“Sister, then,” she answered sorrowfully. “I will lead you forth from this prison that would have been your tomb. The stairs by which I descended lead to a secret passage in connection with the upper apartments of the Palace. I will guide you to a place of safety in an outer building near the magazine, where you can remain for a time. And I will inveigle one there whom you shall slay in the name of your sister Haidee. Then we will escape from the city together, and I will follow you until you are safe from all harm, and that being so, I will die. I would slay this man myself, but if the hand of a Cashmere woman spills blood, all her hopes of Paradise have gone, and the Houris would curse her.” “But who is this man, and what wrong has he done you, Haidee?” “He is a creature of the King. His name is Moghul Singh, the man who brought you here, who was to have accomplished your death; and the wrong he has done me is irreparable. Four years ago I was the happiest maiden in all Cashmere. In my father’s home peace reigned. He was but a peasant, but was happy and contented. A brother and two daughters, myself included, were his family. Proud and brave was my brother; and, though but a peasant’s son, he was noble and free, scorning all that was base, and loving honour better than his life. My sister had nothing to recommend her beyond gentleness of manners. She had no beauty--I had; that was my misfortune. But I knew it not then. I had given my love to a youth whose race was noble. Others had sought me, princes had knelt at my feet, but I rejected them all. Then this Moghul Singh came to our valley. He was an agent of the King of Delhi, and his mission was to take back the most beautiful maidens, that they might become the King’s mistresses. He heard of me. The fame of my face had reached him. Alas, that it should have been so! He sought me out; he tried to dazzle me with tempting offers of gold and jewels. But these things possessed no charms for me. He said that I should rank as a princess in the King’s harem. But I turned a deaf ear. Then he tried to win me for himself. I spurned him, spat at him, and called him dog. He swore by his faith he would carry me away. I told my brother and my lover, and they vowed to defend me. But Moghul Singh had powerful retainers. They came in the dead of night, armed to the teeth, to my father’s house. With the courage of lions did my brother and my lover fight. But, overpowered by numbers, I saw them both go down, weltering in their blood. At the feet of this Moghul Singh my sister then threw herself. She prayed for pity. She implored him not to take me, the light of the house, away. But the demon was pitiless. He drove a dagger into her heart because she clung to him and impeded his way, and, with a laugh of triumph, he bore me off, while my wretched father, overcome by the terrible misfortune, sank down in raving madness. Into my heart there came but one wish, one hope, one prayer. It was for vengeance. My own