“His death were worth any sacrifice. Had I a thousand reputations I would relinquish them all to see him dead before me.” “You sanction, then, my infamy?” “It will be neutralised by the event. If it bring retribution upon the head of our father’s destroyer it will be a filial oblation, and do you everlasting honour.” “The sacrifice shall be made, and may the desired issue be speedy! It is, however, a hard thing to dissemble in the presence of an object whom the heart loathes; how shall I endure the caresses of such a man?” “As sick men take bitters, for the cure they bring. It will heal thy hatred, sister, by removing the cause of it, and will not that be your sufficient reward?” “It is like making one pass to paradise through a path of fire.” “Remember that when the paradise is gained you have all joy and no more suffering.” “What part do you intend to play in this sanguinary drama?” “Do you but make the opportunity, and I am ready to drive the dagger home to his heart. I must, however, do it where even the winds cannot murmur an alarm.” “Agreed; I will sacrifice my fair fame to the retribution we owe to a fathers spirit.” Thus was the foul conspiracy against the prince’s life hatched by the brother and sister. They brought over to their purposes two disaffected nobles, who entertained an inveterate animosity against Mujahid because he had punished their cowardice with disgrace during his expedition against Krishin Ray. The prince, unsuspicious of treachery, visited the siren who had won his affections with a full conviction that his passion was returned with equal warmth. He provided for her a splendid mansion and a numerous retinue, devoting most of his time to the society of his enchantress. She feigned affection so artfully that he imagined himself the idol of her heart; but Mahmood, who suspected her sincerity, though he had no suspicion of her treachery, frequently told him that he was deceived. This rather begot a coldness in the prince towards his faithful armour-bearer; the latter, however, did not abate an atom of his attachment towards his master, whom he looked upon as the dupe of an artful woman, and whose interests he watched with a vigilance which fully showed that they were no less dear to him than his own. “Fair one!” said Mujahid one day, “am I deceived in thinking that you love me?” “Why this question?” “Nay, that is no answer.” “But surely I am justified in seeking to know why my affection is suspected. Tell me candidly, have I ever given you just cause to suspect it?” “No.” “Then you wrong me by your suspicions. Some enemy has attempted to poison your mind, and it is but fitting I should know who that enemy is.” “You can have no enemy, my sweet flower, except the blights; and they will not pass over thee yet.”