"I have," she said; "but whether he will live or die under it Abba cannot tell, and I fear."
"Give it, in the name of the Lord!" said the Beydur, earnestly. "The remedy of a holy man cannot fail. And now lie down and sleep, lady," he continued, after the remedy had been administered; "I will watch."
"I cannot sleep," she replied, "let me watch with thee."
So they remained silent; but the two faces before her had a fascination for Zóra that she could not overcome. The one, noble, dignified, and in its full beauty of tender manhood, with its, as yet, downy moustache and beard; and the other hard and stern, with eyes and mouth that could perhaps be cruel, a thick moustache and grizzled whiskers, and a forehead seamed with furrows—yet all combining in an expression of tender pity and grief that could hardly be suppressed. What could be the connection between the two men, separated as they were by race and faith?
They watched till the day was breaking and the birds in the trees began to chirp and twitter, and a cock crew loudly; then Abbas Khan, who had been lying, as it were, in a trance, suddenly opened his eyes quietly, and saw the Beydur sitting by his bed. "Runga!" he said, faintly. "Runga!"
"Dost thou know me, Meeah?" was the reply. "It is, indeed, Runga. What wouldst thou?"
"I have been dreaming," he said, wearily, "and the last scowling glance of my foe as I struck him down has been ever before me; but there came at times a Peri of Paradise who gave to me of the heavenly sherbet, and the angel drove him away, and he could not take me to hell;" and he sank back exhausted.
"It is the crisis Abba spoke of," whispered Zóra, "and if he sleep it is well. Speak not, but watch."
The intensity of anxiety with which both watched the young man cannot be described, but the struggle between death and life did not continue long. Presently tears seemed to steal from his eyelids and fall upon his cheek, the quick gasping breath became more regular, there was a dew upon the lips, and the skin was becoming cooler and moister every moment; and yet, it might be deceptive!
"Dost thou know me, Meeah?" asked the Beydur. There was no reply, but a gratified smile overspread the face, and, taking the Beydur's rough hand in his own, Abbas Khan clasped it to his heart and fell gently into slumber.
"Oh! I vowed sheep to thee, Mother, for his life, and thou hast accepted the vow, and he is safe. Safe, lady, safe!" he said eagerly to Zóra, in a low voice full of emotion. "Safe, and he shall ride again with me against his country's enemies. Now more covering if thou hast it, for cold must not strike him. And do thou take rest, for the night has been a weary one to thee. See, the old man sleeps softly; Meeah said truly, thou art of heaven."
The excitement had been great, and the girl had not once closed her eyes. Now the kind words of the stranger affected her deeply, and as she lay down on her carpet, which had been spread in a corner of the room, tears burst from her eyes and low sobs rose which she could not control; but they soothed her, and she fell into a deep sleep.
The world abroad was astir in the early morn, the birds twittered and chirped in the great tamarind trees, pigeons fluttered in the little mosque, cooed and greeted each other, ringdoves seemed to answer them, and noisy paroquets flew screaming abroad to get their early food. As the sun rose, his ruddy beams rested on the grim rocks and feathery foliage of the deep glen with glowing lustre, and at the end of the Fort Island the noble river spread out into a large, quiet, lake-like pool. The cataract above still roared with a sullen moan, but the water was not so high, for, like all sudden and early floods, the river had subsided continuously during the night. The only one stirring in the house was the old woman servant. She had milked the cow and the goats, and turned them loose to graze, and had sat down to pick rice for the morning meal.
"It must be kicheri and dall, I suppose; they had phoolkas and dall yesterday. No, I will make the kicheri; too much dall is not good for the Huzrut, and it will be good for the stranger too, if he wakes and the fever is gone. Ya Kureem! what a night it was, and yet that child never flinched once nor feared the wild raving she heard. Punah! I could not have borne it—not I; and when I looked in last, who should be sitting by the bed but that bloody reiver Runga Naik, who shook his finger at me and then put his hand on his lips and motioned me away; and Zóra lay in the corner sleeping, never thinking that that man of blood was nigh her. Ugh! I should have trembled too much to have attempted to sleep; but God only knows what that child is. Mayhap an angel from before the Lord, for she is born for good works and loving deeds. 'Nurse,' she says sometimes, 'are there none sick in the village whom I could attend? are there none poor whom we can feed? Go, look round, and bring me news.' She would be doing good now, I warrant me, if she were not asleep. But let her sleep and wake of herself, my fairy! my darling!"
"Mother! Mother Mamoola!" cried a rough strong voice at the entrance of the little enclosure before the Dervish's dwelling. "Mother! where art thou? I have been looking everywhere about, but no one is stirring. Art thou dead? Is the Dervish dead?"
"Get away with thee, O bawling wretch!" cried the dame angrily, as she put down her rice sifter, not relishing this interruption to her soliloquy. "Get thee gone, I say, and keep silence. They are all asleep, after a fearful night with the wounded man," she continued, as she reached the entrance. "Ah! it is thee, Ghuffoor. Why art thou bawling so?"
"Do not be angry so early in the day, mother," said the man; "it will spoil thy temper. My lord the Nawab is even now coming down the hill with all his retinue, and must be admitted to see his cousin. I am sent on to warn ye all. Where is the fairy face? and the Huzrut ought to be at prayers in the mosque; let me go to him, wherever he be."
"I tell thee, again, begone!" retorted the dame. "Tell the Nawab Sahib that they are all asleep, and neither I, Mamoola, nor anyone else shall rouse them for the Nawab, or fifty Nawabs. Tell him this from me, Mamoola, and bid him go back as he came. The youth's spirit hovers between life and death, but, praise to the saints, he sleeps; and they all sleep, too, except Runga Naik, who watches the youth as though he were his own son. Begone, I say, and run at thy best speed, or we may have the crier shouting my lord's titles, and horns blowing, and a din enough to wake the dead."
"Well, if it be so," said the man, laughing, "I will deliver thy message, but the Nawab will not relish it. Hath he not prepared chambers, and have not the cooks been at work since daylight?"
"Ah me!" said the dame, wiping her eyes with the corner of her scarf; "you will have to eat the good food yourselves, for the youth may not eat except what the Huzrut allows him, even if he eat at all for many a day, except a mouthful. He is as weak and helpless as a child, after that wound and sun burning; and I am going to cook a mild kicheri myself. God grant him strength to eat, if ever so little. But I am prating to thee while thou shouldst be half way up the mountain. Away with thee, and return soon; if the youth recovers we will send word that the Nawab may come in the evening."
"Now I did what was right," crooned the old dame to herself, as she resumed her rice picking on the steps of the dwelling. "Perhaps my lord, the Nawab, may be angry; but who cares? What would the old man have said if I had let them all in, I wonder?"
"Mother!" said a gentle voice behind her; "Mother! he sleeps still. Runga hath not even withdrawn his hand that the youth took and held fast; but he motioned me to feel his head, and said it was painful. And I looked, and behold! there is a wound in it. Yet he has never flinched or complained. Mother, come with me; we can wash it gently, and we can put on the cool herbs and tie it up. And Abba still sleeps peacefully, and the youth like a tired child, and never stirs. O, mother! he will live! he will live! May the good saints preserve him for his mother."
And the girl and her attendant went and did their kindly office. The Naik's wound was not deep, but he had narrowly escaped death, as he knew; and as the cool dressing was applied, tears of relief and gratitude coursed down his rugged cheeks.
"He sleeps: he is cool as an infant," he said in a whisper. "He has not moved nor let go my hand.