It was a house something like their own at Tooljapoor. There was the master's seat, with its flowers and holy text painted on it; the verandah open to the court; the thick curtains between the pillars let down to exclude the night air, which was chill. The room was neat and scrupulously clean. She was once more in a Brahmun's house.

Before Tara sat two women, both elderly. One a stout and matronly figure, with a grave but kind countenance, and grey hair neatly braided, with heavy gold rings round her neck, wrists, and ankles, plainly but richly dressed, indicating rank and wealth; the other evidently a widow, clad in coarse white serge, her head clean shaved, and her wrists, ankles, and neck without any ornaments. She had strong coarse features, much wrinkled, small piercing eyes deep set in her head, and her skin was flaccid and shrivelled. She was the elder sister of the Envoy, and lived with him a life of austere penance and privation, and, as a Hindu widow, was a pattern of scrupulous attention to the rules of her faith. Neither rose to meet her.

Tara advanced and touched their feet in token of reverential submission and salutation. By the lady, whose evident rank had attracted Tara first, the action was received at least without repugnance, and perhaps with interest; but by the other with marked aversion—she drew back her feet as though to prevent pollution, and shrank aside, evidently to avoid contact.

"Thou art welcome, daughter of Vyas Shastree," said the one: "peace be with thee."

"And that gilded thing is called a widow and a Moorlee!" cried the other, with a scornful glance at Tara. "O sister, admit her not! Why has she any hair? Why is she more like a bride than a widow?—a harlot rather than a virtuous woman?"

"I am a widow and an orphan," returned Tara meekly, sinking down and trembling violently, as she addressed the first speaker. "I have been saved from dishonour, lady. O be kind to me! I have no one on earth to protect me now. They are all gone—all—and may God help me!"

"Your mother was one of the Durpeys of Wye, was she not?" asked the Envoy's wife, whose name was Amba Bye. "Do they know of thee?"

"I do not know, lady," returned Tara; "they have never been to us, nor we to them; but my mother was a Durpey, and used to speak of them."

"Her father lately married that wild sister of Moro Trimmul's, and Sukya Bye is sure to know her," said the widow.

"O, not to her!—not to her!" cried Tara passionately—"do not give me to her? I beseech you by your honour, by your children, lady, by all you love on earth, not to give me to her. Do with me as ye will yourselves, ye are matrons, but——"

"And why not, girl?" asked the widow, interrupting her.

"Peace! Pudma Bye," said her brother, now entering, and seeing that his sister's question had caused pain, "the girl hath had a sore trial; listen to her, ere thou art hard on her. Speak, daughter, let us know from thine own lips how and why thou wast suffering violence from Moro Trimmul."

"From Moro Trimmul!" exclaimed both ladies in a breath.

"Yes, from him did I rescue her, sister, else she had fared badly, I fear," returned the Envoy. "A violent and wicked man,—who must be brought before the council, to prevent further scandal. But speak, daughter,—thy name?"

"Tara."

"Tara: well, fear not. Amba Bye is strict, but kind. Speak truly, we listen."

And Tara told her little story: how she had become a priestess when the goddess called her; what she knew of holy books; how she had been carried off from the temple by Moro Trimmul, and how he had persecuted her before. How she was taken by Fazil Khan, and had been saved by him from the King's harem at Beejapoor. Finally, how they had treated her with honour and respect, and were taking her to her only refuge at Wye.

Ah, it was a sad story now: a glimpse of a heaven of delight now shut out from her for ever! She saw the stony eyes of the grim old widow wandering over her, from her glossy braided hair and the garland of jessamine flowers which Zyna had put into it just before they left camp, to the gold ornaments about her neck which Zyna would have her wear; and, above all, to the silken saree, and the golden anklets which Fazil liked, because the tiny bells to them clashed so musically as she walked. Over and over again, as she told her simple story, and was believed by the Baba Sahib and his wife, did his sister evince decided unbelief and scorn. But at the last her brother rebuked her.

"I rescued her myself from violence," he said, "and what she tells me confirms her whole story. Peace, Pudma! one so helpless and so beautiful should have thy pity, not thy scorn."

"Let her have her head shaved, and be such as I am; let her live with me, and bathe in cold water before dawn; let her say the name of God on her beads a thousand times an hour during the night; let her do menial service," cried the widow rapidly; "and then, if she can do these things, brother, she is a Brahmun widow, and true; else cast her out to the Mussulmans with whom she lived. Art thou ready to do all this, girl?" she continued, stretching out her long skinny flaccid arm, which was naked to the shoulder, and showed that the serge about her was her only garment.

Tara's spirit sank within her. Yes, such as the being before her were Hindu widows—such they would claim her to be. "It were better if I were dead," she groaned—"better if I were dead."

"Better if thou wast dead!" echoed the widow. "Ay, much better. Such as thou art, were better dead than live, in a harlot's guise, to be a disgrace to the faith!"

"Nay, peace, sister," said her brother—"I will have none of this. While she is with us, she is our guest and daughter, and shall be cared for tenderly. Take her away, Amba, and let her rest. I will see Afzool Khan at the Durbar to-morrow, and inquire if what she says be true; but my heart already tells me it is so."

Amba Bye rose and said a few soothing words to Tara as she stood over her and raised her up. "Come," she said, "I will not harm thee—come." And Tara rose and followed her to an inner room. The old lady had perhaps been afraid of her sister-in-law, or she was softened by Tara's beauty and grief, for, as she closed the door, she sat down and took her to her heart, laying her head on her bosom. "Thou art a gentle lamb," she said, stroking her head. "God help thee, child," and Tara clung to the kind heart, and felt, as it were, loving arms once more closed around her.

That night she slept with Amba Bye. Her sleep was at first broken, and full of fearful dreams; but wearied nature and youth in the end obtained their mastery over her, and she sank into a deep slumber,—so deep, that the sun was high in the morning ere she awoke.

It had been a weary time to Zyna, Lurlee, and the Khan's household, and even the Khan and the priest sat up far into the night, speaking of Tara. No one had slept. As to Fazil, he, with ShÊre Khan, Lukshmun, and a body of horse, rode round the country for miles, all through the night, seeking Tara. No one dared speak to him, and the men had never seen him so excited before. He and Lukshmun, whose activity even surpassed his own, had stopped every palankeen; every cart or carriage which was covered; every veiled female they could see. Villages had been searched also, but no trace of Tara was found—none; and Fazil returned home dejected and worn out, only, however, to change his horse and the men, and to start once more with Lukshmun, who would not leave him, on an errand equally fruitless. That day (Fazil was still absent) Baba Sahib sought Afzool Khan after the afternoon Durbar, and told him what had happened: how he had rescued Tara, how he had sent her on to Wye with his wife and sister, and how she would be safe in his hands; and he heard in return how she was respected and loved in the Khan's family.

"We cannot allow her, Khan," he said kindly, "to remain with you, much as you have respected her faith. It would be a scandal to Brahmuns, if the daughter of Vyas Shastree were the guest even of Afzool Khan and his household. It is not compatible with her purity or her honour, which, now her father is dead, her people must protect. We—that is, my wife and myself—have charged ourselves with her for the present; and her people, the Durpeys of Wye, are rich and devout,—they will receive and protect her."

Afzool Khan remonstrated as far as possible. Tara had grown to be a familiar and beautiful object to him; but he felt the Brahmun was right, and he must not connect her name with his son's. He dare not mention to Lurlee what had been done, but he told Fazil, when he returned, and so all knew of it.

"At least she is safe and in honourable keeping," said Fazil, when he had heard all, "and for the rest, as God wills. But as for that Brahmun, father, he escaped me once—it may not be again."

"Look!" cried Lurlee to Zyna, who was sitting sobbing bitterly—"look! Had I only been careful, this would never have happened. It was Sunday night, and Saturn ruled from the second hour of the first watch to the end. Could anything be worse? We should not have moved at all. My pearl, my love, she should not have left us! Hai! Hai! May the peace of the Prophet be with her, and the protection of Alla be upon her till we meet again!"

"Ameen! Ameen!" sighed Zyna, but she was not comforted, nor was Fazil.