‘Lord of my life, it cannot be. I have prayed for so many nights, and sent gifts to Sheikh Badl’s shrine so often, that I know God will give us a son--a man-child that shall grow into a man. Think of this and be glad. My mother shall be his mother till I can take him again, and the mullah of the Pattan mosque shall cast his nativity--God send he be born in an auspicious hour!--and then, and then thou wilt never weary of me, thy slave.’ ‘Since when hast thou been a slave, my queen?’ ‘Since the beginning--till this mercy came to me. How could I be sure of thy love when I knew that I had been bought with silver?’ ‘Nay, that was the dowry. I paid it to thy mother.’ ‘And she has buried it, and sits upon it all day long like a hen. What talk is yours of dower! I was bought as though I had been a Lucknow dancing-girl instead of a child.’ ‘Art thou sorry for the sale?’ ‘I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. Thou wilt never cease to love me now?--answer, my king.’ ‘Never--never. No.’ ‘Not even though the mem-log--the white women of thy own blood--love thee? And remember, I have watched them driving in the evening; they are very fair.’ ‘I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred. I have seen the moon, and--then I saw no more fire-balloons.’ Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. ‘Very good talk,’ she said. Then with an assumption of great stateliness, ‘It is enough. Thou hast my permission to depart,--if thou wilt.’ The man did not move. He was sitting on a low red-lacquered couch in a room furnished only with a blue and white floor-cloth, some rugs, and a very complete collection of native cushions. At his feet sat a woman of sixteen, and she was all but all the world in his eyes. By every rule and law she should have been otherwise, for he was an Englishman, and she a Mussulman’s daughter bought two years before from her mother, who, being left without money, would have sold Ameera shrieking to the Prince of Darkness if the price had been sufficient.