And in truth, accoutred as he was, and dressed in better clothes than he had hitherto worn, Meer Kasim Ali was one on whom the eye of man could not rest for a moment without admiration, nor that of a woman without love. He wore a dark purple silk vest, bordered round the throat and openings at the chest with broad gold lace and handsome gold pointed buttons; a crimson waistband with a deep gold border was around his loins, in which were stuck several daggers of various forms and very beautifully chased silver handles; and on his shoulder was a broad gold belt or baldric, somewhat tarnished it is true, but still handsome. This supported a long sword, with a half basket-hilt inlaid with gold and lined with crimson velvet; the scabbard was of the same, ornamented and protected at the end by a deep and richly chased ferule. At his back was a shield much covered with gilding and brass bosses.

‘By Alla and the twelve Imaums!’ cried the Khan, ‘thou art worthy to look on, and a jewel of price in the eye of an old soldier. But there are the steeds,—take thy choice; the chesnut is called Yacoot;^[11] he is hot, but a gallant beast, and perfect in his paces. The other I call Hyder, after him who was my first master; he is steadier perhaps, and not so active: say which wilt thou have?’

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‘I think, with your permission, Khan Sahib, I will mount Yacoot;’ and so saying, he approached him and bounded into the saddle.

‘Alla, what a seat!’ cried the Khan in an ecstasy of admiration, after Kasim had mounted, and the horse had made several wonderful bounds: ‘he does not move,—no, not a hair’s-breadth! even I should have been disturbed by that. Inshalla! he is a good horseman. Enough, Meer Sahib,’ he cried, ‘enough now; Yacoot is a young beast and a fiery devil, but I think after all he will suit thee better than the other.’

‘I think Yacoot and I shall be very good friends when we know each other better,’ said Kasim; ‘but see, the Khanum waits, and the bearers are ready. Put the palankeen close up to the door that it may be more convenient,’ he added to them.

They obeyed; and in a few moments a figure enveloped from head to foot, but whose tinkling anklets were delicious music in the ears of Kasim, emerged from the threshold of the house, and instantly entered the palankeen. Another followed, and busied herself for a few moments in arranging the interior of the vehicle. This was Kasim’s mother, whose heart, almost too full for utterance, had much difficulty in mustering words sufficient to bid her lovely guest farewell.

‘May Alla keep you!’ said the old lady, blinded by her tears; ‘you are young, and proud and beautiful, but you will sometimes think perhaps of the old PatÉlne. Remember all I have told you of my son; and that as the Khan is a father to him, so you are his mother:—ye have now the care of him, not I. May Alla keep thee! for my old eyes can hardly hope to see thee again;’ and she blessed her.

‘Willingly, mother,’ she replied; ‘all that constant solicitude for his welfare can effect, I will do; and while I have life I will remember thee, thy care and kindness. Alla Hafiz! do you too remember Ameena.’

The old lady had no reply to give; she shut the door of the palankeen with trembling hands—and the bearers, understanding the signal, advanced, raised it to their shoulders, and bore it rapidly forward

‘Come,’ cried the Khan, who had mounted; ‘delay not, Kasim.’

‘Not a moment—a few last words with my mother, and I follow thee.’

She was standing at the door; he rode up to her and stooped down from the horse gently. ‘Thy blessing, mother, again,’ he said—‘thy last blessing on thy son.’

She gave it; and hastily searching for a rupee, she drew a handkerchief from her bosom, and folding it in it, tied it around his arm. ‘My blessing, the blessing of the holy Alla and of the Imaum Zamin be upon thee, my son! May thy footsteps lead thee into happiness—may thy destiny be great! May I again see my son ere I die, that mine eyes may greet him as a warrior, and one that has won fame!’

‘I thank thee, mother; but saidst thou aught to her of me?’

‘I told her much of thee and of thy temper from thy youth up: it appeared to interest her, and she hath promised to befriend thee.’

‘Enough, dear mother! remember my last words—to have the trees I planted looked to and carefully tended, and the tomb protected. Inshalla! I will return to see them grown up, and again be reminded of the spot where I saved her life.’

And so saying, and not trusting himself to speak to many who would have crowded around him for a last word, the young man turned his horse, and, striking his heels sharply into its flank, the noble animal bounding forward bore him away after his future companions, followed by the blessings and dim and streaming eyes of most who were assembled around the door of his mother’s home.

The old lady heeded not that her veil had dropped from her face; there was but one object which occupied her vision of the many that were before her eyes, and that was the martial figure of her son as it rapidly disappeared before her. She lost sight of him as he passed the gate of the village; again she saw him beyond. There was a slight ascent, up which the party, now united, were rapidly advancing: he reached them. She saw him exchange greeting with the Khan, as he checked his bounding steed, fall in by his side, apparently in familiar converse, and for a short time more the whole were brightly before her, as a gleam of sunlight shone forth, glancing brightly from their spear-heads and the bosses on their shields, and upon the gay colours of their dresses. A bright omen she thought it was of the future. But they had now attained the summit. Kasim and the Khan disappeared gradually behind it; then the attendants—the palankeen—the servants—the camels, one by one were lost to her gaze. Suddenly the place was void; she shook the blinding stream from her eyes, and looked again—but there was no one there; her son and his companions had passed away, she thought for ever. Then only, she perceived that she was unveiled, and hastily retreating into her now lonely and cheerless abode, for the while gave herself up to that violent grief which she had been ill able to repress as he left her.

‘Ay, now thou lookest like a gentleman, as thou art in very truth,’ said the Khan, after they had ridden some miles. ‘What sayest thou, Meer Sahib, hast thou been instructed in the use of the arms thou wearest? Canst thou do thy qusrut^[12]—use a mugdoor^[13]—play with a sword and shield? and what sort of a marksman art thou?’

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‘As a marksman, Khan, I have pretty good practice at the deer which roam our plains and devastate our corn-fields; as to the rest, thou knowest I am but a village youth.’

‘Modestly spoken, Meer Sahib. Now take Dilawur Ali’s matchlock, and kill me one of those deer yonder;’ and he pointed to a herd which was quietly browsing at some distance: ‘we will put it on a camel, and it will be a supper for us.’

‘I will try, Khan Sahib,’ returned Kasim joyfully and eagerly; ‘only stay here, and dismount if you will, lest they should see you; and if I can get within shot, thou shalt have the deer.’

‘Give him thy gun then,’ said the Khan to his retainer; ‘is it properly charged?’

The palankeen was put down, and all waited the issue with much interest and anxiety.

The Khan went to the palankeen. ‘Look out, my rose,’ he said; ‘I have dared the PatÉl to shoot a deer, and he is gone to do it. Look, see how he creeps onward, like a cat or a panther.’

The lady looked out. It was very exciting to her to see the motions of the young man; and, if it may be believed, she actually put up a mental prayer for his success. ‘Ya Alla, give him a steady hand!’ she said inwardly, and looked the more.

‘He will be near them soon,’ said the Khan, shading his eyes with his hands; ‘there is a nulla yonder which will afford him cover; canst thou see? Mashalla! this is better than shooting one oneself.’

‘They have seen him!’ cried the lady, as one of the deer which had been lying down got up and gazed warily about. They will be off ere he can get within shot.’

‘Not so, by your eyes!’ cried the Khan; ‘he has crouched down. See! raise thyself a little higher; look at him crawling.’

Kasim’s progress was slow, and had he been alone he would have given up the pursuit; but he knew the Khan was observing him, perhaps Ameena. It was enough,—he crept stealthily on.

‘He will never get near them,’ said the fat cook. ‘Who is he—a village PatÉl—that he should shoot? Ay, now, at my city we have the real shooting; there, over the plains of Surroo Nuggur, thousands of antelopes are bounding with no one to molest them, except Nizam Ali, who goes out with the nobles and shoots a hundred sometimes in a day. I was once there, and killed—’

‘With thy knife, O Zoolfoo, and roasted it afterwards I suppose,’ said Nasur: ‘don’t tell us lies; thou knowest thou never hadst a gun in thy hand since thou wast born.’

‘That is another lie,’ retorted Zoolfoo. ‘By the beard of Moula Ali, if I was yonder I would have fired long ago: we shall have no venison for supper I see plainly enough. See how he is crawling on the ground as a frog would,—can’t he walk upright like a man?’

‘He knows well enough what he is doing, you father of owls,’ was the reply. ‘Inshalla! we shall all eat venison to-night, and thou wilt have to cook us kabobs and curries.’

‘Venison and mÉthee-ke-bajee make a good curry,’ mused the cook; ‘and kabobs are also good, dried in the sun and seasoned.’

‘Look! he is going to shoot,’ cried the Khan; ‘which will it be? I wager thee a new dooputta^[14] he does not kill.’

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‘Kubool! I agree,’ said the lady; he will kill by the blessing of Alla,—I feel sure he will.’

But Kasim’s gun went down.

‘He is too far off yet,’ she said: and he was. He saw a mound at a little distance from him, and tried to reach it, crawling on as before.

But the deer saw him. He observed their alarm, and lay motionless. They all got up and looked:—he did not move. The buck trotted forward a few paces, saw what it was, and ere the young man could get his gun to his shoulder as he lay, he had turned.

‘I told you so,’ cried the Khan; ‘they are off, and I have won.’

‘There is yet a chance,’ said Ameena anxiously.

‘I said he would not kill,’ said the cook; ‘we shall have no venison.’

They were all wrong. Kasim saw there was no chance unless he rose and fired; so he rose instantly. The deer regarded him for an instant, turned as with one motion, and fled bounding away.

‘There is yet a chance,’ cried Ameena again, as she saw the gun pointed. ‘Holy Alla! he has won my wager!’ she added, clapping her hands.

He had, and won it well. As the herd bounded on, he waited till the buck was clear of the rest. He fired; and springing high into the air it rolled forward on the ground; and while it yet struggled, Kasim had drawn his knife across the throat, pronouncing the formula.

‘Shookr Alla!’ cried the cook, ‘it is Hulal^[15] at any rate.’

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‘Shabash!’ exclaimed the Khan, ‘he has done it:—he is as good as his word,—he is a rare marksman. So thou hast won thy wager, Pearee,’^[16] he added. ‘Well, I vow to thee a Benares dooputta: thou shalt have one in memory of the event.’

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She would not, however, have forgotten it without.

‘Go, some of ye,’ continued the Khan, ‘and take the lightest laden of the camels, for the Syud is beckoning to us: bring the game hither speedily.’

The deer was soon brought, and laid near the palankeen, where the Khan stood. The bright eye was already glazed and suffused with blood.

‘Ay, now thou canst see it,’ he said to the lady, who, closely veiled, yet had apertures for her eyes through which she could observe distinctly. ‘Is it not a noble beast?—fat, too, by the Prophet! It was a good shot at that distance.’

‘It was partly accident, Khan Sahib,’ replied Kasim.

‘Not so, by your beard, not so, PatÉl; it was no chance. I should be very sorry to stand for thee to shoot at even further than it was.’

‘I should be very sorry to shoot at my lord, or any one but an enemy,’ he returned, ‘seeing that I rarely miss my mark whether on foot or on horseback.’

‘I believe thee,’ returned the Khan; ‘but where is that lazy cook?’ he cried, after he had mounted.

‘Hazir!’^[17] cried Zoolfoo, urging on his pony from behind as fast as he could, for it shied at everything it saw. ‘Your slave is coming,’ he shouted, as the Khan grew impatient. And at last, joining his hands together, he was in his presence.

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‘Kya Hookum?’ he asked, ‘what orders has my lord for his slave?’

‘See that there is a good curry this evening; and if thou canst get mÉthee, put it in;—dost thou hear?’

‘My lord and the Meer Sahib shall say they have never eaten such,’ said the functionary joyfully! ‘Inshalla! it will be one fit for the Huzoor himself.’

He fell back. ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘how it would be,—venison and mÉthee; yes, I had thought as much: my lord has a good taste.’ And the idea of mÉthee and venison comforted him for the rest of the day’s journey.

And now the party rode on merrily, though not fast. The Khan became more and more pleased with his new friend every hour that they rode together. Kasim’s stores of learning were not extensive; but so far as he possessed knowledge of books he unfolded it to the Khan. He recited pieces of Hafiz,—passages from the Shah Namah, of which he had read selections. He repeated tales from the Ikhlak-i-Hindee, from the Bostan, and ghuzuls^[18] from the earlier Oordoo poets; until the Khan, who had never thought of these accomplishments himself, and who knew none who possessed them, was fairly astonished.

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But after a few hours’ ride they were near the village they were to rest at. ‘If thou knowest any one in it,’ said the Khan, ‘we shall be able to get a good place for the night.’

‘I knew the PatÉl well, Khan Sahib; he was my father’s friend. I will gallop on, and secure such a place as may be fitting for you and the Khanum to rest in.’

When they arrived, they found the PatÉl with Kasim Ali ready to receive them at the door of a neat but small mosque which was in the village. A few tent walls were placed across the open part, to screen them from the weather and the public gaze,—then carpets spread; and soon some were resting themselves, while others wandered into the bazaars or were employed in various offices for the Khan. Particularly the cook, who, after sending for a village butcher to skin and cut up the deer, selected some prime parts of the meat, which he proceeded to dress after the following fashion, and which we cordially recommend to all uninitiated.

The meat was cut into small pieces, and each piece covered with the ingredients for seasoning the dish, which had been ground with water to the consistence of paste. Then some butter and onions were put into a pan, and the onions fried till they were brown. Into this was placed the meat, some salt, and sour curds or butter-milk: then it was suffered to simmer gently, while Zoolfoo every now and then stirred it with great assiduity. When it was partly done, the vegetables were added; and in a short time most savoury steams succeeded, saluting the hungry noses of a few lean and half-starved village dogs; these, attracted by the savour, prowled about with watering chops in the vicinity of the fireplace, much cursed by the cook, and frequently pelted with stones as they ventured a little nearer. Many kites were wheeling and screaming overhead, and a good many crows sat upon the nearest stones,—upon the wall and other slight elevations,—apparently, by their constant chattering and croakings, speculating upon their probable share.

‘May your mothers and sisters be destroyed!’ cried the cook, at length fairly perplexed between the dogs, the kites, and the crows, each of which watched the slightest inattention in order to attempt to carry off anything they could see: ‘may they be destroyed and dishonoured! Ya Alla!’ he continued in exclamation, as he saw a dog coolly seize hold of and run away with part of the leg of the deer, ‘Ya Alla! that is Jumal Khan’s portion;—drop it, you base-born!—drop it, you son of a vile mother!’ and he flung a stone after the delinquent, which had happily effect on his hinder portion, and made him limp off on three legs, howling, and without his booty. ‘Ha! I hit you, did I? that will teach you to steal!’ and he picked up the meat.

‘But, holy Prophet, I am ruined!’ he again exclaimed. And indeed it was provoking enough to see several kites in succession making stoops at the little board upon which he had been cutting up the meat for the kabob; at every stoop carrying off large pieces, which, holding in their talons, they fairly ate as they sailed over him, screaming apparently in exultation.

‘Holy Prophet! that I should have eaten such dirt at the hands of these animals. Ho! Meer Sahib!’ he continued to Kasim who approached, ‘wilt thou keep watch here while I cook the dinner? for if thou dost not there will be none left; one brute had carried off this leg which I have just rescued, and while I was about that, the kites ate up the kabob.’

The Syud could not help laughing at the worthy functionary’s distress.

‘Well, as there is no one near, Zoolfoo, I will sit here;’ and he seated himself upon a log of wood not far from him. ‘Now we will see if any of these sons of unchaste mothers will come near thee: thou deservest this for what thou art doing for us there, which smelleth well.’

‘It is a dish for a prince, Meer Sahib,’ said the cook, giving the contents of the pot an affectionate stir. ‘I say it is a dish for the Huzoor, and such an one as I have often cooked for his zenana.’

‘Then thou wast in the kitchen of Nizam Ali?’

‘Even so, Meer Sahib; there is plenty to eat, but little pay; so I left the Huzoor to follow the fortunes of the Khan,—may his prosperity increase!’

‘Ay, he is a noble fellow, Zoolfoo, and a generous one;—see what he hath done for me already.’

‘Thou didst enough for him,’ said the cook drily. ‘Knowest thou that the Khanum is a bride, and that she is only fourteen or fifteen, and as beautiful as the moon at the full?’

‘Is she?’ said Kasim carelessly.

‘Is she!’ retorted the cook; ‘I saw her three months ago, for she was a neighbour of mine. I have known her for years, but that she does not know.’

‘Indeed! that is very extraordinary,’ said Kasim absently.

‘Not at all,’ replied the cook; ‘my sister was servant in their house for some years,—nay, is there still. She told me all about this marriage; it was very splendid.’

‘Indeed!’ Kasim again.

‘Ay, truly; and the maiden was very loth to be married to one so old. But she was of age to be married, and her parents did not like to refuse when such a man as Abdool Rhyman offered for her—Khan they call him, but he was only the son of a soldier of the Huzoor’s—quite a poor man. They said—indeed Nasur told me—that he has two other wives at Seringapatam, but he has no child.’

‘That is very odd,’ said Kasim.

‘Very,’ returned the cook. But their conversation was suddenly interrupted by one of the men, who approached, and relieved Kasim of his watch.

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