done my

work, and not a cloud on its fair polish. Ah, sirs, that 'kussab' of

the Abyssinian's is a brutal weapon, to be used but by main strength;

whereas this, my Allemagne, requires only skill, and when any great

person is made over to me, I use it and no other."

"Then it is some great person, Khan Sahib, who will go to judgment

to-day?"

"Nay, friends, I know not," returned the executioner. "Some one

belonging to the Prince Ismail's affair was brought from the south in

a palanquin which was fastened up; and I know pretty well, when Hyat

Khan sends me word to go to the trees and remain there, what that

means. Now, go away, all of ye, for no one must see this put into its

scabbard, lest an evil glance fall on it. My art is vain, unless the

edge be keen and firm. Away with ye all, I would be left to my prayers

and meditations. When ye see the palanquin come out of the gate yonder,

ye can return if ye will, and see what I do." And when all around him

had gone, the man put the blade of his sword to his forehead and chest

reverently, made a salaam to it, and slowly and carefully replaced

it in its richly embroidered velvet scabbard; and as the muezzins of

the neighbouring mosques sang the midday call to prayer, spread his

waist-belt on the green sward, and performed his devotions, for the

executioner was a devout man, careful in the stated observances of his

faith.

The citadel was now a busier scene than when Queen Chand acted as

Regent in the absence of the King. There were so many more dignitaries

to be received, so much relating to the army to be arranged, so many

rewards and dresses of honour to be distributed, that the approaches

to the palace were always crowded. This did not affect our friends in

the least, as they were not only pleasantly secluded, but at such a

distance from the exciting crowds and turmoil, that they saw none of

it, and heard only a little. At the council of the night before, all

the public accounts for the period of Queen Chand's administration,

which had been prepared beforehand, were read to the King, and duly

audited. Many new patents of nobility as rewards for service, and

grants of estates, were ordered to be drafted, Syud Luteef Shah

Wallee's among the number. And we are glad to record also, that not

only Abbas Khan, now created Khan Bahadoor, and commander of five

thousand, but Runga Naik was received into the lower grade of nobility,

and created lord of twenty villages near his own ancestral estate of

Korikul, and was to receive a dress of honour in full Court. Assuredly

his service had not been in vain, while other rewards, in proportion to

their merits, were allotted to his brave followers. But all these were

minor points; the business assigned to the morrow was of a much more

important nature, for as they sat in the councils hall, Hyat Khan, the

Kotwal, announced to the King that Osman Beg, the Governor of Juldroog,

had arrived as a prisoner, and asked how he should be disposed of. The

Queen Chand, who was sitting beside her nephew, said, "Son, I claim thy

attention to this case first, for it is of grave importance to many

that the truth should be made manifest to all, and justice be done. We

would have seen to it ourselves when you were absent, but we thought

thou shouldst decide upon it. It is a painful case, but justice must be

done."

"Certainly, and without favour, aunt. Yet why not by thee? Is there any

power thou dost not share with me? Is there any order of thine to which

I do not bow? Yet"--for the Queen was waving her hand in deprecation

of his expressions--"yet, if thou wilt, I will be present with thee,

and we will share the task together. Let the prisoner be well lodged

and cared for, Khan Sahib," he continued to Hyat Khan; "let his arrival

be announced to his father, who may visit him, and let him be present

to-morrow at the afternoon durbar, when we shall be at leisure."

And now the time had come. The King as he rose had received many

persons of rank, and transacted his usual business with the Ministers.

He then retired for awhile; but, after the noonday prayer, had entered

the great hall of audience, and, due proclamation having been made

within and without, he took his seat on the Royal throne, which had

now been properly arranged. This was, in fact, a broad, low, wooden

stool, with cushions of rich velvet, with a back also of wood, both

being covered with thin plates of gold, inlaid, especially the back

and canopy, with very rare and valuable precious stones, arranged in

ingenious patterns. Queen Chand sat by her nephew, on her usual seat

or cushion of velvet, and dressed in her usual simple fashion; but the

King, though he wore white muslin only, had a precious jewel in his

turban, and a necklace of large diamonds and emeralds, which flashed

brightly whenever he moved. Before him lay a light Court sword, in a

purple velvet sheath. He looked younger, as indeed he was by three

years, than Abbas Khan, who, with other officers of the private Court,

stood rather behind and to one side of the Royal daïs; but he was of

slighter make, while his features, though delicate, were of darker

colour than those of Abbas Khan, whose complexion was almost ruddy.

A little lower, on the first broad step or platform of the daïs, sat

the old Syud, Luteef Shah Wallee, in the place of honour nearest to

the King and Queen; and just behind him, indeed touching him, the

slight form of Zóra, dressed in her ordinary coarse garb, was seen

covering her face as well as she could from the earnest and curious

glances of those who, were wondering, as before, at her presence

among so large a company of men. Behind her was the priest, Francis

d'Almeida, who cheered her every now and then; but his sister, for

whom Zóra was longing, sat above in the Queen's balcony with the other

ladies-in-waiting and servants. The hall itself appeared the same as on

the first day we saw it, except that the dresses of the courtiers were

not of a military character, but of simple white muslin, crossed by a

baldrick of gold lace or tissue, which was intended to hold a sword;

but such weapons were carried in the hand, while a knife or dagger

with jewelled hilt was stuck into the muslin girdle.

When all the presentations had concluded, the King, having had silence

proclaimed, spoke with a firm voice, and said, "Listen, O ye nobles and

Ministers of the State! Sundry accusations have been made against Osman

Beg, son of the brave Sooltan Beg, and we have caused him to be present

here, before us, before the law officers of the State, and before his

equals and superiors in rank. Let no one, therefore, say that this

investigation was held secretly, or otherwise than in the sight of the

Lord on high, and the day-beams of justice. Let, therefore, Osman Beg

be brought hither, and let him reply to these accusations."

The old Syud could not see him, we know, but he stood directly in front

of Zóra as he entered, accompanied by a party of the Kotwal's guards,

and proclamation was made by the Mohur that Osman Beg, Turcoman, stood

before the throne. The prisoner then made a deep obeisance to the King

and Queen, which was not returned by either, but to those assembled he

made no gesture of salute. He looked round defiantly as he crossed his

arms, and then, letting them drop to his sides, again saluted the King

slightly, and said with a firm voice, "I am present, O King, to hear

any accusation."

At the sound of his well-remembered tones Zóra shuddered, for the

events of the last night she had seen him were too fresh in her memory

to be forgotten. But it was not a shudder of fear, it was rather a

repellent action as against a foul reptile, and her cheeks flushed, and

her tiny white teeth were set as if in resolution.

Then the chief Kazee spoke from his seat, and said, "This is a case of

treachery, O King, against thee, and thy person, kingdom, and security.

These letters were found on the person of the Abyssinian slain in the

combat of ordeal, and are addressed to Elias Khan, who died in battle.

Osman Beg, in the name of the King, I ask thee if these are truly thine

own; look at them."

Osman Beg was not allowed to touch them, but they were held near his

face and turned in every possible direction. There were many of them,

the date and purport of each being read aloud by a scribe present.

What could he do or say? the writing was sometimes his own, sometimes

that of his confidential scribe. All the seals were his, and

corresponded exactly with that he wore on his finger as a ring. He

appeared to become weary of these documents being read, and handed

about to receive the criticisms of others; and, with an impatient

exclamation, for which he was reproved by the ushers, and admonished to

be more respectful, he said, "Do not trouble yourself, Kazee Sahib, the

letters are all mine; I deny them not."

"Then I will read one, only one, for His Majesty to hear," was the

reply; and, standing up, the Kazee selected one and read it so that all

could hear. It was to Elias Khan, stating that the Padré at Moodgul,

Dom Diego, had agreed to all conditions; that three thousand Europeans

were ready at Goa; and that when Eyn-ool-Moolk was prepared he should

deliver over the fort to any officers they might send, when he would

join them; and, having overpowered Abbas Khan's detachment, they would

march rapidly upon Beejapoor, put Chand Beebee to death, and take

possession of the treasury and the capital; while another party, led

by himself or Elias Khan, should pursue the King and bring him to

Beejapoor, or execute him in camp, as might be most expedient.

The Kazee could read no more, for there arose a shout in the assembly

of "Let the traitor die! Send for the executioner! Away with him!"

But Osman Beg turned in defiance to them all. "Dogs!" he cried, "all

this would have been, and more, had Eyn-ool-Moolk not been slain, as

Elias Khan was, by treachery. Ay! and ye know it, one and all of this

assembly. What I have done, I have done; and what has happened is my

fate. Yes, if ye wish to know what the Padré at Moodgul did, and wanted

to do, get some one to read his letters. He was a brave fellow that,

and would have struck in for us. Very different from the other, who, I

hear, is in Beejapoor; he was too great a coward to be a traitor."

"He confesses before the King, and before God and men, that he was

prepared to do all that is written in these letters by his own hand;

and the law is that the punishment is death," cried the Kazee.

"My lord! my King!" cried Abbas Khan, as he saw the King was about to

speak; and had he declared judgment, there would have been no delay

in execution, "I cry for mercy and pardon. When I was ill and near to

death in Juldroog he was kind to me; he not only gave me protection,

but attended me as a brother. My King, he is my cousin, and we have

played together when we were children; nor was my King absent. For the

sake of his noble father, spare his life!"

Osman Beg answered not a word. He stood, as he had done hitherto, with

his arms crossed defiantly, looking now to the Kazee, now to the King,

and now to his cousin, apparently defying all.

"Of a truth thou deservest death, Osman Beg. Thou wouldst have, by

thine own writing, put my venerable aunt, beloved of all"--and the

people cried "Ameen! Ameen!"--"to a cruel death. Thou wouldst have

slain me and thy cousin, Abbas Khan; and thou wouldst have prolonged

war and misery in our kingdom. But it pleased Alla, the just and

merciful, to frustrate all thy plots, and to bring them to naught; and

for the sake of thine aged father, who fought beside Humeed Khan in the

last desperate fight, and, when others fled, refused to fly with them,

and still rallied men round his standard, we, in the name of the Most

High, whose Regent we are over this people, give thee thy life; for He

hath spared His servant through fields of carnage; and we would not, on

the first day of taking our seat on the throne of our ancestors, stain

it with blood. But thou art disgraced; thy rank and thy estates are

confiscated; and thou canst stay here no longer. If thou, Osman Beg,

returnest under any pretence, remember, the Kazee's just sentence shall

at once be carried out. Hyat Khan, see that he be removed and banished,

conducted ten coss beyond the frontier, and let to go whither he will."

Osman Beg did not move. He glared around him with defiance still, and,

looking at the King, cried out, "I go, as thou wilt have it, King

Ibrahim; nor will I return to disgrace and dishonour. But, before

I depart, I claim justice at thy hands, justice which thy meanest

subjects may claim from thee. Give me my wife. Take honour, rank,

estates, what thou wilt, but give me my wife whom I see sitting there

with the Dervish of Juldroog. There!" he shouted, as he pointed his

finger at Zóra; "there! she is mine by the law, and I claim her under

the law. Give her to me and I depart, and leave only my curse behind

me."

Then arose another shout, more fierce, more prolonged than the first.

"He has forfeited clemency; he has insulted the holy saint. Let him

die!"

"Is it so, Huzrut?" said the King, addressing himself to the old Syud,

as soon as silence had been proclaimed; "is it so? Speak, or let the

child speak. Fear not, maiden," he continued, in a soothing voice

to Zóra; "thou art in God's presence, and the King's; speak as thou

wouldst do, and wilt do, in the day of judgment."

"I have no complaint against him, my lord," replied the Syud. "For what

he did to my child when we were under him at Juldroog, he will answer

to God, who mercifully protected and delivered my child and me from

cruelty and insults. All that is past now, and we are here in safety;

and, for my own part, he is now forgiven. I say, then, leave him to the

Lord's will. Ask her, she will not be ashamed to say the truth, even in

the midst of thousands of men. Rise, then, Zóra, and the Lord will give

thee strength, my child. Thou art a Syud, and a Syud's honour trembles

not before righteous judges. Men will not so much as look at thee,

child; for a Syud's honour is as precious to them as it is to me and

thyself."

"Fear not, Zóra-bee," said the King, gently, "we are all thy

grandfather's friends and thine; but Osman Beg hath demanded thee as

his wife, and should have his reply from thyself, for thy honour's

sake. Speak, and fear not."

Zóra had trembled with shame and indignation as Osman Beg made his

demand, at once so appalling and disgraceful to her. Her breast heaved

with sobs, her eyes grew hot, and scalding tears fell from them over

her burning cheeks. She felt as though she would have choked and died.

But the girl's undaunted courage did not fail her even in that dire

extremity, and the solemn adjuration of her grandfather and the gentle

words of the King stimulated her and assured her; and hastily brushing

away the tears which still glistened on her cheeks, and murmuring a

silent prayer, she rose to her feet with a calmness she had little

expected, and a kind of dread silence fell on the assembly at a scene

so novel and so strange. Above, in the Queen's balcony, she heard a

low clapping of hands, which gave her courage; and the Queen Dowager's

encouragement of "Fear not, daughter, no harm can come to thee," was

timidly acknowledged by a grateful look and reverence.

As she cast her eyes around, she saw that men's faces were averted from

her, and many heads bowed down; but opposite to her stood Abbas Khan,

his features quivering with excitement, and his eyes as if striving to

catch hers and give her strength; while near the centre of the hall

stood Osman Beg, glaring on her defiantly, with a horrible expression

of anticipated triumph, which thrilled through her, but from which she

did not blench.

Those who saw her remembered for years afterwards the simple, modest

figure, dressed in clothes hardly better than those of a peasant, and

the beautiful but excited face of the maiden. And those who did not

dare to look on her, heard only the tones of her soft musical voice,

which penetrated to every ear, and, indeed, to every heart of the many

who heard it.

"Before the Lord God, and ye who hear me," she said, slowly, "I am

not his wife; and I have witnesses that I am not. I see the Moolla

of Juldroog, who has known me from my birth, sitting yonder. Let him

speak, if he be allowed." And as the King assented and signed to him,

the old man rose.

"It is the truth, O King and brethren. I was summoned before the

Nawab one evening to perform a nika between him and Zóra-bee, which

I thought strange. But I found the whole affair a mockery, and a

shameful violation of all law and custom. Zóra was imprisoned under

charge of two women from Moodgul, and I called for her in vain. Osman

Beg dare not produce her. There was no one to represent her. And to

expect me, a humble priest of God, to perform a mock marriage to cover

his violence, was an insult to me; and I rose and left the assembly,

every respectable person in it accompanying me and guarding me. Next

day messengers were sent in every direction to obtain a Moolla, but

none arrived until Zóra-bee and the old Syud had escaped. There was no

marriage, O King and brethren; and he lies before God who says there

was."

"He lies!" cried Osman Beg, furiously; "he lies. She, standing there

shamelessly, had come to me before, and what I did was to save her

shame--the shame of a holy Syud, whom I respected."

This pitiless speech affected the assembly deeply. The Moolla's

evidence had carried conviction to every heart; but was this terrible

accusation true? Some even seemed to lose faith in the girl, but her

faculties were now strung to the highest tension, and her spirit seemed

to rise with the increasing danger of her situation, as she cried,--

"He says I am shameless, and that I came to him of my own will. Let his

slave Jooma, who stands yonder, say what happened."

Jooma, who with other witnesses had been brought from Juldroog, being

now called by the usher, stepped forward and made a humble prostration;

then rose, and joining his hands, said,--

"Let my master do me no harm, O King, and I will speak the truth."

"No one can harm thee," replied the Kazee for the King. "Speak truly,

and without fear."

"He," and he pointed to Osman Beg, "had often asked me to bring

Zóra-bee to him; but I had played with the child, and gathered flowers

for her, and I always refused; and he threatened me. One day he ordered

two other slaves like me to bring her, and when they refused, he

drew his sword and slew one, and a eunuch, who has run away, killed

the other; and their bodies were flung into a hole in the rocks, and

are there still. Their blood was wet on the rocks when he sent for

me, and he had his bloody sword in his hand. 'Go, and bring Zóra,'

he said, 'else thou shalt die!' And I was afraid; God forgive me for

being afraid, and I bowed my head, and said, 'On my head and eyes be

it.' And I took another slave with me, who knew nothing about it; and

we went to watch for the girl, and saw her come to the bastion she

loved, with Ahmed. Then we went down to them, and I sent Ahmed away

on a false message. Zóra was never afraid of me. When Ahmed was gone,

I seized her, and she screamed; and I tied her up with my waist-band,

and we took her to the palace in a black blanket; and I carried her in

my arms, and laid her down on a bed where the Mámas were. Oh, my lord

King, I did wrong," continued the man, blubbering, as he cast himself

on the ground; "and if Zóra is to die, kill me also, for it was I that

did all the mischief. Not anyone else but me, because he said he would

slay me as he had slain the others. Their bones are in the hole, and

the new Killadar tried to get them out, but he could not. Ask him."

"As if a master could not slay an insolent slave whom he had bought

with his own money," cried Osman Beg, scornfully. "And can such as he

be believed against a true Moslem's word? I say he lies, there was no

force; and she came when I sent him to call her."

It was well for Zóra, then, that Osman Beg's cook, whom we may

remember, had also been brought. She now stepped forward, and said,

simply, "Jooma speaks the truth; Zóra-bee was brought into the harem

tied up in a blanket, and I saw Máma Luteefa and her servant untying

her. I went from the kitchen to look, as every one was saying the Nawab

had had Zóra carried off, and was going to marry her; and I was ordered

to cook pilao for the company. And, for the matter of that," continued

the old woman, as she looked round confidently, as many cries of

"Shahbash! well done!" fell on her ears, "every one in the palace knew

it; every one in the fort. Why, I could name a score, yea, a hundred,

who knew it too. Why don't they speak out like me? His wife, indeed!

She was as much married to him as I was; and she is as pure now as

when she was born. Does the Nawab think any one could have come to him

without my knowledge? Shookr! he should be beaten on the mouth with a

shoe for all he is a Nawab. Ask Goolab-bee, the pán woman; she was with

Zóra and the two Mámas of Moodgul all the night Zóra was carried off by

Runga Naik, and kept her safely as her own child."

"We need hear no more, my friends," said the King. "For my own part I

am satisfied. Yet I ask her once more if she hath aught to adduce?"

"Only these papers," she said, timidly, "which my grandfather told me

to preserve. This is the letter he wrote, and sent by Máma Luteefa to

Korikul. It bears his seal, and is in his own hand; and he says he will

come to us and have the marriage done. The second is the deed he gave

to the robber who had instructions to carry me off from Kukeyra, and

who was killed; and with it is also the letter he wrote to the Kazee

of Kembavee, asking him to come and marry me to him. Oh, my King and

my lord, why should he have selected me, a poor orphan and a Fakeer,

for this persecution, from which the Lord saved me many times? Even at

Kokutnoor I had not escaped from the robbers but for the heavy rain

that the Lord sent. If I had been guilty and shameless, as he declares

I was, would the Lord have helped me? If I had been married to him, as

he declares, why ask for me again? Why ask the good Kazee of Kembavee

to marry him to me? I am ashamed to speak so much," she continued,

timidly, "but her honour is dearer to a Syud's child than her life. I

had not thought to complain, and I make no complaint. I have forgiven

him freely, as I forgive him now; and I would have been silent, but

when he said I was shameless, could I be silent? I have no father, no

mother, my lord, but you and the Queen. I am but a poor orphan crying

to you both for justice before the Lord."

The reading of the several papers produced had, to all appearance,

silenced Osman Beg, and his head drooped on his chest despairingly; yet

still, beaten back on every point, he made one more last effort.

"If I produce the Moolla who married me," he said, scornfully, "will ye

be content? Stand forth, Moolla Aboo Bukr, and speak for me."

"I, your slave, will speak the truth, master," he said, removing the

false beard he wore; and then prostrating himself before the King,

cried, "May I be your sacrifice, O King, but I am not even one of the

faithful; I am only a Hindoo, a poor buffoon, who frequents marriages

and festivals, and tries to amuse people. The night Zóra-bee was to be

married, and when thy servant found the Moolla walked away in a huff,

and we sat looking at each other like owls, I clapped on my beard and

wagged it, and said, 'Good people, let me marry them;' and, God pardon

me, I tried to recite----"

"Enough! enough! this is no time or place for thy buffoonery," cried

the King, who, however grave the occasion, could hardly keep his

countenance. "Away from the presence. Is the Khan mad, mother, that he

tried this last resource?"

"I know not," said the Queen; "but I long to embrace that brave child,

who shall be as a daughter to me henceforth." The Queen had been

sobbing as she sat, and her face was wet with tears. "Come to me,

Zóra," she said gently to her, "and I will acknowledge thee before

them;" and the girl, who had sat down weeping tears which soothed and

relieved her, whispered to her grandfather that the Queen needed her,

and rising, passed behind the throne to the Queen Dowager's seat; and

the Royal lady, placing her hands on the girl's head, rose up, and said

to all present, as Zóra stood beside her, "This child the Lord hath

preserved from danger and ruin, and she is pure, and a holy Syudanee.

She is an orphan, moreover, and her revered grandfather, Syud Luteef

Shah Wallee, is old and infirm. Therefore, we, our lord the King and

myself, adopt her as our daughter, and will marry her honourably in

her own rank. As for that man," and she pointed to Osman Beg, "my lord

the King will deal with him as he deserves." And then once more the

great hall rung with cries of "Justice is done! May Chand Beebee live

a hundred years!" "Hear the gracious words she speaks!" and the like;

till, at a signal from the King, the usher again enforced silence.

But before he could speak, an aged man, whose figure was still firm

and erect, rose, and advanced to the foot of the throne, where, after

prostrating himself and kissing the King's feet, he took the sword he

had carried in his hand, and laying it in his muslin handkerchief,

offered it to the King. It was Adam Khan, Turcoman, the father of

Osman, who thus spoke in broken accents,--

"Say no more, my lord and my King. Spare me, the aged servant of thy

house, one who was serving Ibrahim Adil Shah when the venerable Syud

suffered. Say no more, for my honour's sake, for I have fought and bled

for thee. I speak not for him, my unworthy son; but I admit his guilt

against you, my lord, and my Queen, and against that poor orphan, whose

father served under me, and died in battle. Yea, my lord, and my Queen,

I admit the guilt freely, and ye have been witness to its proof. So

justice has been done before the Lord, and though I suffer, I rejoice.

Now, therefore, my King, if thou hast given this wretch his life, let

us go. I have no tie to life, nor children, nor wife, nor any one. Let

us go, then, to Mecca, where he may pray for pardon to the Messenger,

who will accept his penitence. The ship from Choule is about to sail,

and we will depart, and our shame and dishonour may be forgiven. But

take this poor memorial of the service of one who hath been faithful,

whom thy Royal mother knoweth to be faithful. I leave to thee the

estates I hold, but, with permission, all my command with the horses

and men I give to Abbas Khan, nephew of the brave Humeed Khan."

"Peace, father!" said his son; "humble thyself no more. One more chance

of justice is open to all. Hath this girl any champion to undertake her

defence? Men's tongues are swayed by a breath of opinion, but sharp

steel is the true arbiter. Again, therefore, I claim her as my wife,

let who will be her champion."

Then a number of fiery young men started up; but among them all Abbas

Khan was the calmest, stateliest, and most remarkable. "I owe my life

to that poor orphan," he said, "and I should be unworthy if I refused

her aid in her need. Listen, Osman Beg; though I have partaken of thy

hospitality, thou must accept me in the ordeal if thou persist in

claiming her."

"I accept!" cried Osman Beg, "On foot or horseback, with armour or

without, I claim thee, and thee only. The day is yet young, the field

where the Abyssinian died is open. Come! thou art welcome; and if thou

refuse, thou art a coward and a liar!"

"Silence!" cried the King, angrily; "an honourable man can only fight

with one of equal honour. Thou, Osman Beg, art one whose life hath been

far-famed for treachery; whose honour hath yielded before falsehood,

and become a thing for honest men to spit on. Away! go to the holy

Kibleh with thine honoured father; haply the Lord may give thee grace

to repent. Champion! nay, she needeth none; hath not the Lord been her

champion in preserving her from thee? Hyat Khan, remove him; see that

he is guarded and escorted with his father to the ship for Mecca."

"It is my destiny," murmured Osman Beg, as he retreated. "Must I go?

But I will not cease to pursue her while I have life; and my revenge

will only sleep, only sleep."

"And now, sirs, we have detained you long," said the King; "but we

dismiss ye with our thanks, and grateful to the Lord, also, that He

hath manifested His justice in the protection of an orphan child."

Till the Queen rose, Zóra had been sitting beside her, but her mind was

in a strange condition. What she had said, how the people had clapped

their hands and shouted for her; how she had escaped from the deadly

danger, worse than death, which had threatened her; what the King and

Queen Chand had said to her, of all this she knew very little; but

when Meeah, as she loved to think of him, rose up, and before all the

assembled people declared he was her champion, her heart swelled almost

to bursting, and she could only look at him with wistful eyes, while

her cheeks burned painfully and her breath came in gasps. Meeah! he was

true; he had not forgotten the night watch. Meeah! he would have risked

his life for her honour. Oh that she could throw herself at his feet

and clasp his knees, and say----Ah! what could she have said, but that

she loved him, that she would die for him, if needs be.

She was anxious to be alone, to pray and thank God in her own simple

fashion, to send Fatehas to all the saints' shrines; and pleading her

duty to her grandfather, the good Queen, perceiving the girl was well

nigh distraught, bid her go, and she would send for her presently. And

Zóra, leading the old man forth, regained their apartments quietly. And

when he was seated in his old place, and had drunk some cool sherbet,

he drew her to him, and said, "Child, remember this day; 'tis the end

of my Turreequt, except the last when the angel calls me; but it is

the beginning of thine in honour and joy. When that youth spoke, my

heart leaped towards him; and, if the Lord will, he may lead thee to

eternal peace."

Zóra could not reply, her heart was too full; and how could she mention

Meeah? Maria came in soon after, with her brother; and while the good

Padré stayed with his old friend, Zóra and Maria withdrew to Zóra's

apartment, and in a burst of softening tears, the girl's overcharged

spirit was relieved. Never before had Maria heard the history of Zóra's

abduction and escape, and she was amazed at the girl's endurance and

bravery. Then Maria took her to the Queen Chand, who laid her head on

her own bosom, and comforted her.

"Thou art my daughter, now," she said, "for thou art brave and true;

and I will be to thee a mother, grateful that God hath sent me such a

child to love, and to be beloved by. Nay, I will not take thee from thy

Abba, for without thee he cannot live; but I shall see thee daily, and

there need be no reserve between us." Nor was there from thenceforth.

* * * * *

Under the adansonian trees the executioner had sat waiting, until their

broad shadows stretched across the sward and were becoming longer. At

last a messenger came and said--

"Get up, O Khan, no one comes to thee to-day, and Hyat Khan bids thee

go home."

"Hai! hai! alas! alas!" said the functionary, with a sigh. "And thou

wert so sharp, my son;" and he once more drew his weapon from its

sheath. "He would never have felt it. Well, so let the King have mercy;

and yet thy time will come again some day or other, O my son. Well,

thou shalt be ready;" and with a sigh he made a deep salaam to the

glittering weapon, and, returning it to its sheath, covered the sword

with his scarf, and walked slowly towards the city.

CHAPTER IV.

FREEDOM.

And now there was rest and peace; but how different to that in the

old fort, to which Zóra's mind often wandered. How different grew on

her day by day, more and more. Instead of the dreamy, uneventful life

she used to lead, there was now excitement and active employment.

Her constant attendance on her grandfather never relaxed; and he was

perhaps more exacting than before--partly on account of his increasing

infirmity, and partly because of the strange and new consciousness

of increased dignity and importance which was growing upon him, and

which was foreign to his naturally humble temperament. His devotional

exercises, too, in which he was assisted by some of the priests of the

city mosques, were much prolonged; and he was often weary and peevish,

and on such occasions the presence of old Mamoolla and Ahmed only

provoked him, and Zóra became indispensable. Had he not, also, been

invited to preach in the Jooma Mosque, where six thousand men of all

ranks sat with the King to listen to him on the occasion of the King's

first visit to that noble building, when he went to return thanks for

the close of the war? He knew that he had moved many hearts; for

though he lauded patriotism and bravery in war, yet he dwelt more

strongly and more earnestly on the blessings of peace, industry,

sobriety, and devotion; and these were themes which flowed from his

lips spontaneously and with fervid eloquence. Many men who listened

then, and afterwards, thought him inspired; and whether he spoke in

the rough Dekhani dialect, or in the softer Persian, he was equally

impressive. Hundreds became his devoted followers, and I fear the burly

high priest's influence decreased in proportion.

From the high priest issued the hardest doctrines of Islam: the most

difficult metaphysical arguments that learned commentators had ever

supplied. The learning and study they displayed were wonderful, and

immeasurably exceeded that of the old Dervish; but they were hard to

comprehend, and to the uninitiated utterly unintelligible, whereas

those of our old friend were sweet and consoling, encouraging to good

works and love to men, as well as to love to God. Hence there arose

two factions, as it were, in the city, which on any and every occasion

were ready to divide into opposing portions; and Luteef Shah Wallee was

denounced as an heretical and misleading preacher, not belonging to any

saintly family, who neglected to preach damnation to unbelievers, but

sought to win them by kindness, which was contrary to the texts and

doctrines of the blessed Korán; and thus, when he had expected peace,

our old friend found strife, which as time passed grew more bitter.

But it was pleasant, nevertheless, after such services, to receive the

visits of his friends. And even some of his contemporaries, Ekhlas

Khan, the blind old minister, several of the physicians and lawyers,

some of the local nobility, and men of learning, enrolled themselves

among his disciples, and sat at his feet, enjoying the words which fell

from his lips with true zest. And as to the common people, there were

many likewise, but the majority still adhered to the old _régime_; and

the precincts of the Chishtee Palace and cemetery, which were in the

centre of the city outside the walls, were as crowded as usual. The

Chishtee priest had, too, many subordinate ministers, who gathered in

his revenues from vows, oblations, and performances of ceremonials in

thousands of families; and the shrine was richly endowed besides by

estates and charged on many collections of revenue. But our old friend

had none of these, and desired none. All he received he gave away in

charity to the poor at the great mosque, and sent to other mosques

in the city, and to the almshouse, and the public hospitals, and

travellers' rest houses. And he had no ambition to do more; certainly

none to become rich; for the King had enriched him far beyond his

requirements, and collections from the estates were beginning to come

in. What was he to do with them? He had no wants, for the ordinary

allowance at the fort was sufficient for food and clothes, and the

expense and maintenance of a household were unknown both to him and

Zóra.

Zóra, too, had her separate duties, apart from those connected with

her grandfather. Rising early, she frequently joined Queen Chand for

the first morning prayer, and then assisted her by writing fair copies

of the drafts she had made over night; and when Abba rose, she was

informed of it, and was allowed to go to assist him. Sometimes she

sang to the Queen the few things she knew, or did embroidery for her.

And the Queen liked Zóra's beyond that of all her other maidens, and

entrusted her with the finishing of a precious and costly piece in seed

pearls on velvet, which was to be sent as an offering to Mecca, some of

the most delicate parts of which had been done by herself. Sometimes,

too, she read aloud, while the Queen worked, from such books as she

had studied under her grandfather, and learned from him the proper

rhythm and emphasis. And Zóra's ear was so correct, and her cadence

so musical, that it was like a sweet song, or a chaunt, or a spirited

declamation, as the subject required.

Every day, too, while the Queen took her noonday rest, Zóra's time was

her own; and Maria came to her, and they sat under a great fig-tree

which flourished in the little garden, and held sweet communion with

each other, or worked. Zóra, though comparatively little time had

passed, was not now the shy, simple child Maria had loved at Juldroog.

She found the girl's character developed and strengthened by contact

with the world without, and by the experience, rough and sad as it had

been, that she had endured in the wild persecution of Osman Beg, and

the society of those with whom she had come in contact since she had

left the fort. Over and over again had Maria requested her to tell the

story of her escape from Osman Beg's treachery and violence; and she

could follow it all, from the seat on the well-remembered bastion,

with the grand ravine and cataract before it, to the final scene of

the trial, of which she had been a spectator from the Queen's balcony,

and estimate with wonder and admiration, and with many a sympathetic

tear and sob, the young girl's fortitude and endurance. She could

estimate, too, Zóra's dread that she might still, by some unknown

chance, fall into this ruthless man's hands; and Maria would soothe and

calm her, bidding her trust in the Lord, and in the powerful friends

that had been given to her. The one was a humble Christian, the other a

Mussulman girl. Yet, in the sympathy and love that united them, there

was nothing wanting. Sometimes, too, they now spoke of "Meeah," for

Maria could not but discern, from his behaviour at the trial, that the

young man loved Zóra fondly, and even passionately; and Zóra would

listen to the few words Maria said on the subject with a fond and even

sad interest, hiding her burning face in Maria's bosom, with secret

hope and yet with trembling dread. Her one hope in life lay with him,

for Abba was declining in strength, and he was over-taxing a mind and

frame which had been so long unexercised, and that she knew must bring

with it the inevitable consequence of death. Till that time came she

declared that not even Meeah should separate her from the fondly loved

old man; and Maria could understand, however great the temptation, that

her vow would not be broken.

But Abbas Khan himself was not free from embarrassment in regard to

taking any formal step towards Zóra. Years ago, when his uncle was by

no means so rich as he was at present, and his brother, Abbas Khan's

father, had been only a Silladar, or owner of a few horses in the Royal

Dekhani cavalry, his little son had been betrothed to the daughter

of a comrade of the same rank as himself in the army, of Abyssinian

descent, but whose estates rendered his daughter, Sukeena, a desirable

connection in the consideration of many families of Beejapoor,

notwithstanding the report that Sukeena-bee was very forbidding both

in person and features. She was, indeed, both lame and deformed; and

was in addition so ugly, that she was known by a sobriquet by no means

complimentary. Sukeena's mother was descended from a Nubian family,

which had again intermarried with Abyssinians. But it was not from this

cause alone that Sukeena's appearance was forbidding; her father was a

very plain and somewhat humpbacked man; her grandmother, the daughter

of one of the Abyssinian noblemen, had been only too glad to dispose

of a singularly ugly daughter to a respectable man, and gave with her

a dower of property which, as he said, endowed the Lady Fyzun with

a beauty more precious and more lasting than that of a pretty face.

From this union had resulted one daughter only, the girl who had been

betrothed in her early childhood to Abbas Khan.

Neither Humeed Khan, Abbas Khan's uncle, nor his wife, the Lady Fatima,

had been parties to this early betrothal. When it took place they

were at a distance; but when the Lady Fatima returned to Beejapoor,

her nephew's father and mother had both died. For a time, the Queen

Chand had adopted the orphan boy, and he shared in the instruction

of the young King; but afterwards Abbas Khan had returned to his

uncle's house, and taken his place in the Royal service. Considering

the connection which already existed by betrothment, it would have

been impossible for the Lady Fatima to have avoided the Lady Fyzun

and her daughter. Both husbands were absent at the war, with the

King. Sukeena's father, notwithstanding his partial deformity, was,

as is often seen to be the case, a man of immense strength and ever

conspicuous bravery, and he had risen to a rank considerably higher

than it was at the time of the old betrothal. In point, therefore, of

social condition the families were pretty equal, though the Abyssinian

lady claimed precedence in consequence of her descent from a long line

of ministers and generals, who had attained rank and power in the days

of the Bahmuny dynasty at Gulburgah and Beeder.

From the period of her return to Beejapoor, the Lady Fatima had been

obliged to offer civilities to the Lady Fyzun, which, of course,

included her daughter; and the Lady Fyzun was a woman not only of

excessive pride, but of extremely sharp, disagreeable temper, and,

moreover, very parsimonious. Her husband, poor man, was especially mild

and good-natured, and, if he could have managed it, would have got away

as far as was possible from his wife at all times. But at a season like

the present, when the whole army had returned from a campaign, and

there seemed to be neither possibility nor probability of the renewal

of war, Zyn Khan, for that was his name, was obliged to remain at home,

and to submit to his wife's conduct and remarks with all the patience

and equanimity he could command. After more than two years of respite,

his trials recommenced the day of the King's triumphal entry.

The Lady Fyzun was, as I have already remarked, very economical. The

house-steward and the clerks who kept the house accounts could never

satisfy her as to the expenditure of the cook, or the daroghas of the

kitchen and stables. She was at perpetual war with them. Too much

butter, or meat, or onions and garlic, or vegetables, were surely

used for cooking the domestic daily food. The horses ate too much

grain and fodder; the slaves and eunuchs wore out their clothes too

fast. In short, these were, and had been, subjects of altercation for

years, and were by no means worn out. Now the morning of the King's

arrival was a fast day, though not one of a rigid character, and few,

especially on an occasion like this, would have observed it at all;

but Fyzun-bee had no idea of allowing laxity of religious observances.

She kept the Rumzan and Mohorum with a positively fearful exactitude,

and starved herself, her daughter, and her household to the very

verge of endurance. On the other hand, on joyful anniversaries, when

a liberal addition of savoury food was made to the daily allowance

by every, even the poorest, housewife, Fyzun-bee's feast was of the

smallest dimensions and humblest character. Sweetmeats were not made

in the house of good sugar-candy and fresh butter, but ordered from

the confectioners, who sent, according to order, the coarsest, and but

little of them. In the pilao, the cook was restricted in the use of

ghee, spice, and meat; camel and even buffalo flesh was used instead of

good fat mutton; and the cook, who was really a mistress of her art,

would, had she not been a slave, have no doubt sought a more liberal

mistress in sheer vexation.

Zyn Khan had ridden with the King's throng of courtiers and officers in

the entrance procession. He had attended the durbar, and had been thus

detained till late in the day; he was, therefore, not only extremely

tired, but hungry to boot; and though he expected no delicacies at

home, yet he felt sure that there would be food at least, and perhaps

the cook might do something special for him. He had left the durbar in

company with his friends Humeed Khan and Abbas Khan, and at the gate

of their mansion had parted with them. Then, as they separated, Humeed

Khan had said to him, good humouredly, "If the fast is observed to-day

in thy house, come to us, brother; nay, stay now if thou wilt, with a

hearty welcome."

Now, though only at the gate, the fragrant scent of savoury food had

already reached him, for it was to be a feast for many of the inferior

officers and men of Humeed Khan's household troops, which would be a

warranty that there were better dishes beyond that; and Zyn Khan's

hunger increased, while his mouth fairly watered. But to eat in a

stranger's house just after a long absence would be a positive affront

to his wife, of whom he stood in awe, and he passed on to the reception

that awaited him. Certainly all the servants were at their posts. There

were trays of offerings, and lighted lamps waved over him; the women

servants and eunuchs chaunted a discordant welcome; but his nose was

regaled by no savoury smell; and, on passing the door of the kitchen

court, he looked in, and beheld the old cook and her two assistant

girls sitting dolefully on the step of the kitchen itself; and as

they got up and waved their arms towards him, cracking their knuckles

against their cheeks, he returned the salute by crying out, "The peace

of God on you, Máma Leila; I trust you have something good for your

hungry master."

"On the contrary, my lord," returned the woman, with a spiteful accent;

"no firewood and no food have been allowed me to-day, else thou

shouldst have eaten well."

Zyn Khan was really angry. "No firewood and no food have been given

Leila-bee to-day," he cried, regardless of the approach and salutation

of his wife and daughter. "No food! and I have this day ridden ten coss

(twenty miles), and been out in the hot sun all the time, and attended

the King's durbar, without a morsel to eat. And this is my welcome

after two years' absence. Fyzun! art thou not ashamed, O wife?"

"I ashamed! I, the descendant of Princes and Ministers, ashamed of

keeping the holy fast, and of the service of Alla, instead of thy

greedy belly. Touba! Touba! As-tagh-fur-oolla! Shame, and God forbid

that I should hear such words from the father of thy daughter Sukeena!

No; there is no food and no fire in the house to-day for gluttons; let

them meditate on the saints, and feed on spiritual food, like true

men of Islam. Be satisfied, O Khan, that I, thy wife, and thy beloved

daughter, are in the same condition as thyself, fasting for the love

of Alla and the saints. Thou canst bathe and refresh thyself, for hot

water is ready for thee in the bath, and I will see (for the expression

of his face was far from amiable) and get some confection which may

stay thy hunger till night."

"Till night!" groaned Zyn Khan; "till night! Is this how thy mother

teaches thee, Sukeena-bee? I would not be thy husband, girl." These

were the first words he had spoken to her, and as he uttered them he

looked over the ungainly, crooked form, the sour, ugly features, and

the really mean clothing of his daughter. In his heart he compared her

to the simple, lovely girl he had seen with the old saint who had so

mysteriously reappeared. "Were I Abbas Khan," he thought, "they might

cut me in pieces ere I would consent to mate with one like Sukeena,

while a girl like the saint's granddaughter was within possibility of

attainment. No, it can never be. And what does it matter to Sukeena;

her money will attract some one."

"What art thou saying, father?" asked his daughter. "Thy lips move, but

no words come forth."

"I was saying," returned her father, bitterly, "that if thou hadst met

me with a cheerful face, brought me a pleasant breakfast, and behaved

thyself like a loving daughter, I should have patted thee on the head

and become more reconciled to thy ugly face. Well! ugly it always was,

and that is no fault of thine. Nay, do not cry; but two years have made

it sour and forbidding, and all thy wealth would not reconcile it to

constant companionship."

Then he got up suddenly, put the girl aside, and went into his bath.

I am afraid matters there did not improve the good man's temper. The

water had been hastily heated lukewarm, instead of hot; and it had

been smoked with the smoke of cowdung cakes till, as the poor Khan

said, it would take all the perfumes of a perfumer's shop to take the

evil smell from him. He took off his armour, however, and his heavy

riding clothes, put on a light muslin suit, went out, and sat down in

his accustomed place.

No one was there, but presently his wife appeared, leading a small

procession, at the head of which was his daughter bearing a silver

plate, and several women with others also covered.

"Spread the cloth," said the Lady Fyzun, "and put down the dishes. Now,

Bismilla! Khan Sahib, eat thy fill, for it is consecrated to the Lord,"

she said with a sniff. "It was about to go forth to the shrine of the

Chishtee saint, but I have saved some for thee."

"Bismilla!" he said, as a servant removed a cover, and he expected to

find some delicate rice milk or vermicelli, with which he would have

been content, hungry as he was; but instead, he saw three "julaybees,"

very old and leathery, and, moreover, much fly-blown, on the first

plate; and on the next, two large coarse "luddoos," which smelt rancid,

and were covered with dust, a few very dry hard dates, and two oranges

of the peculiarly sour description used by dyers; and on the last, two

shrivelled coarse plantains, bruised and black.

"Ul-humd-ul-Illa! Praise be to God!" he exclaimed, "that my wife and

daughter worship the saints, although they need not send them stale

sweetmeats and sour and rotten fruits. Do not deny these delicacies to

holy men, lady wife; but for me they are much too good, and I must seek

plainer food elsewhere," and having delivered this speech with a kind

of grave mock solemnity, he took up his sword, tucked it under his arm,

and walked away.

"If you are going to Humeed Khan's house to eat," cried his wife, not

a whit abashed, "give my humble respects, and say, that when it may be

quite convenient, I should like the matter of Sukeena-bee's marriage to

be settled."

"Oh, mother!" cried the girl, when her father had departed, "I saw

Meeah in the procession to-day, and he is as beautiful as Yoosuf. If I

do not marry him I shall die."

I think it is very possible, if Zyn Khan had had a better reception at

home, he would have made an attempt to carry this point. As it was,

he arrived just as his friend Humeed Khan's cloth was being spread.

Nothing was said but a welcome, and the hungry man sat down to a

dinner of many savoury courses, which he enjoyed heartily, and felt

truly grateful for. And after this, when the three men were alone, and

pleasant fumes of fragrant tobacco were being inhaled, they discussed

the subject of the marriage in a friendly manner.

"The last words my wife said to me were, that I should settle something

about the marriage of your nephew and my daughter; and as we can talk

it over in a friendly manner among ourselves, perhaps we had better

make some arrangement."

"Well," said Humeed Khan, "you know it is now a very old matter, with

which neither I nor my wife had anything to do; and we have long

thought that, as we were not parties to the agreement, and refuse to be

so, the issue rests with Meeah alone, who, of course, can claim your

daughter if he chooses, and he is now responsible for his own actions.

You had better, therefore, ask him, Khan Sahib, and I will withdraw

while you discuss it."

"No, no, no!" cried both, "stay with us; and," added Abbas Khan,

gravely, "I have fully considered the matter, and have come to the

conclusion that it would be better for us both that we continue to be

separate."

"And what is to become of Sukeena, Meeah? Is she never to have a

husband?"

"She has, or will have, much wealth," replied the young Khan; "and,

as flies to honey, so, when it is known that she is free, a hundred

suitors will send in their proposals, and you can take your choice.

Besides, you are Abyssinians and we are Dekhanies, and such marriages

never prosper. Have not a hundred bloody feuds arisen out of such

affairs?"

"That is true," said Zyn Khan; "and there is no saying what feud might

not arise even at the very marriage itself. All the hot bloods of my

people declare that as Meeah slew Elias Khan and his champion, Yacoot,

there is a blood feud between the Dekhanies and the Abyssinians which

may break out at any time."

"Of course it might," said Humeed Khan; "and of all occasions that of a

marriage is the most probable. My friend, not only for our own sakes,

but for that of the State, we ought to forbid this matter; and I, for

one, shall forbid it, leaving Meeah to pursue his own course."

"Well," returned Zyn Khan, "I can guess what that will be. Sukeena-bee

has not grown more beautiful since I left her, and I love you, Meeah,

too well, and her too well--for is she not my only child?--to join you

together to hate each other all your lives! The old adage, 'Pigeons

mate with pigeons, and hawks with hawks,' suits you exactly. My dame

can look about for one of our own clan, who are poor enough, but they

have the breeding she likes best, and Sukeena will be rich. Now,

Humeed Khan, do not be offended if I speak bluntly. My lady is fond of

money, and so is Sukeena. Suppose you offer something for the marriage

expenses, and I think it will be accepted."

"Good!" cried Humeed Khan, laughing. "I will send five thousand rupees

gladly."

"And I," added Abbas Khan, "a pair of gold anklets and a pearl

necklace."

"Enough, O generous friends!" cried Zyn Khan. "There may be some

difficulty, perhaps; but, after all, Inshalla! a man is master in his

own household."

But when he returned home, Zyn Khan did not find the matter so easy as

he had imagined. His daughter declared she should die, and would eat

no food. Her mother only pointed to her as she lay, and said, "Let her

die, since thou hast not spirit enough to help her." And it was only

when the last temptation was offered, the money and the jewels, that

mother and daughter seemed to yield before the persistence, not to say

obstinacy, of the master of the house.

The affair, however, took nearly a month to arrange, until one day the

parties concerned attended at the Kazee's office, in the great Adalut

Palace, and mutual deeds of release having been interchanged, Zyn Khan

took away with him on his elephant five bags of a thousand rupees each,

and the beautiful anklets and pearls which Abbas Khan had presented.

The whole had been well managed, without either public scandal or

offence to either party. There was nothing in it which was against

custom or law, and Abbas Khan was at last free from a connection which

he had always dreaded. On the other hand, Sukeena-bee put on her gold

anklets and walked about, rejoicing in the music of their tiny bells,

and fastened on the necklace, which was declared free from defect;

while her mother, for a time very busy among her female friends,

at last found out a young man descended from an ancient and noble

Abyssinian family, and the betrothment of the pair quickly followed.

"If I had not fasted that day," said the Lady Fyzun, "we should not

have secured that happy deliverance from low-bred Dekhanies."

"If I had not taken the affair out of thy hands, O wife, we should have

gone on as we were, for Abbas Khan could never have been persuaded."

"Ul-humd-ul-Illa!" ejaculated the husband.

"Ul-humd-ul-Illa!" echoed the dame. "Ameen! Ameen!"

CHAPTER V.

CHANGES IN SOME POSITIONS.

For some weeks there was no change in the positions of the several

characters of our history. The Queen Dowager gradually withdrew herself

from public duties, for she found that her nephew, the King, had

developed strong talent both for political affairs and internal civil

administration. Rewards and dignities had been freely distributed by

him; and the troops, satisfied with his liberally granted donations,

were serving loyally and steadily throughout the kingdom. There were

no rebellions, insurrections, or feuds, nor a spot on the political

horizon, from which there was cause for anxiety, except Ahmednugger,

whose local affairs were by no means in a settled condition; but with

these there was no present or pressing reason to interfere. With his

good aunt, King Ibrahim continued on most affectionate terms. Always

considered by him as a mother, he resorted to her for advice and

counsel in many affairs, of which she had more experience than himself;

and as she never displayed the least desire for interference of any

kind, the entire harmony between them was never disturbed. The King's

fine taste for architecture had full scope in the decoration of his

own mausoleum, and the works attached to it, in which Francis d'Almeida

and the humble painter often assisted him by suggestions; and with

these, and other public undertakings, occasional hunting parties and

short excursions, constant durbars and current business, his time was

occupied fully and usefully.

Beejapoor was then at its greatest. Owing to the presence of the

principal portions of the army, and the cessation of war, trade had

increased rapidly, and the general prosperity of the kingdom was as

assuring as it was gratifying. Congratulatory letters arrived in due

course from Golconda, Beeder, Penkonda, and other kingdoms, accompanied

by embassies, which gave rise to many superb entertainments; and, in

the words of a local historian, "the songs of revelry and thanksgiving,

which the people had not heard for many years, now resounded through

the land, and weeping was heard no more."

Zóra's usual life had undergone no alteration. The King would not hear

of her grandfather's proposal to change his residence, or to build a

house for himself in one of the Royal gardens at Torweh; and indeed,

to Zóra's great delight, he made no objection to remaining where he

was, under the Royal roof, partaking of the King's hospitality. An

additional court, cells, cloisters, and rooms behind them had been set

in order for him, and in the enclosure was a small but elegant mosque

or chapel for worship, where the old man could give his lectures to

many scholars, both in divinity and medicine. He rarely preached in

the great Jooma mosque now; the doing so was too great an effort for

him, and, on every occasion, the exhaustion which followed was but too

evident to all; and Zóra was thankful when, after a more trying sermon

than usual, the old man put his hand upon her head, and said, with a

sigh, "Child! I can do no more abroad. I will reserve what strength is

left to me to teach here."

From that day he went forth no more, except on festival anniversaries,

when, attended by his faithful Ahmed--for the Queen now objected to

Zóra's appearing in public--he took his place among the worshippers.

Even the great Kureem-oo-deen Chishtee was softened, and paid "the

saint" many visits, with a display of kindly feeling which was in

strong contrast to the bitterness he had once shown.

Zóra had, therefore, more leisure, and there were now other servants

to share Ahmed's and Mamoolla's duties. She remained most of her

time with the Queen, as has been previously explained, who grew more

and more attached to her day by day. Who, indeed, could resist her

cheerful, winning disposition, her genial kindliness, and her entire

unselfishness and devotion? while every little accomplishment she

possessed improved by quiet exercise and study, under one of the

Persian secretaries who, in days past, had been the King's, as well as

Abbas Khan's, instructor.

She saw little of the Queen, Taj-ool-Nissa. At first, she had been a

constant visitor and attendant with Maria, but the Queen was afraid

of Zóra's beauty. She knew that in point of manner and of cultivation

she was by far inferior to Zóra; and she sent her a kindly message,

through Maria, that she must not visit her except on special occasions,

when there were entertainments to ladies at which the King could not

be present, or when the Dowager Chand Beebee came privately to see

her. And the Queen was right. Though her health had improved vastly

under the priest's treatment, yet she was still a slight, perhaps

insignificant-looking girl--pretty, now that health had given roundness

to her form and lustre to her large dreamy eyes; yet she could not be

compared for a moment with Zóra, who, with rest, peace, and entire

freedom from the anxiety which had hung over her till her innocence

was proved before all, was fast attaining her full development of

beauty; and it was impossible to compare the now handsomely dressed,

well-cared for girl, the beloved companion and attendant of her Royal

mistress, with the poorly, coarsely clad and uncared-for girl of the

Fakeer's house at Juldroog. Runga Naik, too, had safely transmitted

the box of precious articles which had been deposited with him, and in

them Zóra found many ornaments which had belonged to her grandmother

and her mother, with some garments of cloth of gold, and handsome

scarves; but, indeed she hardly needed them, for the kind Queen

provided her liberally with all she required; and her grandfather was

constantly asking her why she did not buy clothes and jewels, for were

they not now rich? But I think the simple, natural tastes of the girl

predominated over all love of display or of finery, and she had enough

of the latter already.

The Lady Fatima was perhaps more constantly with the Queen than any

other lady of the city. They had been intimate friends for years, for

the Queen's care of Abbas Khan after his parents' death, and while the

Lady Fatima was unavoidably absent, was a strong bond between them.

Thus the good lady had many, almost daily, opportunities of seeing

Zóra, and observing her disposition in all respects. Her husband and

her nephew had enrolled themselves as disciples of the aged Syud, and

thus there were already strong bonds of mutual attachment growing up

between the families. How well did Fatima Beebee remember Meeah's words

in his sleep after the combat; his sweet smile and sigh as he uttered

"Zóra! Zóra!" in his dream. Now her husband had seen Zóra. He returned

from the durbar of the trial full of Zóra's bravery--her indomitable

spirit, and yet of her modesty. "Any other girl," he declared, "would

have lost heart, would have sat down and wept, would have flinched from

the sore ordeal to which Zóra had been subjected, and out of which she

had come forth so triumphantly." Yes, she was satisfied that her nephew

had yielded to no unworthy passion, and that his love was as pure as

her utmost hope could desire.

When the trial was over, she told what she had heard to her husband,

for Abbas Khan had not dared to tell his uncle, while they were in

camp, more than of the sad situation of the old Syud, who had been so

kind to him, and had left all else to chance, or, as he more reverently

expressed himself, to the will of God; and the sudden appearance of the

girl by the wayside with her grandfather, as the King passed them, had

aroused all the feelings which had been his companions from the night

Zóra had watched him till the present. Still, he had said nothing. He

knew how deeply he was involved in the old engagement of childhood,

which could not be dissolved rudely or suddenly; but the matter should

be arranged by the family of Zyn Khan.

After a decent time had passed, and the newly arranged marriage of

Sukeena Beebee was proclaimed, and when, in fact, her marriage day

was fixed and invitations to it distributed, there was no occasion to

delay; and one day, which had been chosen by the family astrologer,

the Lady Fatima, urged by her husband, went to the Queen to ascertain

whether Zóra loved Abbas Khan, and to ask advice as to how she was to

proceed. She did not even mention her intention to her nephew; it would

be time enough to speak to him should all be favourable to her design,

for she felt certain that his heart had not changed.

Long before the good lady's visit, Queen Chand had discovered as much

as she needed to know of the condition of Zóra's heart. She had hardly

entered the audience hall on the day of the King's entry, and taken

her seat, than she saw the eyes of Abbas Khan eagerly fixed upon Zóra,

and the attempts of Zóra to conceal her face; and during the events

of the succeeding day the impression was still more vivid, rising to

its fullest height when Abbas Khan accepted the traitor Osman Beg's

challenge. Then, indeed, the Queen had read Zóra's heart completely,

for her wistful, earnest gaze, which she had no thought to conceal, the

flush on her cheek and her now trembling form, betrayed emotions which

it was impossible to hide; and from that moment the girl found a place

in the Royal heart which filled a long existent yearning. Yet still

she never spoke on the subject to Zóra herself. She knew there was a

serious obstacle, and whether it could be smoothed away or not seemed

very doubtful. But the Queen's mind was more at ease after she knew

that Abbas Khan's marriage was broken off. She could not, by reason of

her rank, take any steps herself in what she wished; but she was ready

at the same time to assist the union of her two children, as she called

them, by any and every means in her power.

The Lady Fatima's visit was, therefore, a joyful one to the Queen as

soon as she understood its purport; and being a woman of practical

mind, she did not use any circumlocution. Would there be any objection

on behalf of Zóra's grandfather, or would there be any from the girl

herself? Had Her Majesty any other arrangement in view for Zóra, or had

the King? These formed the pith of the good lady's communication. To

the latter, Queen Chand was enabled to give a decided and favourable

answer. Not many days before, the King had said to her laughingly, "It

is time, mother, that Abbas Khan was married and settled. Would not

Zóra-bee suit him exactly? They are both clever, both handsome, and

thou wilt have the most beautiful grandchildren in Beejapoor. For my

own part, though I have held my peace, I have been of the same mind

ever since Osman Beg's trial; but it is thou as Meeah's mother who

should make the first move in the matter; I can but aid thee by giving

it my perfect approval."

So, then, the first point was gained. The second was to ascertain

whether the parties would be fortunate, and this was decided by the

most celebrated astrologer in Beejapoor, who discovered that Abbas Khan

was Fire, and Zóra was Air, and the result would be that the utmost

degree of love and happiness would reign between them; that Zóra would

submit herself to her husband, and that her husband would treat her

with great kindness and affection. Such was the decree of the wise

man; and then, horoscopes being cast, the result was that a favourable

prognostic of the planets occurred in the course of a few days, and it

behoved all concerned to make due preparations for the betrothal.

So far the proceedings of the confederates had been eminently

successful, and with the dear old Syud there was no difficulty. He had

gradually become impressed with the necessity of confiding Zóra to the

care of some one whom he could consider worthy of her. In the Queen

he knew she had obtained a kind and powerful friend and even motherly

care and interest, but that she should be a wife was a higher desire in

the old man's mind; but it was coupled to an almost selfish wish that

she should not leave him alone. What should he do without her gentle,

loving ministrations? How should he find his charms and amulets, or

his medicines? Who could read to him or write for him? Who could

lead him about, even in the precincts of their present home? Who, in

short, could be the companion to him that Zóra was, with her intellect

unfolding more and more as weeks passed? He knew no young man but Abbas

Khan--Meeah, as he always called him--and his love and respect for him

were deep and sincere. But when Abbas Khan went to him with his uncle,

and pleaded hard for Zóra, the dear old man grieved bitterly; it seemed

as though Zóra were to be taken from him immediately, and he moaned in

bitter grief as he rocked himself to and fro in his seat.

"Does Zóra know of this?" he asked. "Does she desire of her own

free will to leave me, old and infirm as I am? I will not believe

it; I cannot think that she has a hard heart--she who has been so

compassionate and so devoted all her life." And it was long ere the

young Khan and his uncle could persuade him that she was not to leave

him, but that the betrothal would be an assurance to him that Zóra's

position would be all that he could desire after the Lord's message

should come to him; and so, gradually, he consented, and putting his

hands on Meeah's head blessed him and Zóra, who was to be his wife.

And Zóra? She knew nothing of the pleasant plot against her. She had

not known even of Abbas Khan's freedom from his former contract, much

less of his present intentions; but her love had never changed. From

the scenes at Juldroog up to the present time it had grown stronger. No

one mentioned Meeah to her except Maria; but why was he ever present

in her mind? "Well," She would say to herself, "let it be as the Lord

wills!" and so waited the issue. Her grandfather and the Queen were too

awful in her estimation to confide in on a subject like this. She dared

not mention it to the Lady Fatima; that, indeed, would be like asking

for Meeah, and would be bold and immodest; and, for the present, the

girl waited quietly and patiently. But her suspense was not to be for

long. The day Abbas Khan and his uncle came to her grandfather, the

Queen, to whom she was reading, bid her put down the book and come to

her; and, wondering, she rose and knelt by her mistress. The suddenness

of the request had called up blushes to the lovely face, and the eyes

of the girl were cast down. Had she offended in aught?

"No, child," said the Royal lady; "but I have been thinking it is time

thou wert married. Hast thou any preference for any one of the youths

thou hast seen or heard of? If thou hast, tell it to me, thy mother.

Lay thy head on my breast, and tell it to me. Thou canst trust me,

Zóra." And she held out her arms.

The child was too truthful to be a coquette, and she could not resist

the appeal. Lying in the Queen's arms, and sobbing with excitement, she

told all, from the night of the watch to the scene of the trial, and

how she thought Meeah would never leave her. "And many have asked Abba

to give me away" (and she thought of the Rajah's poor secretary with

a smile), "even the great and rich; but I refused, and Abba did not

press me. O mother, I love Meeah! I do love him! Is it unmaidenly? Is

it wrong? Often I have thought it was, and longed to put on the green

dress and take its vows, but Abba always prevented me. Now do as thou

wilt with me."

"It is enough, child," returned the Queen, stroking her soft round

cheek and kissing her forehead. "Enough for thee, and for those who

love thee; and may the Lord bless thee, my darling! I would retire now,

and thou wilt go to Abba and Maria." And Zóra rose and went to them.

Entering her own apartment, she found Maria there; and, falling on her

neck, told her, with many a choking sob, what the Queen had said. Nor

was her suspense continued. The Lady Fatima had followed her husband,

and being announced, at once opened the subject of her visit. But Zóra

could not reply till she had seen her grandfather; and as Humeed Khan

and his nephew had departed, and Abba had taken his noonday sleep,

there was no one to interrupt them.

I do not think I need follow the scene longer. Under their mutual

explanations, and there was no needless reticence, Zóra confessed her

love, and was blessed by her grandfather, whom she soothed by the

assurance that she would not leave him while he lived. As to the Lady

Fatima, she filled Zóra's mouth with sugar-candy, half smothered her

in flowers, rubbed her hands, feet, and neck with fragrant paste of

sandal-wood; and finally cast over Zóra a rich sheet of brocaded gold

tissue, and hung round her neck a costly necklace, as she whispered,

"From Meeah." No professional women had been employed, and perhaps

they were the only disappointed parties in Beejapoor; but when the pán

leaves and spice were distributed from house to house to all the mutual

friends of both parties, hearty congratulations followed; and even the

female gossips of the city--who, as elsewhere, were very numerous--were

satisfied that it was a good match.

There are nearly as many ceremonies to complete a Mussulman betrothal

as there are in a marriage; but I do not think my readers, even my lady

readers, would care to follow them through perhaps two whole chapters,

and will rest content in being assured that Zóra's happiness and state

in life have been secured as far as human foresight could provide, and

that there were no more hearty or more loving wishes for her than those

of Sister Maria and her brother Francis. We, therefore, can leave our

old friends the Syud and Zóra, now familiar with new positions and

new hopes, full of contentment and joyful anticipation to both--more

especially to Zóra, whose mingled feelings of love, gratitude, and

faith could perhaps have been hardly definable.

Among the various letters of congratulation which reached the King

Ibrahim was one from the Viceroy and Captain General of Goa, Dom

Matthias de Albuquerque, which--with a valuable present of various

kinds of arms, European manufactures, and valuables--was brought by

a special ambassador, the Captain Don Miguel de Gama, an officer

of respectability and consideration, well acquainted with the

Persian language, and therefore most fitting for an ambassador. The

ambassador's suite was not numerous; but as he rode into the city early

one morning in a full panoply of bright steel armour, and presented

his credentials at the public durbar in the same equipment, he created

no little excitement. The captain, too, was of a noble, commanding

presence, and had fought well against the Moors in many battles; and

this specimen of the local chivalry of Goa was in every degree a good

representative of its renown.

The letter was in Portuguese, and could have been translated by the

ambassador himself, but the King decided that our friend Francis

d'Almeida should act as secretary and interpreter; and at the early

durbar of the morning, after the ambassador's arrival, the worthy

captain, in no degree abashed by the splendour around him, marched up

the great hall, his armour clanking as he moved, and saluting King

Ibrahim gracefully, laid his packet of letters at the King's feet.

The captain had come direct to the house of the painter, and had been

comfortably lodged. And how much had Francis and his sister to hear

of their friends at Goa, of the proceedings of Dom Diego, and of the

innumerable changes in the local society; but withal, there was the

certainty that they would have to return to Goa, whether in his company

or apart, to answer the charges which had been preferred against them

by Dom Diego in the inquisition.

And when the Viceroy's letter was read aloud by the priest, after

congratulations upon peace and prosperity of Beejapoor since the

detection and destruction of the conspiracy and insurrection of the

Prince Ismail, a passage followed which related to Francis d'Almeida

and his sister, which may be quoted:--"And furthermore, it hath been

represented to us that a certain priest, Francis d'Almeida, and his

sister Doña Maria, were detected in intrigues with the rebels, and

received from them sundry large sums of money for the supply of

European troops and cannon, which would have been an act beyond the

bounds of goodwill and peace between us, and for which they have, very

justly, been detained by the Government of our friend and ally, yet, as

subjects of the kingdom of Portugal, and as Francis d'Almeida and his

sister belong to religious orders of the Church of Christ, they should

be permitted to answer the charges that have been made against them;

and we, in the name of the King, our master, request that they may be

sent to us in company with our envoy."

When they returned home, Francis learned from his sister that she had

heard all from the Queen's balcony. She was weeping, but was not cast

down. "I knew it would come upon us sooner or later. The Church never

sleeps, and we cannot delay compliance with this order;" for a fresh

citation had been delivered to them requiring instant obedience. "We

must go, brother, even to the stake, if it be the Lord's will."

"I fear not, Maria. I have always thought from the first that it would

have been best to go to Goa; and yet the inscrutable ways of Providence

who can follow? Should we have discovered Dom Diego's letters to Osman

Beg or Elias Khan, which on the political charge will acquit us? As

for the rest, conscious as we are of innocence, I fear nothing. Those,

too"--and he pointed to the translations he had made in company with

the Brahmins of the old college in the fort--"will prove that I have

not been lax in my work, though we have been here. No, sister, let

us go. I am to attend the night council, and the King's reply to the

Viceroy will be drafted."

And it was all the good priest could have wished for. The King, the

Queen Dowager, Kureem-oo-deen Chishtee, Ekhlas Khan, the Kazee, and

some others, discussed every point of the Portuguese letter, in the

ambassador's presence (who, divested of his armour, and dressed in

a suit of black Genoa velvet, looked, as he was truly, a courtly

gentleman), and every incident that had occurred at Beejapoor was

detailed. At first the priest of Moodgul had been under suspicion; but

that had passed away owing to the discovery of the treachery of Dom

Diego, and he was left to be dealt with by the laws of Portugal; but

the money he had obtained from Beejapoor subjects ought to be restored.

The Queen Dowager and the King's wife, as well as Zóra and the good

Lady Fatima, were sincerely grieved by the necessity of the absence of

their friends, and the old Syud, Meeah and his uncle, no less so. "I

shall see thee no more, O friend," said the Syud, grasping the priest's

hand, "Christian and Moslem we have lived together in amity, and I am

thankful. If God will, and thou return hither, we may meet again; if

not, the blessing of Allah be with thee and thine."

And Maria, though her fortitude and her faith supported her in the

trial, yet was sorely pained to leave her friends. Taj-ool-Nissa, who

had become deeply attached to her, and also Zóra, were in despair;

but Maria had her own sources of comfort which never failed her, and

a few days after, with the tears and blessings of all, she and her

brother, well provided with palanquins and tents, and under the charge

of an officer of the Court, who spoke Portuguese, though after a rude

fashion, departed from the Royal city in peace.

CHAPTER VI.

PROCEEDINGS AT GOA.

It was now the beginning of October, and the rains had ceased; all

but those occasional slight showers which lend freshness to the air,

maintain the verdure of the later crops of grain, and furnish those

magnificent sunsets which form the glory of the month. Supplied with

comfortable palanquins, and well provided with horses from the Royal

stables, Maria, her brother, and their friend the envoy, often rode

together in the cool morning air; and Maria enjoyed heartily the

healthful exercise to which, in the crowded city of Beejapoor, she had

long been a stranger.

And thus they sped on from day to day, accompanied by old Pedro

and his wife, who were overjoyed at quitting the great city of the

Moors, and beholding once more their beautiful and beloved Goa. On

the plateau above the Gháts the scenery had been tame and monotonous;

fine undulating plains covered with luxuriant crops of grain and

cotton presented little for admiration or for interest; but near the

crest, heavy forests and broken peaks of mountains furnished beautiful

combinations of wild scenery, and the view over the broad districts

of the Concan was inexpressibly lovely. Away in the west, the sea

stretched to the dim horizon, and here and there the tiny white speck

of a sail could be distinctly seen. Nearer, however, a dense white

mist filled all the valleys and covered the plain, until the sun,

just rising, fell upon it, causing it to glitter like a sea of molten

silver, with occasional rugged peaks rising out of it like islands.

Then all seemed to break up; and while some of the mist clung to the

sides of the greater elevations, the rest gradually rose into the air

and disappeared.

From the last stage the captain envoy left them to give notice of their

arrival. He would fain have taken the King's letter with him, and the

presents by which it was accompanied, which consisted of vessels inlaid

with silver and gold, cloths of gold and silver, four fine Dekhan

horses, and an elephant; but Francis d'Almeida claimed the privilege

of presenting these himself, especially as they were accompanied by

Dom Diego's letters, and he was doubtful as to what use or misuse

might be made of them. He sent, however, by the captain a letter to

the head of the order to which he belonged, and Doña Maria another to

the Lady Abbess of the convent of which she was a lay sister; and on

their arrival in the city, Francis consigned his sister to the care of

the Abbess, who received her with warm affection, for she had been now

several years absent, and she felt in a short time at rest and at ease

among many of her old friends and associates. In like manner Francis

took up his residence in his old quarters; and it seemed to him that

nothing had changed there, and that all was as peaceful as when he had

left it several years before his sister's arrival.

But within the religious society of Goa there was not peace. There were

strivings between the orders, which the Archbishop strove to reconcile;

and the present Viceroy, Don Matthias de Gama, a kind, benevolent man

in the main, and an excellent and brave soldier, found it difficult at

times to control all and keep up his own authority. Since Dom Diego's

arrival, contention had increased. The Archbishop had been appealed

to by the Superior of the Jesuits, to demand the surrender of Francis

d'Almeida and his sister as contumacious heretics. Nothing less than

their trial and execution would, he declared, satisfy the demands of

the Holy Church, and preserve discipline in the distant Churches over

which only a very partial supervision could be exercised. Dom Diego

preached several public sermons in the Church of his order, in which

the apostasy of Francis, and his sorceries and evil consorting with

heathens and Moors, were set forth with violent eloquence; and these

excited his hearers to a powerful degree, so that even in the Church

they cried out, "Death to the wretch! Death to the apostate!"

On the other hand, the Archbishop, who well knew Francis d'Almeida's

value as a missionary, his power of language in addressing the

heathen, his knowledge of native dialects, and the practical use of

his translations and ministerial offices, defended him, and there were

many others who followed his example. In process of these disputes,

the Viceroy was appealed to, who declared that the case was one of

ecclesiastical interest only; and though he was bound to assist the

Church, yet the parties accused were beyond his jurisdiction, residing,

or perhaps prisoners, in a powerful kingdom, with which Portugal was

at peace; and, moreover, that in regard to the allegations against the

priest and his sister, the Church itself was by no means unanimous

in opinion. He declined, therefore, to take any steps in regard to

them. If they were contumacious it was no affair of his. The Church

could excommunicate them if it pleased. At last, however, yielding to

pressure, the Viceroy had written, as we know. The Viceroy had sent

a complimentary letter to the King of Beejapoor, despatched it by a

trustworthy soldier, and awaited the issue with considerable interest

as to whether the accused persons would in reality make submission

and appear, or whether, becoming renegades, as many had done, they

would altogether defy the Church and become Moors. But the arrival of

Francis and his sister, escorted by a Beejapoor officer and a guard of

the King's troops, was proof to all that no contumacy was intended;

and he appointed an early Council, at which the Beejapoor letter

should be read, and necessary consideration made of the whole of the

circumstances.

A few days afterwards the Beejapoor envoy and Francis d'Almeida

received their summons from the Viceroy to attend his Council and the

Court, and they went together, the envoy being attended by his escort,

which, in their suits of chain mail and rich apparel, made an imposing

appearance in the thronged streets of the city; and on their arrival at

the palace were ushered at once into the presence of the Viceroy, who,

with his staff about him, was seated on the viceregal throne.

An artillery salute was fired in honour of the envoy, who was

graciously received; and after some general and kind inquiries after

the health of King Ibrahim, to which he replied in indifferent

Portuguese, the rest of the conversation was carried on through Francis

d'Almeida, who acted as interpreter. Then the Viceroy, receiving

the King's letter, said, "As this contains matter for political

consideration, we will adjourn, Sir Envoy, to our Council Hall, where

it shall be read before all my councillors of State and dignitaries of

the Church, who are our advisers." Then, rising and taking the envoy's

hand, he led him into the adjoining apartment, which was the Council

Chamber.

It was a fine room, though to the envoy's idea somewhat bare of

decoration. A large Turkey carpet was laid upon the floor, and in the

centre was a long table covered with red cloth, with inkstands and

writing paper ready for use. The Viceroy seated himself at the head

of the table, placed the envoy in a chair on his right hand, and the

dignitaries of the Church, military and naval commanders, all wearing

their rich uniforms and decorations, took their seats with the civil

officers, according to precedence and custom. The whole formed a

dignified and, indeed, august assembly, well befitting the powerful

kingdom it represented.

Then the letter of King Ibrahim was read, and the Viceroy remarked

that it was written in excellent Portuguese, and asked his envoy to

Beejapoor who wrote it, and the captain said--

"In my presence was it written by the priest Francis d'Almeida. The

King himself dictated the letter in Persian, in my presence, and the

purport was fully known to me; and the priest and I compared the

Portuguese version with the Persian, and they corresponded exactly.

Moreover, your Excellency will observe that the original Persian is

written below, and signed by the King himself. There can be no doubt of

the authenticity of both."

"But," continued the Viceroy, "in the latter portion of this document

grave charges are made against Dom Diego di Fonseca, an eminent servant

of the Church, who is now the accuser of Francis d'Almeida and his

sister Maria, and at whose instance, and that of the Holy Father of the

Inquisition, their presence was required in order to answer the charges

brought against them, and we ought not to enter into this subject

without his presence. As it is a political affair entirely, involving

the risk of disagreement between our Government and that of our friend

King Ibrahim the Second, we, the representatives of Portugal, have full

authority to investigate it, leaving the alleged offenders against the

Church to be dealt with by the Holy Inquisition. Let, therefore, Dom

Diego be summoned instantly; and till he arrives we call upon Francis

d'Almeida to give an account of his apparent flight from Moodgul, and

his evasion of the summons of the Inquisition."

"I was not a free agent, may it please your Excellency and the members

of this Council," said Francis d'Almeida. "I was preparing to leave

Moodgul after the citation was publicly read by my colleague when I

was arrested, by order of the Queen Regent of Beejapoor, and forwarded

by Dilawar Khan, the Governor of Moodgul, to the fort of Juldroog,

where we were confined for more than a month on charges of having

conspired against the State in assisting the conspiracy of the Prince

Ismail and Eyn-ool-Moolk, and obtaining large sums of money for the

purpose of engaging European soldiers and cannon. Finally, we were

sent to Beejapoor, where we remained under surveillance until the King

should return, as the Queen Regent did not consider she had authority

to try so momentous a question herself. Then suddenly, and as by

special Providence, certain papers fell into the hands of the Queen's

Government, by which it appeared that my colleague, and not I, had

been in correspondence with the rebels, partly independently, and

partly by means of Osman Beg, the Killadar or Governor of the fort of

Juldroog, who was arrested, tried on the evidence of papers found in

his possession, convicted of treason, and sentenced to death."

"And he was beheaded, Francis d'Almeida?" asked the Viceroy.

"Not so, my lord; his life was spared on the intercession of his

cousin, Abbas Khan; but he was banished from the kingdom, and has taken

his departure for Mecca with his father."

Francis d'Almeida's address had continued for some time, for he

described minutely and concisely all that had occurred, with the

particulars of which we are fully acquainted.

"And where are the papers you allude to?" asked the Superior of the

Inquisition tartly. "Who can vouch for their authenticity if they are

produced?"

"My lord," returned the Beejapoor envoy, "we are not careless in regard

to papers of importance at Beejapoor. At the first discovery of them,

after the death of Yacoot, the Abyssinian, I, as knowing somewhat of

your language, was asked to read those in Portuguese; but I could

not, and the Padré Sahib was directed by the Queen to do so, and to

translate them into Persian; then her seal was affixed to each one of

them, and she added her private signature, and all the Ministers signed

and sealed them. Then the packet was sealed until opened by order of

the King, and sealed again with his seal, which all men know, and which

is appended to his letter."

"You were all very careful," said the chief Inquisitor, with a sneer,

"but where are these letters?"

At this moment Dom Diego was ushered in. He wore the religious dress of

his order, but he at once threw back his cowl, and his eyes and those

of Francis d'Almeida met once more. In the one was a scowl of bitter

hate, and the brows were almost knit together; but those of Francis

wore their usual mild expression, and betrayed no emotion; nay, their

look of innocence seemed to make a favourable impression upon all

present.

After bending his knee to the Archbishop and the Grand Inquisitor,

Dom Diego drew his fine figure to its full height, looked round the

room towards all, and then said to the Viceroy, "For what purpose am

I required here, most illustrious Sir? I have not been apprised that

matters which are under the cognisance of the Holy Inquisition could

be transferred to a Council like this; and I request that my protest

may be entered against any interference with what has been already

arranged."

"There is no intention, Dom Diego, on our part to interfere with the

proceedings of the Holy Office. This is a political question, which

thou wilt know of when thou hast heard the letter of the King of

Beejapoor. Let it be read to him," he continued, "as also the minutes

of Francis d'Almeida's statement."

Dom Diego heard all without reply; but it was easy to see that his mind

was far from tranquil. A nervous tremor appeared to be irrepressible;

his mouth twitched as if by convulsion, and he twisted his hands

together in continuous action, which could be seen even under his robe.

"And now, my lords," said the Viceroy, rising, "the most important

part of our sitting is to commence; and I have to beg, in the name of

justice, that your utmost vigilance may be employed to clear up what

has been alleged. The papers alluded to in the letter are in possession

of the envoy from Beejapoor. Let him produce them."

"They are here, my lord," returned the envoy, producing two small

bundles tied up in waxed cloth, which was sealed with the King's seal.

"First, I ask you to bear me witness that these seals are intact; and

particularly you, O most illustrious Sir, into whose hands I commit the

packets."

The Viceroy examined the papers carefully, and said, "I see no reason

to doubt what has been said. The seals are undisturbed; but judge

for yourselves, noble sirs." And when the packets had passed round,

the Viceroy demanded to know whether they were to be accepted, and a

general reply was given that they were.

"These are the letters which were found on the body of Yacoot, the

Abyssinian. Let them be first examined," said the Beejapoor envoy;

"and my lords will please to remark that all have the Queen's seal, as

those first found were examined by her; and that there are forty-two

documents which, with the exception of those required by the Council,

should be returned to me, and a receipt given to me for the remainder.

And now, noble sirs, have I your permission to open the first packet?"

"I again protest," cried Dom Diego, rising suddenly, "against any

examination of those papers here. Let them be given over to the custody

of the Holy Office, which will examine and authenticate them, and

produce such as it considers necessary for the elucidation of the

truth."

But the pretence was too shallow to escape the detection of many of

the experienced men who heard the protest, and the majority at once

declared that they should be opened, and publicly read and registered.

Then the Viceroy took the first packet and handed it to his own

interpreter, a fine-looking Mussulman gentleman, who had just entered

the room, and who spoke not only Arabic and Persian fluently,

but Portuguese, for he had lived for some years in Portugal,

acting as interpreter of documents sent by the Indian Government.

Abdoolla-bin-Ali was a man held by everyone in the highest esteem and

honour, and his presence carried assurance with it to all the Council,

and very especially to the Beejapoor envoy and Francis d'Almeida, whose

personal explanations would be needed no longer.

"On the cover is written," said the Moonshee, "'This packet contains

forty-two documents, eighteen in Portuguese and twenty-four in Persian,

and bears the King's seal.'" Then he broke the seal carefully and

unwound the silken cord with which the parcel was fastened. There

appeared within several other coverings, two separate packets, one

of which was labelled in Persian, "Eighteen Portuguese papers and

letters," and bore the Queen's seal, which was shown to all.

"I think, my lords," said the Viceroy, "that to prevent doubt I had

better read these aloud to the Council, and they can examine each

separately afterwards, if they please;" and, this being assented to,

he took up the first, which was addressed to the most illustrious

the Vizier Eyn-ool-Moolk, Bahadoor, and dated from Moodgul. As the

letter was opened, everyone could see the strong bold characters of

the handwriting of Dom Diego, which were known to all or most present,

and a general murmur ran through the Council, as if of wonder and

astonishment; but no one spoke, and, in breathless silence, the Viceroy

read on.

It was a long letter, and we may be pardoned for not following it in

detail; but the writer acknowledged the receipt of Eyn-ool-Moolk's

"letter offering the Padré Dom Diego de Fonseca a command in the

new Royal army. That if he joined it with a force of one thousand

Europeans, his pay would be at the rate of one lakh of rupees per

month, and the same for every thousand more brought to the Royal

standard." It then proceeded to state, that considering the expense

of European troops in the field, the pay would be insufficient; and

that, in case of the force capturing Beejapoor, there was no mention of

prize shares in the treasure and jewels that would become the property

of the army. It would be necessary also to confer upon the writer the

district of Bunkapoor, with all its forts and dependencies. That as the

cowardly and imbecile Government of Goa would never be induced to take

part in the war, or to send any of its soldiers, the writer must be

provided with funds to go to Portugal to raise as many men as possible,

with whom he pledged himself to return at the expiration of a year, and

disembark them at any port on the coast that might be chosen.

In conclusion, the writer professed his high admiration for and

sympathy with, the movement to substitute the virtuous Prince Ismail

for the tyrant who now ruled over Beejapoor, and ended by praying that

the measure might receive the blessing and guidance of the Almighty;

and at the end was written,

"By mine own hand,

"D. DIEGO DI FONSECA."

"Are there more like that?" asked the Grand Inquisitor of Dom Diego, in

a whisper; "if so, thou art lost!"

"Let them read what they will," he answered. "I will satisfy my lord

presently."

More! yes, there was much more. Every one of the letters contained

sketches of arrangements to be made, estimates of cost, professions

of good faith and sincerity. Several of them contained receipts for

large sums of money, partly in gold, partly in bills; and by his own

admissions Dom Diego had received upwards of three lakhs of rupees in

cash, while assurances of payment as far as ten lakhs, beside a fourth

share of the plunder of Beejapoor, was promised and accepted.

Then followed letters to Elias Khan, as the lieutenant-in-chief of

Eyn-ool-Moolk, which were in a more familiar strain; which spoke of

revelries they had enjoyed together; of the pleasures they would share

when they met again; complained that he could not absent himself

without suspicion, but that he was about to rid himself of his

coadjutor, whose sister Maria he would bring with him, a lovely girl

of his own country, who would put to shame all the dusky beauties of

his friend's harem; and wine from Portugal of the choicest kind, which

should enliven them. In another, the gold sent by the company under

Pedro di Diaz, that is, twenty thousand "hoons," had arrived safely;

with many other details, all written in the same bold hand, and signed

with the same very remarkable signature. As they were read, minutes

were made of them by the secretary. Every paper was compared as to the

seals of the Queen Regent and the Beejapoor Ministers, and that every

precaution had been used to prevent any chance of their being tampered

with, was a fact which was not without significance in the assembly.

And the Persian letters to Elias Khan from Eyn-ool-Moolk, with one

from the Prince Ismail, bestowing an honorary title as commander of

five thousand in the Royal army, with an estate of twenty villages in

the district of Bunkapoor--all confirmed the tenor of the Portuguese

letters of Dom Diego; while, with the transmission of money through

Elias Khan, assurance was given that as soon as the Europeans appeared

in the field, the whole of the Talooq of Bunkapoor would be made over

to him as stipulated. There were others from Osman Beg to Elias Khan,

descriptive of private revels at Moodgul, in a house in the town

hard by the Padré, where wine of the choicest was stored up, and was

plentiful, and the most beautiful dancing women of the country round

were assembled. And he wrote of the Padré as being a jovial fellow, who

winked at everything, and who had shown him at the chapel, privately,

the beautiful Doña Maria, whom he was to bring away with him when he

came with his troops. "She is more lovely than anything on the earth's

face, and no Houri of Paradise could be more beautiful;" and much more

to the same effect, written in the loose, not to say indecent, style

prevailing among those like Osman Beg at Beejapoor. Then the letters

seemed suddenly to come to an abrupt close. After May of that year none

had passed between the parties; and, indeed, by this time, the whole

conspiracy had collapsed in the defeat and deaths of the principal

conspirators. There only remained the exposure of the guilt of all by

the discovery of the letter on the person of the Abyssinian.

The second packet contained, for the most part, letters from

Eyn-ool-Moolk to Elias Khan; but they gave particulars of the agreement

with the illustrious and learned Padré D. Diego di Fonseca; of the

moneys transmitted to be paid to him; and in one, the Padré's receipt,

in Persian and Portuguese, of the twenty thousand hoons, and for other

sums, amounting to about two lakhs of rupees.

"Hast thou nothing to reply, brother?" said the Inquisitor, in an

earnest whisper to Dom Diego. "Thou art condemned by thine own hand;

would it had been cut off and burnt before those letters were written."

Diego did not reply. He rose, and those who were watching him saw that

his lips were white, and his dark complexion had assumed an ashy hue,

and that he spoke as if he were choked by thirst. Yet he drew himself

up bravely, and said with an assumed air of unconcern and bravado, "I

am not on my trial, most illustrious Señor, else my reply would be

sharp and certain. In these letters, which purport to be mine, I only

see the cunning toils with which Francis d'Almeida strove to entangle

me, and failed; and when they had nothing to fall back upon they fled.

Their being arrested is a mere mockery. As to the handwriting of the

letters," and he took up one before the Inquisitor, "they are all like

this, forgeries. The fair Maria is an accomplished scribe, and can copy

any style of writing, even that of heathen characters; and I do not

at all marvel at her excellent imitation of mine. But, my lords, as I

said, I am not on my trial; and no opinion can be given on the subject

either till I am, or till that shameless priest and his sister are

pronounced guilty of heresy and conspiracy by the Holy Inquisition, and

perish for their heresies at the stake."

"Let that be as the good God wills," said the Viceroy, calmly.

"Meanwhile, these papers are so strong against thee, that we, in virtue

of our authority, declare thee to be a prisoner, and arrest thee in the

name of our gracious King. Thou shalt have honourable treatment as a

gentleman, and thou shalt be lodged in this palace, till the time when

the trial of Francis d'Almeida and his sister comes on. When may it be,

Holy Father?"

"It is fixed for Friday," answered the Inquisitor, calmly; "that the

guilty may be ready for the _auto-da-fé_ on the Sabbath. But your

Excellency, pardon me, errs in keeping a son of the Church in arrest

till then, and I will gladly be security for his appearance when

needed."

"Impossible," replied Don Matthias de Gama. "Nevertheless I will take

the votes of the Council." And he did so; but none supported the Grand

Inquisitor's proposal except one, another priest, and Dom Diego was

consigned to the care of the men-at-arms, who conducted him to an upper

chamber luxuriously furnished, and told him that his servants would be

sent when they could be found to attend to his comfort.

What were the thoughts of this man as he heard the door of his large

airy apartment locked after him and bolted outside. All his reliance

on the comparative insignificance of Francis d'Almeida had given

place to a fearful sense of his power with those terrible documents

in his own handwriting to appeal to. Forgeries! who would believe

that, with all the evidence of his handwriting in the Holy Office, and

the Archbishop's records to appeal to for comparison? His accusation

against Francis and his sister had depended for success upon his words

only, which he believed would overwhelm those of the modest, unassuming

priest; and in the death of him and of his sister would be future

safety. But the revelation of his own conduct, of the moneys he had

obtained, of his treasonable plots, denounced by the King Ibrahim, had

rendered his malignity abortive. And now the grim trial, the horrible

torture, the death by fire, like that he had witnessed of hapless

victims writhing in agony at the stake----

Escape! was it possible? He went to one of the windows and looked

through the jalousies, for he could not open one of them. Impossible!

his room was over fifty feet from the ground, and the wall was smooth,

without a projection; and he turned away with a shudder.

Presently his servant came. "Have you seen Pedro di Diaz?" he asked.

"I have, Señor," was the reply; "and he is now waiting for me at the

quay. He wants to know whether he is to stand out to sea or remain."

"Tell him," replied Dom Diego, "that he is to leave the ship's boat

with six of the best of the men in it, and to take the brigantine to

the mouth of the harbour, without exciting suspicion. I will be with

him on Friday night; but if I do not come by Sunday, I shall be dead."

CHAPTER VII.

THE INQUISITION.

The appointed day arrived. The sudden arrest of Dom Diego, his

confinement to the Viceregal palace, and the refusal of the Grand

Inquisitor's security for him, had created a sensation in Goa which

had only one chance of solution--the trial by the Inquisition. On the

other hand, the well-known character of Francis d'Almeida, and the

devotion of his lovely sister, gave to the case an interest such as

had been rarely felt, and never exceeded, in the city. All had many

personal friends, Dom Diego especially among the Jesuits, to whose

order he belonged; Francis d'Almeida among those of his own order,

the Dominicans, and among the ordinary clergy of the province, headed

by the noble Archbishop; and in his sweet sister every lady in Goa

was interested. Could so holy and learned a woman be actually tried

on charges of sorcery and conspiracy with Moors and heathens? And yet

it was to be; and many thought that the interference by the Viceroy

with the acts of the Holy Office was at once presumptuous and wicked.

From early morning the principal street of the city and the square

of the Inquisition had been thronged with eager inquirers, and the

most conflicting rumours were prevalent; some, that Dom Diego had

confessed his guilt, and would be made over to the Inquisition, to be

formally condemned; others, that Francis d'Almeida and his sister had

made similar confessions, and that all parties had been originally

bound in one confederation, but had split upon the division of money

of which they had become possessed. In short, the wildest rumours

prevailed, particularly as to the sorceries of d'Almeida and his

sister, which they had learned from heathen priests and exercised upon

their coadjutor to drive him away from the place he had usurped. All

these opinions, however, were set at rest by the appearance of two

processions: one, that of soldiers of the Viceroy having Dom Diego in

their charge; the other of monks and holy nuns, who escorted Francis

d'Almeida and his beautiful sister. Among the soldiers Dom Diego

marched firmly and proudly, his tall, martial figure being conspicuous

from his general bearing, and the haughty manner with which he regarded

the crowds who gazed upon him; the others, from the apparent simplicity

of the brother and sister, who walked hand in hand, with a calm and

submissive demeanour which deeply affected many. No one dared to

speak, but whispered comments passed among the crowd; and women, and

men too, wept that such servants of God might be condemned ere the day

passed, not only to torture, but to the horrible death by fire in the

_auto-da-fé_ of the next Sabbath, which promised to be one of unusual

interest.

So, passing on, both parties entered the portal of the great gloomy

building, Dom Diego being the first. And when a short colloquy had

passed between the officers of the Viceroy's guard and those of the

Inquisition as to the delivery of the prisoner, he was taken on by

the familiars. Before the monks and sisters, with the two others, had

entered the gate, they had recommenced a hymn which had been sung at

intervals during their progress, the sweetness and solemnity of which

had had a profound effect; and it again arose steadily and sweetly,

with a rich and fervent melody which penetrated every heart, as knees

were bent and hats doffed reverently as the processions passed, while

the simple words caused many a silent prayer to arise to the Throne of

Grace.

When in trouble and in fear,

To thee we cry, O Mother dear!

Behold our sorrows, bitter weeping,

Yet in all trial humbly keeping

Trust in thee, Maria!

Mother of Jesus, lowly born,

On earth by human sorrow torn;

Yet in thy glory resting now,

Heedful of all thy creatures' woe,

Hear our prayer, Maria!

Those who have daily died the death

Of those who suffer slander's breath;

Those who in dread judgment's hour

Their simple hearts to thee outpour,

Pity them, O Maria!

Support them in their hour of need,

To cheer them with thy comfort speed,

Lest without thee they go astray,

Mother, with thee all bright their way,

Having no fear, Maria!

While the chant proceeded, the procession entered the door, and its

sweet melody was heard faintly as it passed up the broad corridor which

led to the great hall of the Inquisition.

It was a bare, whitewashed room, with narrow windows near the ceiling,

which let in the cool air and a small degree of light; but when the

eye, dazzled by the glare without, had become accustomed to the

dimness within, everything--nay, even the emotions in every face--were

distinctly visible. There was a separate place for the accuser; another

for the prisoners; and a third for any witnesses that might have to

be called. In the centre was a long narrow table covered with coarse

black serge, with inkstands, pens, and paper at intervals; and the

Inquisitors sat in tall, straight-backed, wooden chairs around, the

Grand Inquisitor's position being in the centre of the right hand side,

in a raised chair, so that he could overlook all. There were no guards

near Dom Diego now; and his cowl being thrown back, his grim, swarthy

features and bold flashing eyes were distinctly visible. The prisoners

were directed to stand in their allotted space; and the venerable

Archbishop, in his robes, with a number of clergy, sat on one side, but

took no part in the inquiry.

After the proceedings had been opened by a prayer and a solemn chant,

the Grand Inquisitor rose from his seat, and said--

"Holy fathers, we have heard with unfeigned sorrow, grief, and

amazement the scandal to the Church which has arisen under the unseemly

contentions in the Mission Church at Moodgul, where, in the midst of

Moors and Pagans, the Lord Christ hath graciously hitherto supported

our poor measures for making known His gospel to those otherwise

benighted and damnable peoples. In process of years many hundreds have

been gathered to the foot of the Cross, and hundreds have died in a

steady belief in the sacraments of the Holy Church, while many live in

the exercise of a devout Christian faith and good works. Within the

last few months, however, grievous troubles have arisen, as is known

to our Father in God the illustrious Archbishop; and on the direct

accusations of Dom Diego di Fonseca, the local vicar, we summoned

Francis d'Almeida and his sister Maria to answer his charges. This

citation was publicly made known to them both by being read in the

Mission Church; but, instead of obeying it, both departed from Moodgul

under the escort of Moorish soldiers, and went or were conveyed to

Beejapoor, where they resided until a demand from His Excellency the

Viceroy was made for them, and they were sent hither.

"Thus, holy fathers, ye have to determine in what manner the priest

Francis d'Almeida is guilty, as also his sister, of the formal

charges which I now read. Then you will hear the justification of

the prisoners; and you will, with prayer to the Almighty, pronounce

judgment upon them. Diego di Fonseca, in the name of the Holy Trinity,

I call upon you to swear that what you are about to say is true;" and

on the formal oath being administered to him, he stood erect, and with

all the energy and musical tone of his fine voice, he spoke to the

following effect.

I think, however, that I do right in refusing an attempt to detail all.

In the outset of his oration, he referred to his services in China, in

the Spice Islands, in Bengal, among the savage tribes of Malays and

Moors; of perils by land and sea, and of the many human souls he had

rescued from everlasting destruction.

"I was a humble follower of St. Francis Xavier," he continued, "and

strove to follow his example. Then, worn out and weary, I came to Goa,

and would have returned to Portugal for a season, but new work at

Moodgul was opened to me, and in my zeal I accepted it.

"Holy fathers, when I arrived there I found a mockery of a Church.

My coadjutor, more a heathen than a Christian, had suffered the

most ordinary offices of the Church to be utterly neglected. He was

incessantly employed in the study of Pagan languages, mythology, and

Scripture, and of Moorish languages, and infidel books. To the people

he invariably preached in a tongue they call Canarese. He read the

services of the Church in the same tongue, and he desecrated the holy

service by using it even in the mass. Instead of our own language,

his sister taught it in the schools, and thus perverted the minds of

children, who might have been made wise unto salvation.

"It was all horrible! horrible! this perpetual study of books, which

contain besides damnable theological dissertations; works on sorcery,

divination, astrology, and all the evil sciences denounced by the

Church, for which so many have suffered; and I warned him on many

occasions, for I was willing to save them both, to abandon these evil

courses and damnable heresies. And at first Francis d'Almeida strove to

justify himself by declaring that he read Hindoo books to understand

best how to controvert their doctrine; and declared that he was even

translating the holy gospels and services of the Church into the

language of the people, that they might understand what they profess

to believe. Was any heresy ever so complete? Ye, O reverend fathers,

know how the Scriptures are forbidden to be read except under ghostly

direction and counsel, and how corruption and unbelief must needs

arise under such proceedings as those of Francis d'Almeida towards his

ignorant flock. I found remonstrance of no use; he avoided me with

disrespect; and in the congregation a party was growing up against him

which it was impossible for me to overcome; I therefore complained to

the most reverend the Archbishop and the Holy Office, and a citation

to Francis d'Almeida was sent.

"Meanwhile a strange numbness of mind was stealing over me. I never saw

Doña Maria without trembling and confusion. I could not pray; I could

not think. I could not even eat; and I knew that her satanic influence

was exerted after the heathen manner, to lead me to perdition. But from

this I was mercifully preserved. On the day I delivered the citation,

she and her brother left their house at night and took refuge with the

Moorish Governor, who at once sent them to Juldroog, and thence they

were taken to Beejapoor. I was then free; a great weight seemed to be

removed from me, and I came hither to lay all before the Church and

seek ghostly counsel. Fathers, my short statement is ended; but of

heresy and sorcery of the most devilish kind I accuse them both, and

demand that in consonance with the laws of the Holy Office they suffer

death by fire, and that thus the Church be purged from their spiritual

uncleanness. I could extend this address to a vast length, but it

would needlessly occupy time. The books in Francis d'Almeida's and his

sister's handwriting will satisfy you of the character of their work,

and I have brought such as I could find; the rest were concealed before

their departure."

"Have you any witnesses to the truth of the accusation?" asked the

Grand Inquisitor.

"I have none," he replied, "but God, and one of the deacons who

accompanied me, who has charge of the books. How was I to confide to

anyone the misery I endured?"

"Dost thou object to these being produced, Francis d'Almeida?"

"No," he said, mildly. "If they are in my own or my sister's writing,

they are homilies of the Church, the Vulgate as allowed to the people

even here in Goa, and some extracts from the Scriptures such as are

given to children."

"Look at these," said the Archbishop. "Are these the same as thou

sentest to us for approval?"

D'Almeida opened the books one by one, and looked over the contents.

"These are the rough drafts in my own handwriting of the translations

as I made them, and here and there I find a small portion of my

sister's manuscript. These are the drafts from which she made the

fair copies, which in her beautiful characters and ornamented with

initial letters are now at Moodgul, in the keeping of one Ramana and

other deacons of the mission, and have the illustrious Archbishop's

imprimatur on them."

"Yes," said the Prelate and the Grand Inquisitor, "for we had them

checked by the Fra Don Francisco da Pinto, who was the best scholar

then in Goa. He is now in Madagascar; but, if I remember right, we all

signed them."

"They are here, fathers," cried a venerable old man, with long white

hair streaming over his shoulders, who, with several others, now made

their way into the room, and prostrated themselves on the floor.

"Listen to our cry for justice! When our beloved Padré was threatened,

and when the pure Señora Maria was insulted, and the Governor of

Moodgul sent them away as prisoners, the books were given to us, and

we hid them; but when the great Padré was going to Goa, to accuse our

beloved friends, I and these with me followed him, and we arrived this

morning, O holy fathers, that we may be in time yet to speak the truth

before ye! Day and night we have travelled, and we have had no fear

save of delay."

"And who are ye?" asked the Grand Inquisitor. "Do ye know what ye have

risked in intruding here unbidden? What do ye know?"

"I know everything," replied the old man who first made his way in,

speaking through the interpreter, and prostrating himself on the floor.

"Let me speak! Let me speak for the love of God! There are a hundred

more ready to say the same thing, and the Syud has sent me in time. Oh,

my fathers, let us speak!"

"I protest against him" cried Dom Diego, with a hard, shrill voice,

very different to his usual tone. "I denounce this as a conspiracy."

"We are the best judges of that," returned the Grand Inquisitor. "You,

Diego di Fonseca, have already stated that you have no witnesses;

and now, by a miracle as it were, one hath appeared suddenly, to whom

credit may be given, a deacon of the Church. You can hear his statement

and reply to it if you will. Let the Deacon Ramana be sworn and

cautioned."

Meanwhile the old man was sworn, and his first act was to lay open the

books he had brought and point to them as Maria's writing.

"Can you read these writings?" asked the Archbishop. "They are, I see,

those which were confirmed by us after examination. I see my initials

on every page."

"Surely, my Prince," replied the deacon. "When the priest is absent

it is my duty to read such prayers and passages of Scripture as have

been marked;" and, opening one of the books at random, he put on his

large spectacles and began to read from the fifth chapter of the gospel

according to Saint Matthew:--

"'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'

"'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.'

"Shall I go on, my Prince? These words are so holy and comforting that

few of the flock hear them without tears. I trust they are understood?"

"They are," replied the Grand Inquisitor; and, turning to Dom Diego,

in a severe tone he continued, "and if this is the sorcery thou hast

charged the prisoners with, thou hadst better be silent."

"And now," continued the old man, "I will speak for our blessed

Padré, and tell what happened on the day that he took refuge at the

Governor's. I have no fear of him," and he pointed to Dom Diego, "and

have no charge to make against him; but the Lord and the blessed Virgin

give me power to speak, and I am not afraid before them or you."

Then he related what he knew of the priest's plot. How he had engaged

Beydurs and other lawless ruffians to carry off Maria; how on that

Sunday night many of them had assembled at Moodgul, and one of them,

being a friend of one of the shepherds, had told him what was to be

done, and he went with some armed men to watch the Padré's church and

house; how he heard Maria scream as she was alone singing vespers,

and, looking in, saw her lying on the steps of the altar, and gave the

alarm. We need not recapitulate all we already know; but the firmness

and boldness of the narrator carried conviction with it to those who

heard him. "And not only did I hear and see it all," he continued, "but

these, my companions, know of it too, and will confirm it."

"God of heaven!" cried Dom Diego, casting up his hands, "I declare this

to be a conspiracy against me, instigated by the prisoners! Can it be

believed in Thy holy sight? Surely Thou wilt blast their tongues ere

they utter malignity against Thy servant!"

But the Court heeded him not; and the letters of Dom Diego were now

laid out for all present to see them, and read, one by one, in a

sonorous voice by the secretary; while the Archbishop and the secretary

of the Holy Office brought forward large packets of documents from

various parts of the Indies, of the handwriting of which there was no

doubt, and which exactly corresponded with the Moodgul letters. That in

relation to Doña Maria and her seduction caused a profound sensation

through the assembly, and there were cries of "Let her explain! Let her

explain!" from many.

"Let her swear what she likes," said the priest. "I only say these are

forgeries made by herself to cover her own shame."

But this assertion, vague as it was, had no effect upon the tribunal.

One by one the members compared all the letters with former documents.

Many of them had maintained correspondence with the accused, and

after an impressive silence, only broken by occasional whispers and

communications among the members themselves--

"Do you know any of the associates of Dom Diego?" asked the Grand

Inquisitor of the old deacon. "Speak truly and freely, but beware of

slander or falsehood!" And this being interpreted to the old man, he

broke forth at once.

"Know them? Yes; I know many. I know Pedro di Diaz, who used to come

from Elias Khan, before Eyn-ool-Moolk, with money and letters, and

I and many other people have seen him drinking with the Padré there.

There was another man called Bartholomew, who sometimes came with

him, and sometimes with others. All were rude, violent men. Diaz had

the name of 'Pirate' among them. All of them kept out of our good

Padré's way; and perhaps he never saw them--he was too innocent; but

among ourselves we wondered at the profligacy that was carried on;

not near the church, but in the bazaar of the town, where the great

Padré used to come. One day one of the bankers in the city said to

me, 'Your great Padré is very rich; I have exchanged fifty thousand

rupees for him for bills on Panjim (Goa), and other bankers have also

made remittances privately for him. 'Where does he get this money?' I

said I could not tell, but it was reported everywhere that the Padré

was a soldier in disguise, who was going to bring up Feringis and guns

against Beejapoor. If that was to be kept secret, he had better not

have trusted Pedro di Diaz, for he used openly to boast of it to many,

and it became public talk. Does the Padré wish to ask me any questions?

I will answer them, my princes, as truly as I have sworn to do upon the

holy books and the holy water."

But Dom Diego made no reply. He had become ghastly pale, and his hands

trembled.

"What did I or we care about all this?" continued the old man,

excitedly; "but what we and every Christian man in our Church did

care for was the insult to our poor, kind, blessed, saint there, who

ministered to our sick, taught our children, and helped her brother

to write those blessed books. Ah, sirs! though we are but simple

shepherds, yet our people have fought in many a frontier war; we have

maintained our faith against Moslem and Hindoo, and in the cause of

right fear no man. And I tell you, my princes, that had not Padré

Francis enjoined peace upon us, we would have followed up Dom Diego

that night, and brought him here to make him over to you."

"And why did Francis d'Almeida and his sister leave so suddenly?" he

was asked.

"The citation to him had been read," replied the old man; "and after

the service he told me he should have to go, and asked me to get him

ponies to ride. In the evening, after the Señora's cruel insult, I took

them temporarily to the palace of the Governor, Dilawar Khan, for I

feared the Padré might return with the Beydurs and attack the Señora.

Then, after a time, came an express from Beejapoor, and Dilawar Khan

told them they must obey the Queen Chand's orders; and before daylight

they were sent off to Juldroog in closed palanquins, whether they

would or no. But for this they would have gone to you, for twenty-five

well-armed youths of the congregation had volunteered their escort. Ah,

sirs! it was a night of terror and alarm; and it was only when the

Governor sent and put seals on everything, except these books, that we

felt safe."

"We had not heard of this alleged insult before, daughter," said the

Inquisitor; "and thou must speak to it, however painful, on pain of

torture, to extort the truth, for this is a point which cannot be

overlooked."

"My lords and illustrious fathers," said Maria, modestly, "if this

truth had not transpired through the deacon I would have been silent,

for I have innocence and my trust in the blessed Queen of Heaven to

rely on; and whatever shame may appear in the narration belongs to him

who caused it, not to me. We had never been intimate, as servants of

the Church should be. My brother did not like what he heard, things he

would not tell me of. I was pained by Dom Diego's licentious looks, and

even, when in the Church, always sat near the children of my school.

But one Sabbath evening he found me alone, teaching the children a

hymn; and when they had gone he advanced towards me, and offered me

such insult as no virtuous woman could endure, pressing his vile

intentions with proposals to fly. And I sank down and fainted. I know

not who rescued me, but when I was aroused I was at home again, and my

brother, seizing his sword, rushed out to seek revenge, and was brought

back; and I lay at the foot of my cross, praying that his hand should

be withheld; and that was granted mercifully."

Bravely and calmly had Maria upheld her dignity and composure up to

this period; but now she failed, and burst into hysterical sobs and

tears, upheld by the abbess of her lay order, who had, with other

sisters, accompanied her. But presently, and while all awaited her

recovery, she rose, and holding out her pleading hands, cried--

"O fathers of the Church, as her child I come to you; as a woman who

has been wounded in her honour I plead to you! There is not one spot

of shame to my own perception upon my heart, and she can deliver me if

I am true. If not, let the flame purge me, and may I be accepted! But

leave me not to that vile man's machinations in after years."

She was not immediately replied to, and the tribunal took up the

examination of Francis d'Almeida with new interest. He described their

happy life at Moodgul, the affection and docility of the people,

the progress he was making in Canarese with learned scholars of the

place, his first essays in translation, and which he had sent for

confirmation; and lastly, the insult to his sister. "If I could then

and there have proceeded to you, holy fathers, I would have come; but

a long journey needs several days' preparation, and I was without any

notice considered a prisoner and sent to Beejapoor, where my innocence

was proved to the satisfaction of its noble Queen by these letters of

my coadjutor, which, she and her nephew, the King, have forwarded by

their envoy. They are before ye, O fathers, and ye will judge whether

the writing is mine or not."

Just then a messenger, who had been sent for Pedro di Diaz, returned

and reported that his vessel had fallen down the river in the afternoon

of the previous day, bound for Choule and Surat, and that Bartholomew

Pinto, and others, with Diaz, were serving on board.

Then the Court was cleared for about an hour, for the day was fast

declining; and, on the prisoners being again admitted, the Inquisitors

rose as one man, while their chief cried with a loud voice, "Ye,

Francis d'Almeida, and Maria de Pereira, we acquit and expurge ye from

all accusation of heresy, sorcery, contempt, and other crimes with

which ye have been charged; and ye go forth without shame or reproach

to continue your labours as ye have done among the heathen.

"You, Dom Diego, member of the holy Society of Jesus, are found guilty,

under your own handwriting, of falsehood and profligacy. You have

insulted a virtuous and worthy daughter of the Church with infamous

proposals. You have entered, as appears by your agreements, into an

unholy and corrupt alliance with Moorish rebels to this kingdom; and

you, by these papers, have acknowledged the receipt of vast sums

of money. We condemn you, therefore, unless you make confession

previously, to trial by the rack; and afterwards, on Sunday next, to

death by fire, in order that the holy Church may be purged from your

iniquity. Familiars, lead him forth; till the morrow he will have time

to repent."

Dom Diego replied nothing. He well knew it was of no avail to

appeal to those stony hearts which, whether just or unjust, never

changed. He only bowed his head, muttered something that could not be

distinguished, and was led into the great corridor whence the cells

opened.

Can we describe the boundless thankfulness of the two who so lately

were captives in the hands of that ruthless tribunal! As servants

of God in their degrees, the brother and sister received the public

blessings of the Archbishop and Grand Inquisitor; and, after that,

falling into each other's arms, they wept like children before all.

Before this, their feelings had been too highly strung to fail, but now

they were weak with very excitement, and were considerately led back to

their dwellings, to rest and receive those spiritual comforts in which

their souls could now seek repose.

* * * * *

"And thou wilt come at last, Balthasar," said Dom Diego, as having

arrived at the end of the corridor, he turned into a door which was

open, and revealed a small bed, with a loaf of bread and a jar of

water. "Thou wilt not be long." Balthasar was Dom Diego's cousin, who

had been with him when he was formerly an officer of the Ajuba, and had

taken charge of him.

"I will come," he said, "though I risk my life and brave the fire. I

will come, and bring the rope for thee. If thou art strong and brave,

as thou used to be, yon miserable window will have little terror for

thee."

But Dom Diego had a surer plan in his mind than that.

"Oh, you need not bring a rope," he said; "I can manage without it, and

it would betray you."

As his cousin entered shortly before midnight, and all the building

was still, except for the wailings of wretches who sat alone in their

misery, he closed the door, locking it inside. "Perhaps I can help

you," he said, cheerfully.

"Yes," said Dom Diego. "No one can move those iron bars. You dare not

leave the door open, but you can submit to be bound, and I will do it

gently. Lie down there. Ha! thou wilt not," he said, from between his

teeth. "Thou, too, a traitor!" And he then threw him down on the bed,

and stuffed a large portion of his dress into his cousin's mouth. "Dare

to stir, and I will kill thee. See, here is my old weapon!" and he drew

a keen poignard from his breast. "Nay, that would be the surest way,"

and he seized the familiar by the throat.

"Mercy! Mercy! Diego!" gasped Balthasar. "Spare my life! Oh, spare my

life! Unshriven and unrepented, wouldst thou murder me?"

"Be still, then. If thou stir hand or foot, I will slay thee,

Balthasar, as thou liest there; but be still, and I will not harm

thee." Then Diego took off his cousin's robe, swathed the upper part of

his person in the coarse sheet of the bed, and tearing his shirt into

strips, with them and two handkerchiefs tied his legs together, so that

they could not be moved. "There!" he cried, "that is the way we used to

tie up the captives whom we carried off for ransom. Rest quietly there,

my son, till some one finds thee in the morning; and thou must tell

them they did not make so much of me as they might when I was here;

they may find it hard to take me now. Addios, brother, I know my way

out, and have a vow to attend midnight mass in the cathedral. How well

thy robe fits me; perhaps thou wilt take mine in exchange. Addios! and

pleasant dreams to thee this night, Balthasar. When thou wakest, tell

Francis d'Almeida and his sister that I go to pursue them. Not till he

is dead at my feet, and she grovels there in a shame worse than death,

will I cease to dog them, hide where they may. Forget not!" and taking

up the small lanthorn, he locked the door behind him, delivering a

solemn benediction as he entered the corridor.

He knew his way perfectly. In years long before he had been one of the

familiars, and knew every secret dungeon and torture chamber of the

great building, every secret sign and password; and he made his way to

the gate without opposition. The men on guard rallied him on going out

so late; but he declared his vow of midnight mass, and passed on into

the open air, unchallenged and unsuspected by his voice, for he had

kept his cowl over his face, and his height corresponded so exactly

with that of his cousin, that the detection of the imposture was

impossible.

There was no one else in the square before the Ajua but a few

stragglers, and Diego quietly found himself on the quay. One sailor was

lying in the stern of the ship's boat, who was at once aroused, and

slipped over the priest's shoulder a rough sailor's dress, and for a

few moments was absent seeking his associates. One by one they emerged

from their hiding place, gained the boat unobserved, and lay down in

its bottom; and when the last one came he loosed the painter, took one

of the oars, and sculled off leisurely towards the opposite shore. Near

that, the men started up, took the oars, which were muffled, and rowed

with all their power, and with a strong ebb tide made rapid way down to

the sea, passing the forts without observation. The brigantine was not

at anchor, but cruising to and fro, as if about to enter the river with

the flood; but Dom Diego was soon on board, and before the fresh land

wind the beautiful little vessel heeled over to the breeze and sped

swiftly northwards.

CHAPTER VIII.

A DEATH, A MARRIAGE, AND A DEPARTURE.

When morning broke there was much confusion in the great building.

Balthasar, whose duty was to open the doors of the cells, was not to

be found, nor were the keys hung up in their accustomed place. The

door of Dom Diego's cell was, however, locked and bolted without as

usual; but, on listening, a faint moaning sound was heard, and after

some difficulty the massive door was opened, and Balthasar found as he

had been left, though nearly suffocated. He had contrived to wriggle

from the low pallet, but to free his hands and to release himself from

his cousin's bandages had been impossible; nor could he loose the gag,

for it had been tied securely behind, putting him to great pain and

distress. Even to the suspicious Inquisitors there did not seem to be

the least indication of complicity, and after a severe and prolonged

examination, Balthasar was released. All that he could say was that

he had been suddenly overpowered by his cousin, whose strength far

exceeded his own; that he had been threatened with death, and even

slightly wounded in the breast; that, on account of the gag, he could

not cry out for aid. And even had he done so, who could have heard

him among the wailings of other prisoners, and the cries and groans of

those that were to endure the torture on the day following?

Then, under the information given by the old deacon, the transactions

of the bankers of Panjim were examined by the civil and ecclesiastical

authorities in conjunction. But no assets were found. They produced

letters from Dom Diego remitting large sums by bills from Moodgul,

and a considerable quantity of gold, and directing the whole, except

a small portion to be kept for himself, to be paid to Pedro di Diaz,

whom they knew as a trader to the East, and the owner of a remarkably

fast-sailing brigantine, which he commanded. Some months before he had

gone on a trading expedition with the Moors, and while some of the

remittances belonged to him direct, others might have been the property

of the Padré Sahib. It could only be conjecture, for it was no part of

their business to inquire into their constituents' affairs; and for the

rest, their books and vouchers were ample evidence. Finally, about four

days before, the Captain Di Diaz had taken away all his money, partly

in bills at sight, on Surat and Oman, but by far the greater part

was in coin of various kinds, the majority being in gold. There was

nothing to be made out of all this; nothing to afford the least clue

to the course of the vessel Diaz commanded; or, indeed, that Dom Diego

was with him, though it was supposed he might be; and he was never

afterwards seen in Goa, nor did it ever transpire to the authorities

there what had become of him. There was, however, long afterwards,

a report prevalent that he had become a renegade from the Christian

faith, and joined the ranks of the Mussulman army, and had fallen in

some obscure battle.

It was a pleasant duty for the Archbishop to reward Francis d'Almeida

for all the trials which had arisen out of his association with the

bad man who had so narrowly escaped a horrible fate. But the more the

prelate saw of the zealous missionary the more he appreciated his

singular, and at that period nearly unknown, powers of translation, and

the evident love and veneration in which he was held by his devoted

flock. Could there be a greater proof of that than in the sturdy old

deacon's journey from Moodgul to Goa unasked, on the mere supposition

that the long threatened proceedings against his priest were to take

place? This more, perhaps, than any other circumstance touched the

prelate most deeply, and he was not slow to confess it.

In the cathedral a splendid high mass was solemnised for the delivery

of Francis d'Almeida and his sister from the wicked machinations

against them. Sermons were preached, setting forth their labours for

many years, and the translations were exhibited on the altar steps to

the public at large. The Viceroy bestowed a high order upon the priest

at a banquet which was held in his honour; entertained the Beejapoor

envoy very sumptuously; and, from the simple communications of Francis

d'Almeida, grew to have a higher respect for the kingdom than had ever

been held by any Portuguese before.

Many arrangements about duties and trade generally were proposed; in

fact, it appeared as though the present opportunity would throw open

the two kingdoms to each other in a far more effectual and friendly

manner. As to Doña Maria, we lose sight of her among her old friends,

and the crowds of religious women who visited her. Many, indeed,

volunteered to accompany her in her mission work, and teach in her

schools; but European Portuguese, ignorant of any language but their

own, could be of little use; and finally, before she left, she made

choice of two of the sisters of her own convent, who, having been born

in India, could speak the ordinary language of the western country with

fluency.

Finally came the grand distinction, so unexpected, that Francis

was completely overpowered by it. The Archbishop, having consulted

privately with his council, considered it very advisable to extend

the mission, and to consolidate its several points under one head. At

present there were but four churches, two under Moodgul, and two under

Raichore; but there was a good chance of the establishment of one at

Beejapoor, and perhaps another at Ahmednugger, under the auspices

of Queen Chand Beebee. It was advisable, therefore, that Francis

d'Almeida should be created bishop, with permission to travel and

preach wherever he thought most advisable.

At first, as we have said, the worthy priest was overwhelmed, and

requested time for consideration; but it appeared both to him

and to Maria, and to their best friends, that the honour and the

responsibility could not be evaded. And again, if he declined it,

neither of them would be sent to carry out the Archbishop's plans.

Now, there was no one who knew the people or their language, manners,

and customs, at all so well; no one who could compete with the

Mussulmans and Brahmins on their own grounds of theology. He was, too,

used to the courtly manners and modes of life of the Mussulman who

ruled the country, and was the intimate friend of Queen Chand and her

nephew, the King. What would not Taj-ool-Nissa do for the physician

who had aided her recovery, or for the beloved companion who had

cheered her loneliness? Then, again, there were Meeah and Zóra, the

old Syud, and their new schools at the painter's, and great numbers

of other countrymen who had been absent with the King's army, and

were altogether fallen into neglect. All these were new ties which

a series of strange events had created, but which, nevertheless,

were precious and binding. And these, with the boundless expanse of

country before him, in which he should be free to act, caused Francis

d'Almeida's heart to swell in grateful anticipation. He, therefore,

submitted himself to the Archbishop's will, with earnest and sincere

feelings of gratitude; and as soon as the ceremony could be arranged,

he was consecrated in the cathedral at high mass, before all the

ecclesiastical, civil, and military authorities of the city, and his

patent made out and delivered to him. Nor would the Archbishop suffer

him, poor as he knew Francis was, to pay any of the costs of the

elevation, which were considerable; not even that of his robes, which

were of their kind splendid enough.

The Beejapoor envoy was a delighted spectator of all the pomp of the

Church on the occasion, and the joy with which he greeted his former

humble companion was very genuine. We are bound to say also, that once

they were free from the terrors of the Inquisition, Maria, like a

practical woman as she was, insisted upon making a complete inspection

of her brother's wardrobe, and found it in a very dilapidated and

defective condition. The patchings and darnings of old Pedro, who

nominally united the office of tailor to that of cook and valet, were

by no means of a distinguished order, and were, to say the least of

them, in the last stage of decay; and in the cold weather of the

Dekhan, her brother, though enjoying wonderfully good health, was often

distressed by the cold. Materials, however, and makers of all kinds

were plentiful at Goa. The ladies of her convent set to with vigour to

make such portions of both their clothing as they could, and the result

was so far beyond the good Padré's ordinary ideas of comfort, which

were limited, that he could barely be induced to cast away the old and

to adopt the rich new suits with which he was furnished.

They were pressed much to remain for the great Church festival of

Christmas. But this was impossible; time was precious; the Beejapoor

envoy and his people were anxious to return, and the journey back was

commenced. What peril they had endured and escaped, what new honour and

love they had gained, was indeed wonderful to think on, and for which

their thanks were due to Him whom they served; and their hearts were

full of gratitude and hope for the future. And the reception they had

at Beejapoor, when Humeed Khan and his nephew, with a host of other

friends, one of the King's nobles of the court, ushers and others,

were sent out to meet them and conduct them into the city, was almost

overwhelming; and many people ran before their litters, crying out

that the good Padré had come back, and was welcome. As to the children

of the schools, they and their parents erected a triumphal arch of a

humble character at Pedro the painter's gate; and, dressed in their

best, sang a hymn of welcome very prettily, and were introduced to

their new preceptresses. Pedro had made a great feast for the occasion

too, and all were very happy; but they were grieved to hear that their

dear old friend the Syud was rapidly sinking to his rest, and that

the physicians had no longer hope of his life. Prayers had been made

for him in every mosque, and supplications sent to all other shrines

around, particularly to Gulburgah. But these were of no avail; the

angel of death, the old man said, was already nigh, and he should soon

receive his last summons. Weary nature was exhausted; and though the

few last months' excitement had caused the lamp of life to flicker up,

and even to shine brightly for awhile, it was now sinking daily, and

must soon be extinguished.

They did not delay further than to make a few arrangements. The King

and the Queen had already sent kind messages, begging them to come

as soon as possible; and in the afternoon they went when the usual

palanquins arrived for them. They found Abbas Khan, his uncle, and

a number of Mussulman priests, sitting in the ante-room of the old

Syud's apartments, the latter chanting passages from the Korán in a

low monotonous tone; and while Maria passed into Zóra's rooms, Abbas

Khan rose, and led the bishop, as we must now call him, into the place

where the dear old man lay. He seemed to be dozing as they entered, but

hearing the sound of a strange voice, he looked up and asked who had

come.

"I, your old friend, Huzrut," said the bishop, kneeling down. "I have

returned to you safe from my journey and its consequences."

"Oh, give me light that I may see you once more ere I pass away," he

said, eagerly. "Give me light!" and when a corner of the curtain was

lifted, the old man raised himself, stretched out his hands, and fell

upon his friend's neck. He seemed to have forgotten that he was blind.

"The darkness and the day are all one to me, my son," he said, feeling

all over Francis' face; "all one now--so they are always to those

who are trembling on the brink of eternity. Yet I shall see brightly

presently, when these scales of death fall from my eyes. Fear not for

me, dear friend; my time is run, my work on earth is finished, and I

go to partake of that I have believed in. And thou hast escaped that

fierce evil priest? Tell me how it was. First lay me down, for I have

no strength."

"You must not speak," was the reply; "it excites you too much;" and

d'Almeida placed his fingers on the old man's pulse, which he found now

weak and fluttering. "Rest awhile, and I will tell thee."

"Is he dying?" asked Abbas Khan.

"No," returned the bishop; "he will yet live some days; and I will send

him or bring him early some cordial I have brought with me. Now no one

can get at it."

"Now tell me all, Francis; and how thy dear sister, Maria, hath fared.

Is she well?"

"She is well," returned the bishop; "but I have said you must

be silent;" and he then related briefly the particulars of the

investigation of the tribunal. "I could have done nothing," he said;

"he was more powerful than I; but I had truth with me, and out of his

own vile letters he was condemned; nor could he make any defence. He

was sentenced, and would have suffered, but he escaped."

"Escaped! Protection of God! he may follow you and Maria."

"I do not fear him, Huzrut. The same power that defended us at Goa will

defend us should we meet hereafter. Meanwhile, he fled in a companion's

ship to sea, and is believed to have gone to Persia, where we have

churches. He escaped, too, with all his wealth."

"Shookr! shookr! thanks, thanks! and praise to God that our poor

prayers were heard; prayers in which Zóra joined, as for brother and

sister. Hast thou no thanks, no congratulations, Meeah?"

"I said them at first, Abba, when he told me on the road. But see the

justice of God! On all that number of vile conspirators justice hath

descended. And on this priest last of all, though he hath life and

wealth, yet shame hath fallen upon him among his people; while this,

our honoured friend, hath been exalted by them to high rank, and is now

a noble of the Church."

"He is no greater now before me than he used to be, nor before God. Is

he, too, a Wallee?"

"Not a saint, Abba," returned Francis, smiling; "but I have the

overlooking of all the churches from Ahmednugger to Raichore and

Moodgul, and can reside where I please. Before God I cannot change, but

before men I have that dignity in the Church which it hath pleased my

fathers in God to bestow upon me."

The old man smiled happily, and they saw his lips moving silently

in prayer; but he did not speak, he only held out his hands once to

Francis, as if to bid him farewell, and turning round seemed to sleep

easily and comfortably.

Zóra and Maria were together once more, and what could exceed their

happiness? Zóra's great brown eyes looked wistfully at her, like a

dog's, as after the first weeping and thankful embrace they sat down

together. But this did not suffice, and as Maria held out her arms

once more, Zóra fell into them, looking up every now and then with her

happy, loving face, though her eyes were constantly brimming over, as

she heard Maria's history, as Abba had heard her brother's. Only about

three months had passed, yet Zóra's figure and countenance appeared to

have expanded under the influence of the certainty of Meeah's love.

At last her own, her very own. "And he loves me, too; for one day I

was coming from the Queen Mother's apartment alone, and I met him on

the stairs, and he told me so; and though I could not answer him, I

remember all he said, and now I can tell it to you, Maria. We have

never spoken again; and I dare not if I could, for it would not be

modest in a girl betrothed to do so. Then Abba began to fail after you

left, and yearned for your brother; and we thought he would pass away

from us. But he is still here, though they tell me he may be called

any time; and we must let him go. Day and night Meeah watches him, and

when he is tired he sends me word by a servant, and I go to him. But

he seldom speaks, only prays; and all he has been saying for several

days has been: 'It is time they returned. Why do they linger away? Have

they escaped?' But we could not make out then, though we now understand

your peril." And then Zóra's tongue ran on almost without intermission,

until a message came from the Queen Mother that they should go up to

them, as she and the young Queen were both ready to receive them.

And they went; Maria kissing the feet of both the Royal ladies, and

making her obeisance, as she used to do. They, too, had to hear of her

trial and her deliverance; and Zóra said plaintively, "We were sisters

together from the first, though we belonged to different faiths; and

God appointed me my trial, when I did not fear Osman Beg, and she

had her own with the wicked priest we used all to hear so much of in

Juldroog; and she was not afraid of him. And now God hath brought us

together again; and we will never separate."

Then the Queen had to hear of Francis d'Almeida's new dignity; and it

was very clear to Maria that he, perhaps both of them, had acquired

additional honour in the Royal eyes.

"My King will be glad, indeed, to hear this, for Beejapoor hath never

had an ambassador from your nation, or any accredited person on whom

reliance could be placed; and much mischief has been the consequence.

Now things will be different."

"I know," said Maria, smiling, "that he has been entrusted with a

whole budget of matters to lay before His Majesty; and he will do this

to-night, perhaps, at the durbar."

"And," added Zóra, with a merry twinkle in her eye, "bid him, mother,

to come in his new robes, for Maria says they are magnificent; and

then he can come and make his obeisance here also to you and his old

patient."

So, after a while, Maria took her leave, and went home to carry out

this little plot, and to set out her brother's finery; and, after much

persuasion, the simple bishop did as he had been requested, and went in

his grandeur of gold embroidery and purple satin, and lace, and biretta

instead of a mitre, which, with his staff, was not ready when he left

Goa. He was, however, sufficiently splendid to attract the attention

and admiration of all the nobles of the durbar; and even the Chishtee

priest, who had been so uncivil to him at their first meeting, but who

had gradually learned to respect his character, now welcomed him with

sincere congratulations.

It was a pleasant evening for the Bishop. He felt himself to be now

more on an equality with all the nobles by whom he was surrounded,

and their respect was unmistakeable. He was the representative of his

nation, too; there was much to be settled between his Government and

the King's; and in all respects, in outward circumstances, he felt

he was a very different person at the King's Court than the obscure

priest and physician that had come there at first. The schools were

flourishing, and Maria felt the help of her new assistants to be very

material. The Bishop, too, found ample occupation among the Portuguese

artificers and gunners, and the time was fast approaching when he must

seek his new flocks at Ahmednugger and elsewhere. Would it be safe or

prudent to take his sister with him? What he heard of the condition of

Ahmednugger was not satisfactory. The place was not at peace within

itself, and many reports were abroad. He had a refuge for her already

at Beejapoor, or he might send her to Moodgul, to the old deacon's

charge; but the last message of Dom Diego to his cousin, which had

been duly repeated to him as a warning, though Maria knew not of it,

often weighed heavily upon him. Dom Diego was free; free to join any

lawless bands in the country; and he had wealth, too, to further any

plan he might form. In Beejapoor Maria would be safe, under the King's

protection; but then the dire separation, distressing alike to both,

was hardly to be contemplated. Maria would not hear of it; whither he

would go she would go with him, and in her opinion the better plan was

to wait till Ahmednugger was once more settled.

But all these plans were destined to come to a more rapid end than

either thought; and the first link of the chain broken, was the dear

old Syud's death. For several days the new medicine which Francis

had brought with him appeared to give new energy, and they all hoped

he might rally; but he was not himself deceived. "I have received my

warning," he said, "and do but wait the angel's coming--be that when it

may." He made his will, bequeathing to Zóra all his worldly goods and

such of his estates as the King might permit. He also made provision

for the religious ceremonies at his tomb, the site of which he had

selected when he first came, in the Roza, or garden, in the precincts

of the great mausoleum of the King, and had appointed a poor disciple,

who had followed him in his wanderings from Gogi, to the charge of it.

A small tomb or mausoleum, with a vault, had been prepared, and was

nearly finished; and the old man on one of his best latter days had

been gently taken there in a palanquin, having a particular desire

to see it. To the last he preserved his faculties entire; and after

hearing portions of the Korán read one night, he repeated the two

creeds with a firm voice, and lay down quietly. But his breath came

heavily, and Abbas Khan saw that the end was near; and Zóra came to

him with Maria, who was sitting with her. The physicians and Francis

felt his pulse, but it was fluttering; and one of the Moollas raising

him up, poured a little sherbet into his mouth, which he swallowed

and lay down again, saying, "It is enough," and seemed to sleep; nor

could those who watched by him tell when the humble, loving spirit

left its earthly tenement. There was no struggle, or even a sigh; and

again and again during the day he had said he had no pain, and could

see the flowers of Paradise and the river flowing among them. Finally

the chant of the Moollas without ceased, and those who perform offices

for the dead came in and did their ministering. Crowds followed him to

his last resting place. Nothing that love or respect could suggest was

wanting to the end; and as the Moollas chanted the peace of God to the

thousands who had gathered round, they separated sadly, many weeping,

and with a conviction that a faithful disciple of their faith had gone

to his rest in Paradise.

For a time, during the forty days of ceremonial and mourning, Zóra

remained with the Queen Dowager, though apart, so as not to cause

inconvenience; and for the first few days Maria had not left her except

at short periods, and to carry on her own duties. She had now many

friends; and the grief at her loss, which at first lay heavy on her,

gradually gave place to brighter thoughts. Often and humbly did she

think on the few months that had passed, on the hopelessness which must

have been her lot if her grandfather had died at Juldroog or during her

wanderings. Yes, she had been mercifully protected, and was grateful

to her heart's core; and as she wept out her grief on Maria's breast

or that of the Queen, who had adopted her, there was ever present

the secret hope and trust that she had found a true refuge, which

was not far distant. For as the forty days of ceremonial were about

to conclude, the Lady Fatima, urged by her nephew and husband, again

protested against further delay. Zóra should have one who had a right

to protect her, and in whose love a new life would open to her, and she

put herself unreservedly into her friends' hands. She had pledged her

faith, and had she needed to do so a hundred times over, or under any

trial, she would have only been more confirmed in it. Enough that the

time was come; and with all the pomp that her Royal patrons and the

wealthy house of her husband could furnish, all the dressing, feasting,

merry-making, processions, and distributions of charity practised on

such occasions, the marriage ceremonies were at last concluded. Are

not the loves of this happy pair sung by bards and dancing-women to

this day? For the poets of the Court poured forth their amatory lays

and epithalamiums without stint, sure of ample largesse. Many of these

were set to music, and linger still to charm others, though even the

traditions of the nobles of Beejapoor have passed away.

And still the good Bishop and Maria remained. Maria pleaded that she

had promised Zóra to stay with her till the ceremonies were completed,

and she, with much interest, and not without amusement, had helped

her through all the events of each day. But when all was over, when

the bright, radiant, happy girl had been carried away in a grand

procession, with fireworks, torches, and firing of guns, escorted by

the whole of her husband's and his uncle's household troops--the play

played out, and the curtain dropped--then they turned to their work

again.

Meanwhile the Queen's letters from Ahmednugger grew more and more

uneasy; and she received a petition, which was signed by all the

principal nobles and officers of the State, asking her to come to them

and assume the administration during the minority of the young and

rightful Sovereign, who as yet was little more than an infant. This

was necessarily a much more serious subject for contemplation than the

heretofore task of assuaging national disquietude, and uniting the

power of the State under one regency, not her own, which should have

the goodwill of the people. But this was put before her as a solemn and

patriotic duty, which could be effected by no one but herself. At her

name, they wrote in her native city, every well affected person would

unite to support her; the few malcontents would disappear or fly the

kingdom, and peace and prosperity would reign once more. Day by day, by

special messengers, and by every other possible means, the frequency

of these communications, as well as their urgency, increased. They had

commenced before Francis and his sister had returned from Goa, and were

much more frequent and more urgent now.

She had concealed nothing from her nephew, the King, or from his long

tried and faithful Ministers of State. Every letter, every despatch she

received, was laid before them; but the last general petition seemed

to leave no loophole of escape. So long as Ahmednugger was disturbed,

Beejapoor could not be at rest. The frontiers were uneasy, and events

took place which no precaution could avert, and which might at any

time plunge the kingdoms into one of those interminable and bloody

wars which had often nearly brought both to the brink of ruin. The

last war was finished, peace everywhere prevailed, and under ordinary

circumstances, there was every prospect of its maintenance; but if

misrule at Ahmednugger continued, there was no surety. Again, the

Moghuls of Delhi were gathering in ominous clouds in Malwa and Guzerat,

without apparent reason; and were they to march upon the Dekhan, there

was no one to resist them on its frontiers; while at Ahmednugger each

party seemed ready to sell their country to the enemy, so that a

temporary local advantage might be gained.

It was a perilous time for the whole Dekhan; and the Queen, with her

habitual fortitude, determined to meet it, as she had done every

political and public danger of her life. She would devote herself to

her native State, for her presence was no longer needful at Beejapoor,

and her Regency had closed in thankful peace. Nay, there was no time

to be lost, and it was at once known, by the preparations ordered,

that Queen Chand was about to proceed to her native place. We need not

say that Abbas Khan and Zóra were to accompany her. They would take

no denial, and Abbas Khan, in public durbar, claimed the command of

her escort, as a point of right and duty. Could he leave his adopted

mother, and idle away his time in inaction at the capital? Even that

he had endured since the King's return had been in the last degree

irksome. We know why the Bishop and his sister desired to go too; and

even had that reason not existed, Maria must have gone, for the Queen

had become alarmed, and she viewed with pain a revelation the King had

made to her that he loved Maria.

As the time drew near for her departure, the Queen Chand had received

many visits from her nephew the King, and had observed his listless

manner and his evident anxiety in regard to some subject. He did not,

however, complain of being ill, and his Queen, Taj-ool-Nissa, had, as

well as the Queen Dowager, pressed him to consult the good Bishop on

the subject. To both the Queens, the departure of the elder one, on

whose counsel in all affairs he had so firmly relied, appeared to be

the cause; but it lay deeper than that.

One evening, just before the march began, the Queen, Taj-ool-Nissa and

Maria were sitting at the great window alone, and Maria was putting the

last finishing touches to a drawing of flowers for her Royal companion,

when she observed the tears well up in her eyes; and, with a sudden

impulse, she put the drawing aside, and cast herself upon Maria's

breast, sobbing piteously. It was in vain that Maria asked her to

explain the cause of her grief, or tried to soothe her with assurances

of speedy return, the Queen only wept the more passionately.

"He does not love me, Maria," she said, between her sobs, in broken

words. "My lord the King does not love me. To thee, O sister, he has

given his heart, and he will die without thee. I am but a child,

Maria, and have no beauty or talent to charm him; but thy loveliness

and accomplishments fit thee to become his Queen. Oh, do not hesitate,

darling sister; consent to be mine in reality, and we shall be joined

in his love till we die. Maria!" she cried, looking up through her

tears, and brushing them away, "dost thou hear? He dreams of thee; I

hear thy name on his lips as he sleeps, murmured in love. It is no

deception, and I say it before God; and I know how essential thou art

to his happiness. Kiss me, and say thou wilt consent, and I shall be

happy. A few quiet prayers and some preparation, and thou art his wife

as well as I."

"It cannot be, it cannot be, my darling!" said Maria, very sadly, and

kissing the gentle, patient face upturned to her. "I am vowed to God's

service; I repeated and confirmed those vows at Goa, and I go forth,

with my brother, to perform them. A little while and he will forget me,

and thou wilt live with thy child to come, happy in his love as thou

hast been. Nay, urge me not," she continued, as Taj-ool-Nissa was about

to speak again; "by the love that is between us urge me not again, but

let me depart in peace, and with thy blessing, on my way. Keep this,

and all I have left, in memory of me; and hope, as I do, that we may

meet again in happiness." Then, placing the picture in the Queen's

hands, she kissed her fervently, with a silent prayer, and, rising up,

departed. Yet ere she reached the door, she looked back once more. The

girl was lying with her face among her cushions, weeping bitterly,

while the sun's light, falling upon her rich brocaded dress, covered

her as with a glory of gold.

END OF BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

CHAPTER I.

A SKETCH OF LOCAL HISTORY.

Out of the disruption of the great Bahmuny dynasty of the Dekhan

in A.D. 1489, four independent kingdoms arose. The first secession

was that of Yousaf Adil Khan, who founded the Adil Shahy dynasty of

Beejapoor in that year; the second, that of Nizam-ool-Moolk Bheiry,

in the same year, and Berar had even preceded them. Golconda followed

in 1512, thus completing the alienation of the four largest and

most important provinces of the Bahmuny kingdom, and leaving only a

comparatively insignificant portion in the hands of the remaining

representative of the Bahmunies, who lived and reigned at Beeder, and

whose successor was afterwards set aside by his Minister, Ameer Bereed,

who usurped the throne, and the great Bahmuny family became extinct.

Nizam-ool-Moolk Bheiry had been Prime Minister of the Bahmuny kingdom,

and his son, Mullek Ahmud, was Viceroy in the large western provinces.

After the act of dismemberment had been accomplished, Nizam-ool-Moolk

Bheiry died, and his son, relying on his local power, and possessing

the requisite boldness and ability, ably maintained his position; and

there being no capital to the province except the hill fort of Joonair,

which was inconvenient, as well from position as construction, he

founded a new city and capital near the village of Bingar, which lay

between Joonair and Dowlutabad.

Here he built a fine fort and several palaces, laid out gardens, and

named the place Ahmednugger--or the fort of Ahmud--which appellation

it still bears. Ahmednugger is now one of the large military stations

of the Dekhan and of India, and is deservedly celebrated for its

salubrious climate. It is, in fact, situated near the crest of one of

the great trap waves of the Dekhan, which breaks into the valley of the

Godavery, a few miles distant. The country around is open, fertile, and

free from jungle; and in the times we write of, the position commanded

the passes from Khandeish, and Guzerat, and Berar, into central Dekhan.

It had been most judiciously chosen, and, while the kingdom endured,

it ruled a fair country which stretched from the sea to the confines

of Berar and Golconda, and was possessed of an ample revenue. Its

people, too, were the sturdy Mahratta peasantry, who made excellent

soldiers; and it maintained considerable bodies of Abyssinians, as well

as Turks, Arabs, Persians, and Central Asians, and their descendants

of mixed blood, who, as at Beejapoor, were called Dekhanies, and held

much power in their hands. In this point therefore the two kingdoms

were very similar, though local customs and parties might not be in

all respects precisely so. The Ahmednugger State also employed the

indigenous Mahratta soldiery to a much greater extent than Beejapoor,

especially as cavalry, and frequently found them of great use in

checking the turbulence of the foreign levies. They were considered a

portion of the regular army, and thus the hereditary native chieftains

of the Mahratta people rose to power, which was afterwards rendered

conspicuous when the Mahratta people, living upon the ruins of the

local Mussulman kingdoms, became a nation in themselves.

We do not purpose to write the history of the Nizam Shahy kingdom.

The Kings were rough, warlike, and quarrelsome with their neighbours

beyond any others, and were very rarely at entire peace with any of

them. And while in some of these wars the kingdom had narrowly escaped

annihilation, yet because a balance of power among these kingdoms was

necessary for mutual existence, no one of them could be annexed by

another, and for more than a hundred years they had existed in pretty

much the same condition as that in which they had commenced in 1489.

They had of course intermarried, and the families for the most

part were nearly related; but the principal event of this kind was

the marriage of Chand Beebee, daughter of Hussein Nizam Shah, of

Ahmednugger, in 1564, to Ally Adil Shah, of Beejapoor, in order to

cement the political alliance between the States, on the occasion of

the crusade against the Hindoo powers of northern India. And though the

object of that coalition and campaign was fully carried out, yet the

peace of the two kingdoms was by no means assured; and we have already

had to trace the cause of wars which ended in the death in action of

King Ibrahim Nizam Shah, the seventh King, in the field of battle near

Puraindah. After this event the affairs of the unfortunate kingdom fell

gradually into greater and greater confusion. There was no successor of

mature age to succeed; and a boy, said to have been of Royal birth, was

sent for from Dowlutabad and placed on the throne under the auspices

of the Dekhany party and their chieftain. But this was opposed by the

foreign faction, who claimed that the infant son of the late King

should succeed. As usual, both parties betook themselves to arms, and

many lamentable and bloody engagements took place, not only in and

near the Royal city itself, but also in other parts of the Ahmednugger

dominions; the result of which was the general appeal to the Dowager

Queen, Chand Beebee, to come to Ahmednugger, assume the Regency,

and govern the kingdom with her well-tried ability and sagacity on

behalf of the minor Prince; and, as we know, she had, after many deep

considerations, consented to do so.

There was, however, a more pressing, and, to the Queen's perception,

more dangerous crisis at hand. The Emperor Akhbar, of Dehli, who was

gradually annexing all smaller independent dominions to his own empire,

had already shown a desire for interference in Dekhan affairs. He had

despatched a large army under his son the Prince Moorad to Guzerat

and Malwa, to watch the course of Dekhan events, and to invade the

country should he find pretext or opportunity for doing so; and of this

invasion the Queen was in dread. Domestic broils and disagreements had

before on many occasions been adjusted, but the presence of so powerful

a force as the Great Moghul's army, in the distracted state of local

politics, was an evil which could not be overrated. Already the leader

of the Dekhany party was known to have addressed letters to the Prince

Moorad, imploring his intervention to uphold the claims of the boy whom

he had placed on the throne; and it was impossible to conceive that

the astute Prince would neglect the very opportunity he had so long

waited for. True, afterwards the Dekhany leader perceived and bitterly

regretted the false step he had taken, more especially when the boy

whom he supported had been discovered to be spurious. But the mischief

done was irreparable, and the Queen Regent now knew that she should

not only have to subdue local disaffection, but oppose the progress of

the Imperial Prince with all the force and all the energy she could

command. She had undertaken the duty, however, and cast ease and other

personal considerations unselfishly aside. She had done what she could

for Beejapoor, and was wanted there no longer, except to make part of

her nephew's happiness and share in his prosperity. And now, if in days

of advancing age she was again to be thrown into those scenes of war

which had accompanied her early life, it was, she said, the will of God

and her duty; and she bowed to both with a submission and fortitude

which never deserted her to the last.

We trust the foregoing sketch of the period, as far as Ahmednugger is

concerned, will not be out of place. Without it, indeed, the course of

this tale would hardly be intelligible.