The sun was just rising as ZÓra and her companion, the MushÁekh's wife, looked forth on the splendid scene spread out before them. Thin blue smoke was hanging over the distant portion of the city, veiling the details of terraced houses, minarets, and mosques, and other pretentious buildings, and then passing into the grey distance which melted into blue and violet lines up to the horizon. Nearer objects were more defined, and the mausoleums of the Kings, the fort, and the blue lake, were clear and beautiful as the sun's rays touched the white and glistening surface of the massive domes, the slender spires of the minarets, and the tops of the noble trees which stood around in almost every direction. From a higher elevation the view might have been more complete and extensive, but it would have lost the charm of that lovely combination of objects of all descriptions which their present situation afforded.

ZÓra's face was flushed and excited, and her large brown eyes were half filled with tears as she looked around. "Abba cannot see it," she murmured to herself; "but he may have seen it before, when he was young, and I will ask him; but, oh! it is so beautiful."

"I used, lady," she continued to her new companion, "to think our old grim fort and its rocks beautiful; and the deep ravine, with the cataract, was beautiful, too, only so wild, that they used to make me tremble very often; but this is more soft and loving, and one seems to be wrapped in all around, and to feel it in one's heart. I shall be sorry when we can stay no longer."

"So shall I," returned the lady. "When I was a barren woman, with no hope, my husband brought me here, and the saint blessed me, and my firstborn followed. He is now four years old, and we have come, as we vowed, to return our humble thanks for him, and to pray for his welfare always in the future. When thou hast one like him, ZÓra, the only thing thou wilt ever care to look at will be his eyes; and thy time will come, too. If thou hadst a mother, she would have arranged this long ago."

"Perhaps," said ZÓra, timidly, a manly face she well remembered rising to her thoughts. "Perhaps; and what is written in my fate will come to pass."

"True, child," returned the lady, "but fate needs help sometimes, though truly before fate contrivance can do but little; still it may be tried. Now, my husband and I have a little plot against you both, and that is to take you with us to Golconda, where our lord the King is, a devout and learned man, who hath great veneration for holy MushÁekhs and Dervishes; and he would be charmed with your grandfather, and would never let him depart; he would give him estates, and he would take the rank that is due to him. What think you? As to yourself, I have the noblest husband for you. He is commander of ever so many horsemen, and holds estates and lands for their maintenance; and so he is very rich, and has a beautiful palace in the fort, and gardens. When I parted with him, he said, laughingly, 'Oh, aunt, bring me the most beautiful woman you can see, for I have had every girl in Golconda inspected, and I love not what I hear of any of them.' I said, 'You are laughing at me, Shere Khan;' but his face changed, and he said, 'I am not; I swear to thee, by Ayesha, that I am entirely in earnest.' And who do I know, or ever saw, but thee, ZÓra, who would be worthy of him? Dost thou know how lovely thou art, with that soft curly hair of thine hanging about thy neck, and the ruddy glow in thy fair, sweet face? Did no one ever tell thee how beautiful thou art? Hast thou had no friend in thy young life?"

"Maria used to tell me so," replied ZÓra, shyly, "and I used to chide her."

"Maria! Who is Maria? That is a Nazarene name, surely."

"She is a Christian lady, one of God's servants, whom chance sent to us at Juldroog, and she and her brother lived with us."

"And she wanted thee for him, and made thee a Christian?"

"No," said ZÓra, gravely, "she did not make me a Christian; and for her to think of me for her brother would have been foolish. He, too, has a vow to God, and could not marry even among his own people. No, she was only a dear friend, and I owe to her all that I know, and all that I can do."

"And where is she now, child?"

"I know not, lady; alas! I know not. She went from us with her brother to Beejapoor, and perhaps has gone on to Goa."

"Thank God!" said the lady; "then there is the better chance of my plan succeeding, and I will ask my husband to apply to your grandfather."

"I know he hath urgent business in Beejapoor, lady, and hath urgent need to see the King; but what it is he never told me, and I know nothing of his life."

"Well, then, as God wills," said the lady; "but if I told Shere Khan of thee, he would follow thee, I know, as long as he could trace thee through the Dekhan."

I will not describe the ceremonies as the travellers paid their devotions at the mausoleum of the departed saints, or their respects to the present reigning incumbent. These were no places for our old friend to display his genius, his eloquence, and his learning. These and the doctrines of his teaching only shone forth in addressing crowds in mosques, and on special occasions, when, as it seemed, inspiration came on him; but one day, when he was in the large mosque for prayer—it was some minor festival day—and there was a crowd of worshippers, and the Prince was present, he asked leave to deliver the sermon, and the service was thankfully accepted.

As the old man took his place on the upper step of the pulpit, clad in his green dress, and, leaning on his staff, stretched out his arms, a murmur came from the assembly which cheered and excited him; and with a short text on the love of God, his words poured forth in a stream, not in the soft Persian he had adopted of late, but in the rugged Dekhan tongue—which had little of ornament or hyperbole in it—which became a torrent of alternate entreaty, reproach, and assurance, the like of which had never been heard before then by any. There were no sophisms, no mysteries, no display of profound erudition, incomprehensible except to a few; but there was instead instruction on the true Turreequt, the true path of salvation. He pleaded humility before God; charity, pity, and love to God and man; absence of any spiritual arrogance, which was but too prevalent, and of self-conceit and display. He spoke of the softer graces of habitual piety, of truth to man and to God, and of sobriety, patience, and endurance; tenderness in home duties and abroad; in short, attention to all the godly precepts of the book of God's messenger, who had inspired it, as he believed, and enjoined constant thought of the day of judgment, and the trial then of all profession. Be not offended with me, O Christian reader, for such things can be taught out of the book you have been told to hold in scorn, apart from the mystery and sensual doctrines which are so strangely mingled with them.

When he concluded, and the blessing was delivered, those present did not form into knots, to shake hands and give the salutation of blessing one to another as usual, but, as if by inspiration, shouted, "A saint! a saint! a miracle hath been done, for such words were never heard!" and the Prince was as much excited as any one else, and joined with the rest. Then he called for his own conveyance, which was a nalkee, or sedan chair, with two poles and eight bearers, and our old friend was put into it, and accompanied by the multitude, with torches and blue lights, and firing of guns, for it was now dark, the procession passed on to the palace of the Prince, with cries of "A saint! a Wallee! A miracle, a miracle! Deen, Deen!" burning clouds of incense, throwing handfuls of perfume powder over him, and in every way possible testifying their respect and admiration. Then the Prince took his seat, and called up the dear old man, and in a voice full of emotion said to him, "Come hither, for I salute you in the title of Wallee. Thou hast done a miracle, and the people have seen and acknowledge it, and the Lord accepts it. Listen while I repeat the sacred words of the order. And now drink of this cup of sherbet, which, sipped and breathed on by me, becomes to thee the sherbet of salvation. Verily, the Lord hath brought thee to the end of the Turreequt, and all ye who are present are witness to this. Ameen! Ameen! It is the Lord's will."

And all cried aloud, with a hoarse shout, "Ameen! Ameen! So be it!"

During this time our old friend had been in a state of which he remembered very little. He recollected, and afterwards repeated, the last words of his sermon, and he remembered his being carried out of the mosque and seated in the nalkee; but of the wild procession, the shouts, the torches and blue lights, and the Prince's address, he recalled very little until he received the cup of cool sherbet, which tasted as if from Paradise itself. Now he was weary of the excitement; and after attempting to utter his thanks he seemed to waver to and fro as he sat, and while the MushÁekh and others supported him he stooped heavily forward and fell to the ground. Then a palanquin was brought, and they carried him to the house where he lodged; and, revived by the fresh air, he was able to alight and walk slowly to his chamber, where ZÓra, already made anxious by the sudden rumour that her grandfather had fainted in the great assembly, received him in her arms and laid him down on his cushions. As he had been carried out of the assembly the Prince rose, and cried with up-lifted hands before all—

"Pray God that He do not take the saint from us in this his present ecstasy!" And all present cried "Ameen!"

"Pray God that he may live to lead and instruct many." And again they cried "Ameen!"

Then the Prince gave the blessing to all, and they departed; and the precincts of the palace and cemetery soon resumed their quiet, peaceful character, as the stars shone out in the calm and fresh atmosphere of night. And ZÓra sat and watched.

For a time her grandfather seemed to sleep calmly; but he became gradually restless and feverish; and from time to time she gave him sips of a sherbet of pomegranates, which he took eagerly. Still he did not appear to recognise her, which much distressed her. It was evident that the events of the evening had been too exciting; and his impassioned sermon, followed by the procession from the mosque, the glare of torchlights and noise of guns, the clouds of incense smoke, and the final acceptance as a Wallee, had been altogether more than he could bear. From time to time he muttered sentences of the Koran, and seemed to pray. Again he cried aloud, "Karamat! Karamat! A miracle! a miracle!" and tried to lift himself up from his pillow, and wave his arm.

ZÓra could not weep, her eyes were dry and burning with anxiety; all she held most dear on earth lay helpless before her, and if he passed away in this ecstasy what would she do, whither could she go? Who would care for the obscure, friendless girl who did not even know her own origin? But she could not wish they had never come. If Alla pleased to take him, it would be at the crowning point of his earthly life; that which it seemed his only desire to reach, and which had been attained. Her new friend, the MushÁekh's kind wife, came to her and sat with her, and told her freely and compassionately that she must be prepared even for the last; and taking her in her arms, laid her head upon her breast, and told her she would be a mother to her, and she was not to fear; and her husband, who also came, bade her not to fear, for if the Lord took her Abba she would be his and his wife's child thenceforth. But all these alarms of that strange night disappeared by the early morning. For the latter part of it the old man had slept peacefully, like a child; and as the muezzin was crying the invocation to early prayer, and the sentence, "Prayer is better than sleep! Prayer is better than sleep! God is victorious!" he woke, and, to ZÓra's infinite joy, sat up with a gentle, smiling face, such as she had not seen for a long time, reminding her of earlier days. Then she assisted him to rise and to perform his devotions; and as he again sat down, she crept to him, and very timidly congratulated him on his new dignity, and the honour he had received.

"Then it was not a dream, child?" he said.

"No, Abba; it was a blessed reality. Zeenat-bee (that was the name of the MushÁekh's wife) and I were sitting on the terrace above, after evening prayer. The air was so cool and fresh, and the city looked so quiet and peaceful; and suddenly we heard a great hoarse cry arise, and we looked, and blue lights were burned, and the tombs of the Kings flashed out of the dusk brighter than day. Then gradually the crowd appeared, and the tumult was fearful—men struggling with each other to approach the nalkee; and other palanquins and open litters were in front and behind, and we thought it was only the customary honour done to the Prince. But as the procession passed beneath us, and I saw it was thee, O Abba, to whom they were doing honour, I cried with all the rest, and Zeenat and I embraced each other. But when they brought thee, and I looked at thee, and laid thee down, I feared, yea, I feared thy time had come; yet the Lord hath spared thee, and thou art a saint now, one that men may worship without sin."

There was, indeed, no doubt on that score. All the day, the highest in holy rank, the Wallees, the Owleas, the MushÁekhs, doctors learned in the law, and private persons in crowds thronged about the house and its courtyards, and would be content only by the assurance that the new saint would once more preach to them in the mosque, and return thanks to Alla the Most High. And on the third day the old man went in company of the Prince, and took his place, after prayers, on the upper step of the pulpit. To those present it appeared that he was taller and more dignified than before; but the Wallee's sermon was not the less passionate that day. It affected him less, though it seemed to affect his hearers more; and after it was over, his friend, the MushÁekh, led him about, and he shook hands with many and gave them the blessing. Then the great procession of the Prince's anniversary followed; and though on the grandest scale, accompanied by the troops, and midst the firing of cannon and matchlocks, and blare of sonorous trumpets and horns, with rockets and blue lights continually discharged, yet it had not the excitement of the sudden frenzied rush of the Wallee's recognition, nor the spontaneous enthusiasm of the crowds that had accompanied him; and their journey to the mosque, and subsequent return, were of the same majestic but monotonous character.

As they were all sitting together quietly after they had returned home, Ahmed entered somewhat abruptly, and cried out, "I have heard news. Our King has won a victory, and the King of Ahmednugger was killed." And on being further interrogated, he said he had heard it from some soldiers of Beejapoor, who had a vow to be present at the Prince's procession, and had obtained leave to come the day after the battle, and the dead were being buried.

"Go early," said the old man; "see those men, and bring any that will come to me;" and before mid-day several men came and gave a circumstantial account of the whole action. Abbas Khan and some Beydurs had been foremost in carrying the guns. The young King of Ahmednugger had charged madly to recover them, but had been shot dead, and the whole army fled to Puraindah and sent ambassadors for peace; and when all was completed, the King would return to Beejapoor—he might even now be on the way.

"This decides me at once, ZÓra," said her grandfather. "The MushÁekh's intentions were truly kind, and I will acknowledge them; but thy proper home is with Queen Chand, and till I give thee to her my mind will not rest. After that let it be with us as God willeth. Let us prepare to go."

There was yet one ceremony to perform, which was a solemn leave-taking of the Geesoo DurÁz and his fellow spiritual princes who were at the festival, and many others; and Zeenat-bee had to present ZÓra to the Prince's wife and other great ladies who would be with her. But poor ZÓra's wardrobe, if plentiful for her wants, was not that of a fine lady. The valuable clothes given to her by the Ranee of Wakin-Keyra were of Hindoo form, and, therefore, for the present useless. Her best petticoat was of fine soosi, her best scarf only plain muslin, not over fine; and the new friend looked over the clothes in despair. "None of these will answer," she said; "thou shouldst have satin at least, but it should be cloth of gold."

"I have no better," ZÓra said; "I have never known better. What is cloth of gold (kumkhab)?"

"And thou hast never seen it, O simple child? Stay, I see it all now." And she went to her apartments, and her servants returned with her, bringing a bundle. "That is kumkhab," she said to ZÓra, shaking out a gorgeous petticoat of the material, "and thou shalt wear that, my child; the grandchild of Luteef Shah Wallee is a princess, and should be clad as one." It was in vain that ZÓra protested she ought not to go at all; but there was no escape.

How beautiful she looked when Zeenat-bee came and dressed her. The cloth of gold, the delicate scarf of brocaded muslin, and all beside seemed, indeed, as the natural costume of the sweet girl; and as she entered the assembly of ladies with a modest yet dignified grace, there was not one present who was not struck with her beauty more than they cared to acknowledge. Nor would her kind friend receive the clothes back from her. "If my Shere Khan cannot see thee in them," she said, "you will need them for your Queen, and they will remind thee of me, ZÓra. I see thou canst not come with us, for thy grandfather's business with the King is urgent, so I will send thee away, though my heart aches as I do so."

And when the time came, for the day of the Rujub-ool-Ghyb was Thursday, for the march southwards, they took leave of all with much emotion; and, after paying for what they had used, the balance was invested in an order by a local banker on Beejapoor, for they had been warned of robbers, gangs of whom frequented large assemblies like that at Gulburgah, and dogged the footsteps of the returning pilgrims.

Nothing was wanting on the part of the local authorities to do honour to "Luteef Shah Wallee," the humble Syud and Dervish of Juldroog, now the new and accepted saint of the faithful, to be worshipped whenever he might give up his spirit to the angels of death, and henceforth to live in Dekhan history, as many as humble as he had done before. With all his yearning for Beejapoor, he had yet longings after Golconda, and should his petition be rejected, there was at least that refuge to be looked to for ZÓra as well as himself. Well! they would soon see, and it could not be many days before he knew his fate. As before, the four baggage ponies were laden by Ahmed; and as the "Geesoo DurÁz" insisted on supplying one palanquin and the Governor of the town another, besides a few horse and foot soldiers as far as Almella, where there was a station of Beejapoor troops, they were to travel in comfort and security. But the old man said to ZÓra, as she was making her last preparations to depart, "Child, we have been dazzled by our prosperity; may Alla forgive us for having neglected our duty as Fakeers. This we must resume, and therefore keep our old dresses ready for us."

"I have already prepared them," she said; "and whenever thou wilt we will sing the invocation again." Then they set out for Afzulpoor, near the river Bheema.