Once more the lovely lady of Allahabad sat on the balcony looking out towards the far-away mountains, from whence, now long ago, had approached the eagerly awaited one. Nothing had changed since that time: the same calm, silver waters and thick shade of trees, and far beyond the mountain tops, while the same cloudless sunshine lighted up the whole landscape. Ah! if only he were as unchanged—he that now took part in all the dissipation of the court and the many pleasures of the great city. Did he still think of her, and daily regard her likeness as she did his? These doubts, that had involuntarily arisen in her mind, appeared to Iravati an injury to the man whom she esteemed as highly as she loved him, and who at their last interview had so fervently pledged his word to her, and had repeated the same promises in his letters. But these had now for some time ceased. And why did he not return to her? Could he remain so long parted without making any effort to see her again, even if it were but for a day? Without doubt his duty prevented him, and he was not yet able to obtain leave of absence. But oh! how long was the time, and how the days and hours appeared to creep, as she waited and watched alone!

As on that morning long ago, her musings were interrupted by the appearance of her father the Governor.

“Iravati,” he said, in his usual measured tones, “a guest has arrived.”

He had come, then; he already awaited her; and her whole heart was filled with impatient joy, but of which she showed no trace.

“A guest,” continued Salhana, “that for you to receive will be as great an honour as a pleasure. It is Salim the Prince, who, in obedience to his father’s wishes, comes to pass some time at Allahabad.”

With a great effort Iravati concealed her bitter disappointment; but to speak was to her impossible.

“Well,” asked Salhana, “is not the news welcome to you? There are many who would give all they possess to enjoy the honour that awaits you. Naturally I do not wish that any of the Prince’s followers should see you, but the future emperor is different; and it may be of importance both to me and to Siddha that you should gain his favour. Follow me.”

As Iravati and her father entered the gallery where Salim was, he advanced to meet and greet her with his usual light-hearted courtesy. But suddenly all his boldness deserted him, and he stood still and silent. Such a noble bearing, mingled with so much modesty, beauty so grave, with an expression so winning and lovely, he never remembered to have seen in any other woman; and, contrary to his custom, he waited until Salhana had presented his daughter before greeting her.

“Noble lady,” he said, “I am indeed grateful to you for the trouble you have given yourself in coming to welcome your guest. I have heard of you more than once, and—” but the courteous phrase that trembled on his lips appeared too insipid and meaningless, and he continued—at the moment not being able to find any better speech—“It is indeed a pleasure to make your personal acquaintance.”

“The honour shown by your Highness to my father and to me, I prize highly,” answered Iravati; “and I trust you will not find our quiet town at Allahabad too dull in comparison with the capital, with its many pleasures and diversions.”

“If,” returned Salim, “the noble daughter of the Governor will sometimes give me the pleasure of her company, I need not fear that my sojourn in Allahabad will be tedious. But you speak of the capital; you know it, I hope?”

“I have never been in Agra,” was the answer.

“Never?” said Salim; “it is indeed time, my worthy Salhana, that your talented daughter should see more of the world than is possible in this remote fortress.”

“The time will come,” answered the Governor, “when my daughter is under the protection of her intended husband, my future son-in-law, whom your Highness has received with so much kindness.”

Whether this recollection did not please the Prince it was difficult to discover, but he at once became silent and knitted his dark eyebrows; and when he spoke again it was on quite another subject. The conversation continued for some time longer, and then Salhana gave his daughter leave to return to her own apartment, and with a deep reverence, Iravati took her leave, rejoicing that the interview was over. The only impression left on her mind by the Emperor’s son was the magnificence of his attire, although Salim himself only regarded it as a simple travelling costume.

A few minutes later, Salim, the Governor, and a third person were seated in one of the inner apartments of the fortress, well secured from all intruders or listeners, engaged, apparently, in consulting over more important questions than how time should best be spent at Allahabad. The third person was Gorakh, the priest of Durga.

“The good for which we strive, my friends,” began the Prince, “seems nearer; and it appears to me that it would be wise to consider the present state of affairs, and then to think what further preparations had better be made. You, Salhana, are, I believe, the best informed of us three; as for me, at the court much is suspected, and I come here in obedience to the wish, or rather the command, of my father. AbÚ-l Fazl—may Alla curse him!—is, I know, at the bottom of this; but I hope one day to have the opportunity of repaying him. And now for you, Salhana.”

“I must say,” he began, “that all now goes according to our wishes. In Agra, Delhi, Lahore, and other places, are the true Muhammadan Umaras and other nobles embittered to the utmost against the Emperor, through the contempt he shows for their religion and by reason of the loss of many privileges of which he has deprived them. Nothing will be more welcome than a revolution, and many will join it; including more than one of the principal mansabdars. Abdul Kadir has been of great use in all this, but we must not count much on him; he wishes to act openly, and every now and then misgivings come over him of what he calls treachery.”

“And your nephew?” asked Salim.

“Is entirely one of us. How he has been won over matters not; it is enough that so it is. I had at first destined him as a spy on Akbar, but soon saw that he would be worthless as such; he is too simple, and too strictly brought up according to Kulluka’s ideas, to be of any avail for such a rÔle; and then, too, Akbar entirely won him over, in his usual manner, at their first meeting. But in another way he will do us better service: he has obtained the rank of mansabdar, and will soon have the chance of further advancement; so when the time fixed on comes, he will be in command of an important body of RajpÚts; and in Kashmir his name has great influence. Then, when our plan is carried out, his co-operation will be of no slight importance. At the chosen moment he will turn his troops against the Imperialists, and doubtless his example will be followed by the greater part of the RajpÚts and Patans.”

“But now the plan itself, as it concerns Kashmir?” asked Salim again.

“It appears to me that nothing could be better,” was the answer. “The interior strifes, for the most part fomented by us, have come to a crisis; both parties have had recourse to arms, robbers desolate the land; and, what is of greater importance, the adjacent countries which form part of Akbar’s kingdom are also convulsed. This gives him a pretext of marching his army to the north, and attempting to re-establish a lasting peace by the conquest of Kashmir. His army is ready, and, if I do not deceive myself, his intention is to place himself at the head of it, after the annual celebration of his birthday has taken place. When the war begins, then suddenly our Siddha and other followers will fall from him, and join the army of Kashmir; and Akbar will have enough to do in making good his retreat. In the meantime our party in Agra will have proclaimed Salim emperor, and taken possession of the fortress and treasure. So if Akbar succeeds in his retreat, he will find more fighting awaiting him, and the end must, I suppose, be his abdication in favour of the Prince Royal.”

“All,” said Salim, “is well calculated, and quite in accordance with our original plan, which I see, with pleasure, is now almost ripe. One question, however; is there no danger of any part of our plan becoming known? is all arranged with caution? That letter, for example, that was sent to Kashmir,—supposing it should have got into wrong hands?”

“That letter,” answered Salhana, “has safely reached its destination; and who do you think carried it? No one less than Kulluka himself.”

“What unpardonable rashness!” cried Salim.

“Not in the least so,” was the calm reply. “The good man had no idea of what he was undertaking, and the letter was given to him by Siddha himself, who equally had no idea of its contents. He was trapped into charging himself with its safe delivery; and had he, at the worst, glanced at it he could have given no information, and no suspicion could have fallen on us, who were naturally not named.”

“Well done,” said Salim, approvingly, and laughing heartily. “We thank you, Salhana, for your information. But has not our worthy Gorakh his share for us?”

“Indeed, yes,” answered the Yogi, who had hitherto listened in silence; “I have not been idle; as I told you, but you thought it improbable, I have made my way not to the palace alone, but to the private apartment of the Emperor. You know how anxious he is to study the various religious systems and philosophies that are found within his realm; and so he desired to become acquainted with the ancient Yogi teaching, of which, although he had heard much, he knew little or nothing, and on which neither the learning of Faizi nor of Kulluka could throw much light. Then I found means, through some confidential friends, of letting come to his ears my great knowledge of the Yogi mysteries. Not long afterwards I was invited to court, and Akbar received privately from me the first indications of the teaching of Concentration,1 whereby mortal man comes more and more into relations with the immortal Being, resolving all his thoughts in the absolute, and participating in the infinite existence, so that he attains to the power of being able at will to transport himself to the greatest distance, while apparently he remains in the same spot, and of assuming any form he pleases, or of making himself invisible or lighter than air. To support this, and not to rest on assurances alone, I brought one of my people before him, who is a great adept in magic or trickery, and made him perform a feat, at which, not without reason, the Emperor was much astonished. The man seated himself on a low wooden stool, to which was attached a bamboo, with a crooked handle like a walking-stick. Then a white cloth was spread before him, so that he was entirely concealed; and when it was again removed, he was found seated in the air, about two feet above the stool, supporting himself by resting his out-stretched hand on the crook of the bamboo. A most wonderful feat, and one that you must some day see when we have time.2 But enough: Akbar was not only astonished, but still more desirous of being admitted to our mysteries. As you understand, I took good care to tell him no more than was necessary, still more to excite his curiosity; and now I have always the opportunity of being admitted to his presence, a privilege of which I make but a sparing use, but, as you may be assured, a good one. Through my people I hear all that is of importance for our affairs. Akbar’s palace and private apartments are filled with people who seek out all that happens, although in them he suspects nothing more than the followers of a religious fanatic or ascetic. By these means I can give you, Salim, and our friend Salhana information on many matters, that would not otherwise have been easily obtained.”

“In truth,” said Salim, “we must confess that you are almost a magician. But what do you demand as recompense for the services that you render us? Salhana, we know, wishes, when our power is established, to be named Viceroy of Kashmir; and if all goes well his wish shall be fulfilled. Nothing for nothing I say with him; but you, what are your wishes? It is best that all conditions should be settled beforehand.”

“Mighty Prince, allow me to call you so by anticipation,” answered Gorakh; “if I ask you nothing, simply nothing, that astonishes you, does it not? But I will try to make it simple. In my turn I ask, what do you want for yourself? You have already, one would think, everything the heart of man can desire; you have treasures, palaces, lovely women to serve you, joyous friends and companions, the most splendid wines, and only stand next to the Emperor in this powerful and flourishing kingdom, and are certain of succeeding him. And yet you have recourse to our help and that of others, your inferiors, to carry out your dark, difficult, and even dangerous plans. Why? Because you wish to govern at once, and cannot wait until the death of your father leaves the throne vacant for you. See, then, what you ask for yourself is what I ask for myself—to govern. And while you, to-day, may be said to be ruler over nothing, I reign already, though I ever strive for a more extensive power. Hundreds who, if need were, would become an army against the great of the earth, obey unconditionally my slightest sign without question or hesitation. I, the poor, unknown priest, despised by many, possess a power that you, in all your greatness, cannot rival. And by what might are they thus subject to me? Through that which nothing can resist, by which reason is silenced and the will destroyed, so that man is nothing more than a living, moving corpse—the power of religious fanaticism. Just a sign of my finger towards whom I will, towards you or some other, is enough to show more than one of my followers what new offering will be the most welcome to the never-satiated Durga; and the higher the rank, the more welcome is the victim. Even should the doomed one be warned beforehand, let him take what precaution he will, let him surround himself with servants and guards, yet nothing less than a miracle can save him. Close to him, amidst his followers, are my trusted ones; and when the right moment has struck, in the stillness of night, with no sound to awake suspicion, suddenly the cord is round his neck, and with no time for cry or groan, the long list of victims is swelled by another name. It is true that occasionally, but seldom, the intruder is seized; but he who tries to hold him grasps a body slippery as a snake, that glides from his hands, and disappears as suddenly and silently as it came. But suppose it came to the worst, and one of my Thugs was really taken, what matters it? he dies with the certainty of participating in endless bliss; and hundreds are ready to attempt to carry out what he failed in, and sooner or later success will be theirs.”

The Yogi was silent for a moment, but neither of his listeners spoke. Salhana, who was well acquainted with these strange confidences, had listened with calm indifference, but saw no room for speaking; while Salim, although not wanting in personal courage, turned pale at the priest’s words, and remained lost in thought, gazing before him.

“So,” continued Gorakh, “I also govern in my fashion. Those who withstand me, I sweep unsuspected from my path, and those who know my power fear me; and be they of high or low rank, they do my bidding. And do you not think that power so exercised has not equal pleasures with yours? Can you imagine no feeling of pride at seeing yourself looked down upon and treated by men with slight respect, and then to know that their actions, their life and death, are to be disposed of according to your will? And I am not the only one who so thinks. I know there are others, and in far and distant lands, who, in silence and darkness, strive to govern those who are looked on as the greatest rulers in the eyes of the world. More than once in Agra, and in other places, I have spoken with men from the far West, who have come hither to try and win converts to their teaching, and, under the pretence of lending a willing ear to their preaching, I have gradually become acquainted with their aims; and from what I have learnt from them respecting the institution and working of their order, I discover that they, or at least their chiefs, seek the same God as I, though by another path. Their means, I say, are different, though scarcely more humane: we strangle men, they burn them alive. But though often they are resisted and persecuted, yet they know how, in the name of the so-called faith, to rule over not worldly sovereigns alone, but also over the spiritual head of their own Church, while they flatter him by unconditional submission and obedience to his will. And so you see, however strange it may at first appear, that the existence and enjoyment of power does not lie in its outward display, nor in its acknowledgment by others.”

Still Salim remained silent as Gorakh finished; but the look which he cast towards him said more than words.

The priest laughed. “I understand,” said he, slowly, “what thoughts at this moment occupy your Highness. An ally such as I may become dangerous, and the question is whether it might not be wise to get rid of him at once. But I am not simple enough to venture into the tiger’s den without the certainty of returning from it in safety. My followers await me in yonder temple on the mountain; if by the morning I do not rejoin them, they know well who the goddess requires as an expiatory sacrifice for the death of her chosen priest.”

“Arranged with your usual prudence,” said Salim. “But, worthy Gorakh, your prudence was superfluous; we have need of your help in many cases, and should I, without reason, deprive myself of it? But we have, I think, rather wandered from the subject of our consultation. About one thing I am rather uneasy. What are we to expect, Salhana, from your brother the Minister of Kashmir? Will he choose our side? And if not, has he the power of injuring us?”

“I fear greatly that he has,” answered the Governor. “He will not forsake the cause of the present king; and should he fall, would rather turn to Akbar than to us, from whom he expects nothing but mischief to his country and people.”

“In that case, hand him over to me,” said Gorakh.

“What do you mean?”

“No questions. I say, hand him over to me, and he shall not long stand in your way. There is another point of far greater importance: I have reason to believe that a certain important person of Kashmir, who has long been considered dead, but who, should he return to his native land, would overturn all our plans, is still alive.”

“How! what!” asked Salim, much disquieted. “You don’t mean——”

“I mean he whom you have already guessed—Nandigupta.”

“Nandigupta! it is impossible.”

“And why so? Was there ever any certainty about his death? All we know is that he suddenly disappeared and has never more been heard of, that is all. Some little time ago I discovered that among the HimÁlayas, near Badari-natha, a hermit now lives, whose description answers to that of the former king, and whom Kulluka, with Siddha Rama, visited on their journey here.”

“That, indeed, seems dangerous,” said Salim.

“In the meantime,” continued Gorakh, “I have set some of mine on the track to discover the truth; and should my suspicions turn out to be just”—here he made a sign that both his hearers understood—“then he certainly will be amongst those that Durga will welcome. It is now time for me to return to my followers, and your Highness will excuse me if I take my leave.”

Salim nodded his assent, wishing no doubt that it were possible that the priest should never more set his foot outside the fortress; and so for the present the three separated.

Evening after evening since that first day the sound of feasting and revelry from the lighted walls of the fortress had fallen on Iravati’s ears, as she wandered alone through the park. There feasted the future emperor of Hindustan with his boon companions and dancers, seeking thus to repay himself for the weariness of the day, and to forget for a while the cares that his own ambition had brought on him. At times the faithful Nipunika, who mingled with the other servants, and often looked in at these feasts, told her mistress particulars of them, which made the blood rise to her innocent cheeks, while she enjoined silence on her servant. Could it be possible that Siddha took part in such festivals at Agra? And Salim, the future governor of so mighty a kingdom, and undisputed ruler over so many peoples, how had he sunk! in spite of the high position to which fortune had raised him.

And yet Iravati found no reason to despise the Prince when she met him, as often was the case, in company with her father. His manner, when he conversed with her, was that of a polished nobleman; and far from allowing himself the slightest freedom, the respect and reverence with which he treated her was such that the greatest princess could have found no fault with it. There was no trace of flattery or empty politeness in the words he addressed to her, but all was simple, unconstrained and natural; while his conversation was amusing, and bore witness to an unusual cultivation and extended knowledge. “Oh, if,” she often thought to herself, “he would but make a better use of his many gifts, and would consider that to follow the great example set him by his noble father is his holiest duty and task!”

One evening, as, lost in thought, Iravati seated herself on one of the benches in the park, she became aware, to her astonishment, that the silence that reigned around her was unbroken by any joyous sound of revelry from the castle, and that no lights showed themselves from the windows and galleries. Only a warm wind murmured through the leaves, gently moving the branches of the trees, and every now and then a sound of flutes or bells from distant villages told of some peasant fÊte. Suddenly a sound of footsteps broke on the silence, and through the evening twilight a man’s figure became visible, approaching the spot where the daughter of Salhana was seated. With a feeling of terror, she rose to her feet, but, to her great astonishment, recognised in the intruder the Prince himself, who, drawing nearer, greeted her with his usual respect.

“Forgive me, noble lady,” he said, “if, unaware of your presence here, I unwillingly have disturbed you; receive my evening greeting, and I will not trouble you longer.”

“The disturbance,” said Iravati, courteously, “cannot be otherwise than agreeable to me; still I must confess that I was a little surprised. I believed your Highness was wont to pass your evenings in another and more mirthful manner than by quiet, solitary walks.”

“It was so,” answered Salim; “and you have a right to reproach me. I should have treated with more respect the roof that sheltered you. But let bygones be bygones. In future no unfitting noise of carousal shall disturb you in your palace, and break the silence of the night.”

Iravati listened to him with astonishment. Why should he make this declaration? and what was the cause of so sudden a change?

“A change has come over me,” continued Salim, “and I believe no slight one, although the time has been short. Until to-day I was—listen to me and do not draw back, I will confess all to you—I cared only for pleasure; I was dissipated and even a drunkard; I conceal nothing. But I have ceased to be all that; I have broken with my former life, and the Salim of to-day is a very different man from him of yesterday. From this hour I will live for duty and honour alone, and for the weal of the people that may some day be confided to my care. I will say farewell to all ambitious and unlawful projects, and above all to those debasing, worthless diversions, in which, until to-day, I sought distraction but never true enjoyment. I will do all this if one wish may be granted, a wish on which my happiness and my future depend, and also to a great extent that of my kingdom; and the granting of this wish depends on you.”

“I do not understand you, my lord,” said Iravati, who, alarmed as she was, would have been no woman had she not guessed to what the words of the Prince tended.

“You will soon understand me,” he replied, “when I tell you what has caused this sudden change in my whole being. But should I not rather leave it to you to guess, if you have not already learned from my words that it can be no one but yourself? And so it is,” he continued, with ever-increasing enthusiasm, though never out-stepping the bounds of reverence. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew, or rather felt, that you had an influence, a serious one, over my fate; I who never before had cast my eyes down before any one, did so at once before you, and in your presence felt myself small and nothing; and so whenever I saw you and spoke to you, and came to know you better, I felt still more clearly that my future lay in your hands. I began to feel a horror of myself, my manner of life, and so-called friends who aided me in passing evenings, and often nights, in so unworthy a manner; yet I would not at once resolve to break with it all; and I confess that when our feasts were in progress your image often faded away from my mind, as wine obscured my senses; but then when morning broke, with what shame and anger I regarded myself! To-day my resolve is taken, and, as you see, is carried out. All is quiet, there is no sound of revelry, my dancers are dismissed, and most of my guests have already taken their departure from Allahabad, or will do so to-morrow. All that is your work, and may it be carried out still further! For that one thing is indispensable, we must no longer remain acquaintances, meeting occasionally; a closer bond must unite us. Iravati, is it possible to say more clearly what I feel for you? Well, then, I——”

“Ah! no, no, my lord!” cried Iravati, clasping her hands supplicatingly; “do not say the words that are hardly on your lips, for I may not hear them.”

“May not,” repeated Salim, “or will not? When a request is made to you by me, it seems there should be no question whether you may hear it.”

“Both then,” replied Iravati, firmly, “both may not and will not; may not, because my word and faith bind me to another; and will not and cannot grant your wish because my whole heart and life are given to that other.”

It was fortunate for her that the increasing darkness hid the fierce expression that these frank, imprudent words called forth on the Prince’s face; had she seen it she would have shuddered at the thought of what might befall that other from such a rival.

“Consider well,” said Salim, after a moment’s silence; “think what you recklessly fling from you for the sake of a young man once dear to you, and who for the moment still appears to be so, but who, even should he remain true to you, can never offer what the future ruler of the empire of the Mughals can give. I do not speak of the treasures that should be yours, or of the luxury that would surround you, seated by my side, and ruling over the kingdoms and princes of Hindustan, for I know how little temptation there is in all that for a soul noble and elevated such as yours. Still it is not to be despised. You think you know what riches and luxury are, but what you have hitherto seen is but tinsel in comparison with the splendour of the palaces and gardens of Agra and Delhi. But let that be. Think what a glittering future you throw from you in choosing to become the wife of a simple unknown nobleman, instead of ruling over the deeds of the mightiest monarchs, while all the great and noble bow before you, and the prosperity of millions depends on you. Even as I place my lot in your hands, so I swear from to-day to place also that of my future subjects. Your decisions shall be my laws, for I know well that you will command nothing but what is noble, good and wise, and no one in the whole kingdom oppressed justly or unjustly but will find protection in you.”

Vainly the future ruler awaited an answer. Iravati was silent, but it was a silence that gave no hope of consent. She had turned from him as if to hide her sorrow, and buried her face in her hands. Even this glorious future made no impression on her.

“Iravati,” said Salim, in a deeply moved voice, “do not at once deprive me of the peace with which your appearance filled my whole soul. Through you I had become quite a different man from what I was; do not let me fall back again. Have pity on me, and on the thousands that with you by my side would find a benefactor in me, but without you, in all probability, a tyrant. I am weak, I know, but I would be strong as a hero, if from your words and presence I might draw my strength. Why should it be refused me? It will only cost you one word, and the crown of India lies at your feet; and you have nothing to do but to stretch out your hand and place it on your head. But I see,” he continued, passionately, “that my respect, my admiration, and my love are nothing to you; you despise the prince for a miserable adventurer, to whom you are bound by chains forged without thought; but think well what you do, what you venture, and what fate may await you and him also, if ever the love of one powerful as I is turned to rage and hate. But I am speaking wild and foolish words,” he added sadly, letting his head sink on his breast. “What right have I to your love? However high my station, I am not worthy of you. I am old before my time; that other is young, beautiful, with a heart unspoiled by the world. Why should I then complain? what I am is my own doing, and that of an unhappy fate, which has placed me in a station for which I am unfitted. But ah! how different, how different might all have been, if fate had thrown you in my way earlier! Now it is too late, too late!”

“My Prince,” said Iravati, gently, “you do yourself wrong; you have reason for reproaching but not for despising yourself. And be assured, I do not despise or scorn you, even if I can never be yours; in truth, had I known you earlier, even as you are now, but before another had won my love and faith, I might have returned your affection. You cannot really wish me to break my pledged word; and if I did you would lose the respect for me on which your love is grounded. But even in that case, which now is impossible, your high rank would have been no temptation. The luxury and splendour in which you live could never have been my element; and the great responsibility you were ready to lay on my shoulders, I could never have borne. But why should we lose ourselves in thought of what might have been, but can never be? The unknown powers that rule our fates have willed otherwise, let us submit to their decision, which must be just and wise for you as well as I. And so leave me, my gracious prince and lord, in the lowly state which you found me; go and forget me, now and always; and if you do remember me, let your thoughts be of that moment when nobler and more elevated feelings made themselves master of your soul. As for me, my thoughts will follow you in your future, which will, I hope and trust, be rich in noble deeds, when you succeed to the throne of the great Emperor; and be certain that amongst your numberless subjects none will watch your path in life with deeper interest than she who now implores you to leave her, and to release her from the hard duty of disobedience to your wishes.”

Seeking for an answer both fitting and convincing, stood the despot who perhaps never before in his life had met with contradiction. Silently he stood before the young girl; now about to speak, and then restraining himself, seeking vainly for words to give expression to the conflicting feelings that thronged his brain. At last he approached Iravati, seized her hand and lifted it to his lips, then turned and disappeared in the darkness, without a single word.

The next morning, greatly to Salhana’s alarm, he heard that the Prince had left the Castle of Allahabad accompanied by a single servant, but whither he had gone no one knew.