Abdool Rhyman Khan, as may be imagined, quitted his wives in no very pleasant mood. Tired by his long march, and without having tasted food since the morning, the bitter insult he had received, their disrespect and their abuse, were the more aggravating, and sank deeply into his heart. Although not a man of wrath habitually, or one indeed who could be easily excited, he was now in very truth enraged, and felt that he would have given worlds for any object on which he could have vented the fury that possessed him.

‘Alla! Alla!’ he exclaimed, as he ground his teeth in vexation; ‘that I should have been born to eat this abomination; that I, who have a grey beard, should be thus taunted by my women, and called a coward, one less than a man! I who, Mashalla! have slain men, even Feringhees!—that I should have to bear this—Ya Hyder! Ya Hoosein!—but I am a fool to be thus excited. Let them only fail to receive Ameena as she ought to be received—let me but have a pretext for what I have long desired, and now threatened, and they will see whether my words are truth or lies. Too long have I borne this,—first one, then the other—now Kummoo, now Hoormut—now one’s mother, now the other’s brothers and cousins; but, Inshalla! this is the last dirt I eat at their hands—faithless and ungrateful! I will send them back to their homes; I have often threatened it, and now will do it.’

His horse awaited him at the door, and springing into the saddle, he urged him furiously on through the Fort gate, into the plain beyond; and here—for the rapid motion was a relief to him—he lunged him round and round; now exciting him to speed, now turning him rapidly from one side to another, as though in pursuit of an imaginary enemy. This he did for some time, while his groom and Daood looked quietly on; the latter attributing to its true cause the Khan’s excitement, the former wondering what could possess his master to ride so furiously after the long journey the horse had already performed that morning.

The Khan at last desisted—either from feeling his temper cooling, or from observing that his horse was tired—and turning first towards the encampment, he proceeded a short distance; but apparently remembering something, he retraced his steps towards the Fort; indeed he had forgotten to report the arrival of his corps to the officer whose duty it was to receive the intelligence.

As he passed his house, he saw one of the women-servants, who used to go on errands or make purchases in the bazaar, issue from the door-way, and covering her face, dart on before him, apparently to elude his observation.

‘Ha! by the Prophet, I will know what that jade is after,’ muttered the Khan to himself, as he dashed his heels into his charger’s flanks, and was up with her in a moment. ‘Where goest thou?’ he cried; ‘Kulloo, think not to conceal thyself; I saw thy face as thou camest out of the door; what errand hast thou now?’

‘May I be your sacrifice, Khan!’ said the woman; ‘I am only sent for the Khanum Kummoo’s mother,—may her prosperity increase!’

‘May her lot be perdition rather!’ cried the Khan; ‘an old devil,—but never mind me; go thy way; I know why she is called. May the Prophet give them grace of their consultation!’ he added ironically; ‘tell thy mistress that; and tell her too,’ he continued, speaking between his teeth, and looking back after he had gone a little way, ‘tell her to remember my words, which I will perform if there be occasion, so help me Alla and his Prophet—now begone!’

The woman was right glad to escape, and the Khan pursued his way to the office where he had to make his report, and to ascertain what was to be done with the prisoners whom he had escorted from Bangalore. This necessarily occupied some time: the officer was an intimate friend, and the Khan had not only much to learn, but much also to communicate. His own marriage, his journey, his double escape, and the gallantry of his young friend Kasim Ali were mentioned, and excited the utmost praise, with many expressions of wonder from the hearers; and all were anxious to see, and become acquainted with, the hero of so much adventure.

‘And what news have you from Hyderabad for us, Khan Sahib?’ said his friend, whose name was Meer Saduk, a favourite and confidential officer of the Sultaun; ‘what news for the Sultaun? may his greatness increase! I hope you were able to gather the intentions of the court there, or at any rate can give us some idea of them.’

The Khan’s journey to Hyderabad had not entirely been of a private description. A native of the place, when he asked leave to proceed there to see his family, he had been requested by the Sultaun to ascertain as far as he could the politics of the State, and the part the Nizam personally was likely to play in the drama of Indian intrigue and diplomacy; and he had performed his mission with more tact than could have been anticipated from his open and blunt nature.

‘I have news,’ he replied, ‘Meer Sahib, which will gratify the Sultaun, I think; and from such good sources too, that I am inclined to place the utmost dependence upon them. No sooner was it known that I, as an officer of the Sircar Khodadad,^[30] had arrived in the city, than I was sought by several of the nobles and Munsubdars of the court, who in truth were friendly to the last degree, when I did not well know how I should have fared with them; and it appeared from their speech that the Huzoor himself was well inclined to be friendly. This is all I can tell you, Meer Sahib, and you must not press me, for I have sworn to tell the rest to the Sultaun only; after he has heard it, I will let you know.’

‘Enough, Khan, I am content; the Sultaun will be at the Doulut Bagh to-night, and to-morrow also; wilt thou come this evening?’

‘Pardon me, not to-night; I am tired, and have to arrange my house after my journey; but, Inshalla! to-morrow evening, when I shall present my young Roostum, and solicit employment for him. Being the bearer of good news, I may be successful; but in any case I think Kasim Ali would be welcome.’

‘There is not a doubt of it,’ replied his friend. ‘I go to the Durbar to-night, and will tell of thy adventurous journey; this will whet the Sultaun’s curiosity to see the young Syud.’

The friends then separated. In spite of this amicable interview, the Khan’s temper, which had been so violently chafed, was not completely soothed: the memory of the abuse which had been poured upon him still rankled at his heart, and he was at a loss what to tell Ameena of his interview with his wives, and of her having to meet them that evening.

The nearer he approached his tents in the camp, the more oppressive these thoughts became; and alternately blaming himself for having visited his wives so early after his arrival, and mentally threatening them with punishment should they continue insubordinate, he had gradually worked himself up to a pitch of ill temper, but little less than that in which he had left his house, and which he was ready to discharge upon any one.

The opportunity was not long wanting; for, as he entered his outer tent, which was used by Kasim and the Moonshees, as well as by any visitor or friends, he heard a violent altercation, in which Kasim’s voice and that of the Moonshee, Naser-oo-deen, were very prominent.

‘I tell thee thou art a cheat and a rogue!’ Kasim was exclaiming with vehemence; ‘this is the second time I have detected thee, and therefore instantly alter these accounts and repay the money, or I will tell the Khan.’

‘I am no cheat nor rogue, any more than thyself, thou nameless base-born!’ retorted the Moonshee, whose remaining words were lost in the violent passion of the other.

‘Base-born! dog! thou shalt rue this,’ cried Kasim; ‘thou shalt not escape me, by Alla! I will beat thee with a shoe.’ And a scuffle ensued.

‘Hold!’ exclaimed the Khan, who now rushed into the tent and parted them; ‘what is the meaning of all this?’

‘Khodawund!’ cried both at once.

‘Do thou speak, Naser-oo-deen,’ said the Khan; ‘thou art the oldest. What is the meaning of this disturbance? is this the bazaar? hast thou, an old man, no shame? Hast thou too lost all respect, Kasim Ali?’

‘Judge if I have not cause to be angry, O Khan, at being called a rogue and a cheat by that boy," said the Moonshee; ‘have I not cause to be enraged when my character is thus taken away?’

‘Wherefore didst thou say this, Kasim, to a respectable man like him? these words are improper from such a youth as thou art.’

‘Khan Sahib,’ said Kasim, ‘you have hitherto trusted me implicitly; is it not so? you have never doubted me?’

‘Never; go on.’

‘Alla is my witness!’ he continued; ‘I know no other motive in this but your welfare and prosperity, which first led me to inquire, in consequence of my suspicion. Since the Moonshee has provoked it, and my lord is present, know then why I called him rogue and cheat. At Bangalore, by making notes of the prices in the bazaars, I detected him in overcharging for grain and forage to an immense amount in the week’s account; I found the papers here, while my lord was absent, and for lack of other occupation I began looking over the items. I see the same thing again attempted—he swears he will not alter the papers, and I was angry; he called me base-born—’

‘Yes, I heard that, Kasim; but say, hast thou proof of all this?’

‘Behold the daily memorandum I made of the rates, Khan, village after village, and day after day, written as I made the inquiry; the grain and forage was I know bought from the very people from whose lips I had the rates. Call them if you like—they are the bazaar merchants.’

‘And so thou wouldst have cheated me, Naser-oo-deen,’ said the Khan, his choler rising rapidly and obstructing his speech, and looking wrathfully at the trembling Moonshee; ‘thou who owest me so much, to cheat me! Alla! Alla! have I deserved this? To what amount was the fraud, Kasim?’

‘A hundred rupees or more, Khan, at least, even upon this week’s account; I could not tell exactly without making up the whole difference.’

‘I doubt it not, I doubt it not; and if this for one week or a little more, what for the whole time since thou hast had this place—the sole control of my horses’ expenditure! what—’

‘My lord! my lord!’ ejaculated the Moonshee, ‘be not so angry; your slave is terrified—he dares not speak; he has not cheated, he has never given a false account.’

But his looks belied his words; he stood a convicted rogue, even while he tried thus weakly to assert his innocence; for he trembled much, and his lips were blue from terror.

‘We will soon see that,’ said the Khan deliberately. ‘Go!’ he said to Daood, who stood by, ‘bring two grooms with whips; let us see whether they cannot bring this worthy man to a very different opinion.’

It was not needed, however; the Moonshee, terrified almost to speechlessness, and not heeding the interference Kasim was earnestly making in his behalf, prostrated himself on the ground at the Khan’s feet.

‘I will pay! I will pay all!’ he cried; ‘I confess my false accounts. Do with me what thou wilt, but oh! save my character; I am a respectable man.’

‘Good!’ said the Khan; ‘all of ye who are present hear that he has confessed himself a thief before he was touched, and that he says he is a respectable man. Ye will bear me witness in this—a respectable man—Ya Moula Ali!’

All answered that they would. ‘Take him then,’ he said to Daood and some of the Furashes who stood near, ‘take him from my sight; put him on an ass, with his face to the tail; blacken his face, and show him in the bazaar. If any one recognises the respectable Naser-oo-deen, and asks after his health, say that he is taking the air by my order, for having cheated me. Enough—begone!’

The order did not need repetition; amidst his cries and protestations against the sudden sentence, the Moonshee was carried off; and in a few minutes, his face blackened, and set on an ass with his face to the tail, he was the sport of the idlers and vagabonds in the camp. He had richly deserved his punishment, however; for with a short-sighted cunning he had imagined that he could brazen out his false accounts, and that, as he had declared that any division of the spoil was at an end from the previous detection, he had made himself now sure of the whole. He had thought too that Kasim, contented with his first detection of overcharge, would not have continued his system of inquiry. Thus he was doubly disappointed.

Having vented his long pent-up rage, the Khan soon cooled down into his usual pleasant deportment, begging Kasim to explain to him minutely the whole of the Moonshee’s system of false accounts. This Kasim did clearly, and showed him how much cause there was to suspect far greater delinquencies, for months, nay years past; indeed, it was but too apparent that the Khan had been defrauded of large sums, and that the Moonshee’s gains must have been enormous.

‘And this might have gone on for ever, Kasim, but for thy penetration,’ said the Khan. ‘Well, thou hast added another to the very good reasons I already have for aiding thee. Our reception is to take place to-morrow evening, against which time get thy best apparel ready; or stay—I have a better thought; wait here, and I will return instantly.’ He did so, and brought with him a superb suit of cloth-of-gold, quite new.

‘There,’ he said,‘take that, Kasim, and wear it to-morrow; it is the best kumkhab^[31] of Aurungabad, and was made for one of my marriage-dresses. Nay, no words, for thou hast saved me far more than the cost of it in the detection of yon scoundrel; and now prepare thyself. This may not fit thee, thou canst have it altered. I shall remove the Khanum to my house to-night, and sleep there; but come by the third watch of the day to-morrow; they will show thee where it is, and I will be ready to accompany thee. Inshalla! I have that news for the Sultaun which shall make him propitious towards us both.’ And so saying, he left him, and went through the enclosure which separated the tents, into that which was appropriated to Ameena.

From a window in the tent, which was screened by transparent blinds, so that the inmates could look out without being seen, Ameena was sitting and gazing on the plain, which swarmed with men, elephants, horses, and camels, hurrying to an fro. Beyond was the Fort, from the gate of which every now and then issued a gay cavalcade,—an elephant, bearing some officer of rank, surrounded by spearmen and running footmen,—or a troop of gaily-dressed horsemen, who, as they advanced, spread over the plain, and amused themselves with feats of horsemanship, pursuing each other in mock combat, or causing their horses to perform bounds and caracoles, to the admiration of the beholders.

‘A gallant sight! is it not, fairest? and a gallant and noble patron of soldiers do we serve—one who hath not his equal in Hind. Say, didst thou ever see such at thy city?’

‘No, in truth,’ said Ameena, who had risen to receive her lord; ‘but thou knowest we lived in a quiet street of the city, so that few cavaliers passed that way; nevertheless, we have brave soldiers there also. I would I could live among such scenes always,’ she added; ‘it is pleasant to sit and look out on men of such gallant bearing.’

‘I am afraid thou wilt not see so much within the Fort,’ said the Khan; ‘nevertheless, my house is in the main thoroughfare, and there are always men passing.’

‘And when are we to remove there, my lord?’ asked Ameena timidly, for she feared the introduction to the wives more than she dared express. ‘Methinks I should live as well here as there; and I have been now so much accustomed to the tents, that a house would appear a confinement to me.’

‘Why, fairest, thou shouldest remain in them, only that they want repair very much, and we have prospect of immediate service; besides, the house is all prepared for thee, and I long to make my rose mistress of what is hers in right; so we will go thither this afternoon. Zoolfoo has orders to prepare our evening meal.’

‘And they—’ she could not say wives—

‘Fear not; they will be prepared to receive thee with honour. I have spoken with them, and bidden them be ready to welcome thee.’

‘Alla bless them!’ said Ameena, the tears starting to her eyes; ‘and will they be kind to one whom they ought to hate? Alla bless them! I did not look for this, but expected much misery.’

‘Fear not,’ said the Khan, who winced under her artless remark, yet dared not undeceive her. ‘Fear not, they will be kind to thee; Inshalla! ye will be sisters together.’ Alas, he had but little hope of this, though he said it. But it is necessary to revert to the ladies themselves.

The Khan’s two wives sat in anxious expectation of the arrival of the lady for whom they had dispatched the servant; they had held a hurried colloquy together after the Khan’s departure in the morning, and had come to the resolution of abiding by the advice of the mother of Kummoobee, who was the wife of the head Kazee of Seringapatam, a wealthy but corrupt man, who, of good family himself, had married the daughter of a poor gentleman of long descent but of extreme poverty. She inherited all her father’s pride of birth, and had married her daughter to the Khan, only because of his rank and known wealth; for she despised his low origin, which had become known to her—indeed it was not sought to be concealed.

As the ladies waited, they heard the sound of bearers, and in a few moments the jingle of the anklets and heavy tread of the old lady, as she advanced along the open verandah of the court which led to their apartment. They rose to welcome her, and the next moment she entered, and advanced towards her daughter—almost starting as she saw the Khan’s other wife, knowing that they had been enemies; but returning her salaam very courteously, she proceeded to take the evil from her daughter by cracking her knuckles over her. Having done this, and embraced, she was led to the musnud; and being seated thereon, and her daughter’s hooka given to her, she drew a long breath as if she had exerted herself very much, and looking from one to the other (for the slaves had been ordered out of the room), demanded to know what they had to say to her.

‘We have news for thee, mother,’ said Kummoo-bee pettishly.

‘Ay, news, rare news!’ added the other, who seemed as spiteful as suppressed anger could make her.

‘Ajaib!’ said the old lady, looking from one to the other, ‘wonderful news? By your souls, tell me what news: what has happened that I know not of?’

‘Of the Khan,’ said Kummoo, edging nearer to her mother.

‘Ay, listen,’ said the other; ‘Mashalla! it is worth hearing.’

‘Of the Khan? most wonderful! Is he dead?—have ye all his money?’

‘No!’ ejaculated Kummoo passionately; ‘it would be well for us and him if he were dead. Dead! no, he is returned, and well.’

‘Well!’ said the old lady, apparently relieved, ‘there is nothing very wonderful in this—nothing particular to marvel at, that I see; if I had known I was to have been called from home only to hear this, I can tell you, you would have waited long. I had a thousand things to do when Kulloo came for me; I was going to cook a dish, and then I had the woman with bangles for my arms, and then the silversmith was coming, and—’

‘Alla! Alla! how shall I tell this shame?’ cried her daughter, interrupting her; ‘how shall I utter the words, to make it fit for thee to hear or my tongue to utter? Alas! mother, he has returned, and brought a woman with him,—a woman who, Inshalla! is vile and ugly, and unchaste, and low-born, and who—’

‘Punah-i-Khoda, a woman! thou didst not say a woman! Another wife?’ cried the old lady, interrupting the torrent of foul names, which, once the subject of them had been named, followed rapidly enough.

‘So he says, mother,’ cried Hoormut, ‘another wife. He dared not write this to either of us; he dared not tell us how he had misused us, how he had cheated us; he dared not tell us this; and we heard it only from my cousin, who discovered it at Nundidroog, and wrote to the family.’

‘I will throw ashes on his beard—I will fill his mouth with earth! I will spit on him!’ cried the old lady, who, having looked from the one to the other, was now excited to fury at this sudden intelligence; ‘Ya Alla Kereem! What dirt has he not eaten? What abomination have ye also to bear, O my daughters? Married again? another wife? a young one, I’ll warrant, the old lecher! Oh shame, shame on his grey hairs! may dogs defile them! And beautiful, too, I have no doubt! Is there no law? is there no justice? Inshalla! we will see to that. Is he to throw dirt on the family of the chief Kazee, and cause his daughter to eat grief? is he to mock us, to cheat us, to bring his vile women before our very faces, without we turn and strike again? Are we cows and sheep? Inshalla, no! but persons of good family, of a hundred descents; while he—pah! he is a poor, pitiful, low-born, ill-bred wretch!’ And she paused, fairly exhausted from want of breath.

‘Ay, mother,’ said Kummoo-bee, ‘and what is more, he has threatened to bring her here to-night—here, into this very house—to make us see her and welcome her—pah! I could cry with passion.’

‘Here? it is a lie!’ roared the old lady; ‘it is a lie! this is some trick of yours, or joke; I will not believe that. Is he mad to do it?’

‘It is the truth, however,’ said Hoormut; ‘and what is more, he swore by Alla and the Prophet’s beard, if we did not receive her kindly, he would send us both home to our parents, and let them support us, for he would not.’

‘At least I need not care about that’ said Kummoo, pointedly and spitefully; ‘Inshalla! I shall always find food and clothes there; my people, Mashalla! are not poor.’

With the other it was different; for her family were poor, and had been ruinously extravagant; and even their mutual dilemma could not prevent this expression of spite from her richer sister-wife.

‘I should like to know,’ retorted Hoormut, tartly, ‘who could not?’

At any other time a quarrel would have resulted to a certainty. But now Kummoo’s mother spoke again, fortunately for the general peace.

‘So he threatened that, did he? And what said ye?’ added the old lady, more calmly; for, in truth, the sudden vision of her daughter’s return to her house, which the words she had just heard caused, were not by any means agreeable.

‘Mother, we could say nothing, for he left us,’ replied her daughter; ‘and we have sent for you to ask your advice as to what we should do,’ said Kummoo, wiping her eyes with the end of her doputta.

‘Humph!’ said the old lady, after a pause, and some most vigorous pulls at the hooka, ending in a discharge of smoke through her nostrils; ‘do you know whether the girl is beautiful?’

‘We hear she is,’ said Hoormut very reluctantly, and with an indignant toss of her head, which was repeated by the other lady.

‘Then there is no use to resist, my daughters. The old fool is bewitched with her, and all you can do is to bear the insult—for such it is—until you can revenge it. Ay, revenge it: Thou art no daughter of mine, Kummoo, if thou canst bear this like a mean-spirited thing. I never suffered any one to come between me and thy father; he tried it more than once, but, Mashalla! he got tired of that.’

‘And so thou wouldst have me bear it, mother,’ said Kummoo, bursting into a torrent of tears, the effects of her vexation. ‘I had expected different advice from thee. How can I bear to meet the vile creature, whom I could spit upon and beat with a shoe? how to lose my power, influence, money, clothes, jewels, attendants—all of which will be lavished on this child? How can I eat the dirt which the very seeing her will occasion? Mother, I tell thee true, I cannot and I will not bear it. I will appeal to my father, and to the Sultaun, if he will not hear me.’

‘Patience, my child, patience!’ said the old lady, soothingly. ‘Not so fast—all in good time; it is better to eat dirt for one night than all thy life. Why shouldst thou be afraid? Mashalla! thou art beautiful—thou art of perfect form—thou art not old. Inshalla! wait therefore; let this novelty wear off, and he will return to thee—to both of you, Inshalla! Inshalla! Meanwhile I will consult thy father. I will see if the law can avail thee aught. But for the present—for the sake of the Prophet—keep thy temper. Wouldst thou not eat dirt for ever—both of ye, I say—if he turned ye out to your homes? What would not be said? Verily, that ye were vile and worthless, and that he had detected you in his absence. Therefore wait: Inshalla and the Prophet! we will be revenged. I who am your mother say this, on him and her we will have our exchange for this, if charms or spells, or, what is better, women’s wit, can effect this.’

‘Quickly then, mother, by your soul! devise something. I shall live in misery till thou dost, and we will aid thee. Is it not so, sister?’

‘I promise to do all ye wish of me,’ returned Hoormut; ‘I am in your hands. Alas! I have now no mother whom I can consult; you are my only mother, lady!’ And she began to sob.

‘Do not cry, daughter,’ said the dame, rising majestically; ‘Inshalla! we shall prosper yet. Alla Hafiz! I go to think over the matter, and consult my faithful Ummun; she is wise, and to her I am indebted for many a charm, without which it would have fared ill with me. I will send her to-morrow, and thou canst tell her what happened when he brought her, and what she is like;’ and so saying, she left them.

‘Since we are to see her,’ said Kummoo, who had been hiding her vexation by looking out of the window to watch her mother’s departure, ‘and to behold her triumph over us, we must only eat our own vexation, and make the best of the matter; let us prepare the room—the Khan has ordered the repast—we will get some garlands and salute them. If we are not to be revenged at once by insulting them both, at least let us pretend civility, which may blind them to our ultimate purposes.’

‘Excellent advice, sister!’ said Hoormut, who, though the elder, yet had lost much of her authority to the younger and far handsomer Kummoo; ‘let us make a rejoicing of it—sing and play to them, and put on our best clothes; we shall not fail to please the Khan.’

‘Best clothes!’ echoed Kummoo, ‘alas! the time for those is gone. We may even have to wear her cast-off suits for want of better. No more clothes, no more jewels!’ she added pettishly; ‘but what matters it? revenge will follow. Hoormut, thy advice is good; we will prepare for the marriage-feast. Pah! I have no patience to mention it.’

And so they did. A clean covering was put upon the musnud; the crimson velvet pillows of state occasions laid upon it; the Khan’s gold Pandan and Uttrdan set out, and their costly hookas arranged near them. All the slaves were desired to put on clean clothes; and they themselves, dressed in their most sumptuous apparel and adorned with all their jewels, were seated about the time of evening in the room which on that morning had been the scene of so violent an altercation.

Trembling for the issue of the event, but cheered by the Khan to the utmost of his power, the gentle Ameena accompanied him about dusk to his abode in the Fort. The palankeen was set down in the court-yard; and the bearers having retired, she essayed to get out of it, but could hardly support her trembling limbs. One or two of the women servants, however, kindly assisted her, and a cup of cool water refreshed her. The Khan too had now arrived; and veiling herself closely, she followed him into the apartment which had been prepared.

The Khan had been uncertain what would be the issue, until he reached the room; but he had determined, if necessary, to carry his threat into execution. A glance, however, assured him that all was right. The ladies rose courteously, made them low salaams, and advanced to meet them; and as he led forward the shrinking girl, they took her kindly by the hand with many warm welcomes and blessings, and, despite of her protestations to the contrary, seated her upon the place of honour and themselves at her feet. This done, a slave advanced with a tray of garlands of the sweet Moteea, one of which they hung around her neck, while they again salaamed to her, and the slaves one by one did the same. The Khan too underwent these ceremonies with delight, for he had little expected such a greeting.

The ladies at last were seated, and Kummoo said, ‘Let us, I pray thee, sister, see the face of which report hath spoken so warmly; unveil, I beseech thee, that we may look on our new sister.’

‘It is not worth seeing,’ said the timid girl, throwing back the end of her doputta; ‘nevertheless your kindness and welcome is so great that I cannot refuse you.’

‘Ya Alla!’ cried one and all, ‘how beautiful!’ for they were really struck with her appearance, and could not restrain their sincere expression of admiration at her loveliness. ‘Mashalla! the Khan has good taste.’

Kummoo, the principal speaker, and the youngest of the two wives, was beautiful too; but her flashing eyes, full person, and rather dark skin, though her features were regular, could but ill stand a comparison with the gentle beauty, exquisite though small proportions, and fair skin of Ameena; and the Khan’s eye, which wandered from one to the other for a few moments, rested at last on Ameena with a look so full of admiration, that it did not—could not—escape Kummoo’s notice. She of course said nothing, but the venom of her heart arose with more bitterness than ever.

‘Ay, she is fair, Kummoo-bee,’ said the Khan, ‘and gentle as she is fair; I am thankful that ye seem already to love her as a sister. Inshalla! ye will be friends and sisters in truth, when ye know each other better.’

‘Inshalla-ta-Alla!’ said Kummoo-bee reverently; ‘the Khanum (may her house be honoured!) is welcome; how sayest thou, Hoormut? hast thou no welcome for the lady?’

‘By your head and eyes, you speak well, sister. If the love of such an unknown and unworthy person as I am be worth anything, the Khanum is welcome to it.’

‘I am grateful,’ said Ameena; ‘ye are more than kind to one who hath no claim on ye; but I am alone here, and my people are far distant—very far. Your love will be precious to me during the years Alla may cast our lots together.’

There was something very touching in her sad and gentle tone; and as the old Khan’s heart had been moved by his wives’ unexpected kindness, he well nigh blubbered aloud.

‘Ameena!’ he said, ‘Ameena! Alla, who hears ye say these words of affection, will give ye grace to abide by them.’

‘But come,’ said Kummoo, who thought these protestations of love going rather too far, ‘we have some of our singers for thee to hear, lady: we of the south call them good, but we hear rare things of the Damnees of Hyderabad. Call them in,’ she added to an attendant.

They came in, and, having tuned their instruments, began one of the usual songs of congratulation; it was followed by others, while the party sat and conversed cheerily on the adventures of the journey. An ample repast was shortly after spread; and at the end of the evening Ameena retired to her new apartments, believing, in her simplicity and goodness, that her sister-wives loved her in real truth, and enjoying those sweet sensations which ensue whenever doubt and mistrust have been removed from the heart. If the Khan felt any of his own doubts remaining, he did not seek to disturb Ameena’s security by imparting them to her; and for the first time since she had heard of the existence of her sister-wives, Ameena felt happy.