He understood me, and took me up in his arms and kissed me on the head.
"Yes, Shireen," he said, "I still have you, and we shall never part, I
do assure you, unless I am slain in battle, and even then you will be by
my side."
Then he started to his feet.
"Come, Shireen," he said bravely, "the more I think about it, the worse
it will be. I will go and seek my aunt now in her own room, and tell
her all about it."
I trotted along the passage with him, and soon we came to Mrs
Clifford's door.
"Come in," she cried. "Come in, Edgar," for she knew it was his knock.
"Sit down, my child, by my chair."
So Edgar took a low stool by her knee just as he used to do when a boy,
and the kindly white-haired lady passed her hand through his hair.
"Just like old times, isn't it, Edgar?"
"Yes, auntie; but I have come to speak to you about Shireen."
"About your beautiful pussy?"
"Yes. Look, auntie."
Edgar, as he spoke, took me up and exposed my gum.
"Do you see that brilliant red flashing little spot, aunt?"
"Yes, my dear boy. Let me get my glasses. Why, I declare, Edgar, it is
a brilliant, a ruby, and though small, it looks like a priceless gem."
"And so it is; and the person who had it put there is a still more
priceless gem to me."
"I don't understand you, Edgar; you always were a strange child."
"Well, shall I tell you the story of the ruby?"
Mrs Clifford folded her mittened hands in her lap, and looked, or tried
to look resigned.
"I think," she said, "I know what is coming. You have been out in
Persia, and you have fallen in love with some designing minx of a
Persian girl, and she gave you that Persian cat--and--and--and--" here
the old lady began to tap with her foot against the footstool--"oh, that
my brother's boy should have fallen in love with a blackamoor!"
Edgar at this moment pulled out a case from his pocket, and opening it
by means of touching a spring, held out before his auntie's astonished
gaze a charmingly executed miniature portrait of my sweet mistress.
"Is that a blackamoor, auntie?" he said.
"This lovely child! Is this--" she spoke no more for a time.
But my master knew he had gained a point, so he commenced to tell
Beebee's story and mine, from the very beginning to the end, and I
assure you, children, when he finished, the tears were silently falling
down the furrowed cheeks of the dear white-haired lady.
"Oh, the inhuman monster of a father of the dear girl?" she said, as if
speaking to herself.
Then she turned to my master and held out her hand. "Dear boy," she
said, "I am your friend, and if ever Beebee comes to this country, I
will try to be a friend and a mother to her."
Then Edgar got up. He kissed the lady's white hair, then walked
straight away out of the room, struggling hard to restrain the tears
that filled his eyes. They were tears of joy though.