About an hour passed thus, a terrible hour, during which Kripá Dé was the butt of the coarsest abuse. Then Thákar Dás and his few attendants withdrew from the women’s part of the building, carefully fastening behind them the door on the upper part of the stair—the door of communication between the zenana and the lower part of the fort, and the two courts which have been repeatedly mentioned. The weather being warm, most of the women then went by an outer stair to the upper terrace, which was also comprised in their allotted quarters. There, sitting in the sunshine, the bibis span at their wheels, or prepared vegetables for the evening meal, which they had not yet begun to cook. Chand Kor alone remained near Kripá Dé, big tears of mingled anger and sorrow now and then dropping from her eyes, and such words as these from her mouth:—“Hac! hac! would that thou hadst died ere thy lips could speak! would that the destroyer had strangled thee in thy infancy! Thou art dead now, cut off! Thou art like a dead dog, a crushed worm; thou art lower than the dust of the earth!” “O my Lord, Thou didst bear shame and reproach for me!” thought the poor convert; “shall the disciple not suffer like the Master?” Hours passed, miserable hours; the heat was oppressive; Kripá Dé’s mouth was parched with feverish excitement, and he longed intensely to quench his thirst. The youth moved towards a brass vessel which he knew contained water, and was about to pour some into his hand, when Chand Kor, starting up angrily, overturned the vessel and emptied it of its contents. “Who would drink anything out of a vessel polluted by thy vile touch?” she exclaimed. “O mother, mother! have you no compassion?” exclaimed Kripá Dé, addressing Chand Kor by that most tender of names, in order to touch her heart. “Do you mean to let the only child of the sister whom you loved die of thirst in the midst of abundance?”[8] Kripá knew that the time for the evening meal had arrived. Chand Kor looked at her nephew sternly and steadily for some moments, and then said: “No! Mihtab Kor’s son shall not die of hunger or thirst. I will send thee food and water, but by the hand of a mitráni [sweeper, one of very low caste]. Eat, drink, and be doubly defiled!” “Not by the hand of a mitráni!” exclaimed the Brahmin, as his aunt went away to mount the stair to the upper gallery, from which a savoury scent of curry was now proceeding. “By a mitráni,” repeated Chand Kor, turning round to give a look of contempt. “Thou art only fit to herd with mihtars.”