“Yea, I have been dead to the world and the roar of strife and life for many moons! If all tales be true--tales whispered even in this empty land--you have forsaken many delights to give your days to the old man, your father? Is it not so?” She looked up with a quick gesture, and her saree fell back. As Jervis gazed down into the dark eyes turned towards him, he agreed with his father; here was undoubtedly a woman with a past--and a tragic past! “It is a noble sacrifice,” she continued; “but what saith the Koran? ‘Whatever good works ye send on for your behoof, ye shall find them with God.’ I am old enough to be your mother. I marvel if I had had a son, would he sacrifice himself thus for me--were I of your people, a Feringhee woman, I marvel?” she repeated meditatively, as she put up her hand to draw her veil further over her head. As she did so, the young man started as he recognized her ring--Honor’s cornelian ring. Many a time he had noticed it on her finger, and her peculiar trick of turning it round and round, when in any mental quandary, had been the subject of more than one family jest. How came it to be on the hand of this Mahommedan woman? She instantly interpreted his glance, and exclaimed-- “You observe my ring. Truly it is of little value--in money--but to me it is beyond price. It was given to me by a maiden I saw but once. Her words were pearls, her lips were rubies, but her music, and her eyes, drew the story of my life from my inmost soul.” “I am sure I know the lady!” cried her listener impetuously, “young--and tall--and beautiful. She plays what you call the sitar. Where did you meet her?” “Ah, sahib, that is _my_ secret,” she answered after an expressive pause; “but, lo! I can reveal yours,” and she looked at him steadily as she added, “_you love her_.” “What do you mean?” he stammered. “Why do you say so?” and he coloured up to the roots of his crisp brown hair. “Of a truth, I read it in your face. It is not for naught that folk call me a magic wallah.” And she rose stiffly to depart. “You have abandoned her, I see,” she continued, with a flash of her wonderful eyes, “and lo, the fat old mem sahib, her mother, will marry her to some one else! Behold your reward, for doing your duty!” And entirely forgetting her previous quotation from the Koran, with this unpleasant and cynical remark, the Persian made him a profound salaam, and hobbled away. CHAPTER XLI. “IT WAS A HYENA.” The rains were over by the middle of August, and Shirani cast off mackintoshes, discarded umbrellas, and society--restless and fluctuating--looked about for some fresh and novel form of out-door amusement.