Part 24 (1/2)
The rose light on the pavement flickered between them backwards and forwards.
”Lady,” said Babar, and involuntarily he drew himself up to his full height, ”in my childhood they married me to one for whom I cared little. She left me, saying truly, I did not love her. Awhile back my mother--G.o.d rest her soul for she was very dear to me--married me to yet another wife whom, mercifully, G.o.d took; since we were as cat and dog. But I have never loved a woman. I do not now; perhaps I never shall. 'Tis well to be prepared.”
Was it a faint sigh, or only another breath of wind that set the swinging lamp swaying.
”I am prepared. And G.o.d may send the father's love to the mother of his son.”
There was silence. The splash of the glistening fountain made itself heard faintly; the soft coo of a dove in the orange trees seemed a lullaby to the whole wide world.
”Lady,” said Babar when he spoke at last, ”I have sworn to myself that none should know of my marriage till it was accomplished. Till I could place my wife before them and say 'See her whom I have chosen.' I stay but a week or two in Herat. My kingdom calls me back. Is it possible that ere I go the formulas may be said privately, so that when good fortune enables me to send to Herat it may be for my wedded wife that I send?”
There was a pause Then the cool, quiet voice replied, ”Wherefore not, my lord? I have said I am ready.”
”But when?” Babar spoke anxiously, almost appealingly. He felt himself as wax in a woman's hand--a woman he had never seen.
”Next Friday, my lord, when I come again to lay the flowers at the shrine. If my lord makes preparation, and if he changeth not his mind, his servant will be there.”
”Unless she also changeth her mind,” interrupted Babar with forced lightness.
”That might be,” came the answer. ”Yet is it not so likely as the other. The caged bird does not choose its song. And now farewell. G.o.d have you in his keeping.”
The figure stooped to gather its flowing robes together, and something in the supple elegance of the movement sent Babar's blood to his heart and head.
”Not so, my moon,” he cried, every atom of him vibrant with emotion.
”Not so do we part.” And with two swinging strides he was across the flickering rose light on the marble floor, took the hand held out to him unflinchingly, and stooped to kiss it.
”Wife and mother, guardian and friend, so shalt thou be to me, so help me G.o.d.”
The next instant he was alone staring into the night, wondering if he had fallen asleep and dreamt it all.
No! It was a reality. His signet ring was gone. He must have put it on that firm delicate hand, the memory of whose touch thrilled him through and through.
And he had called her his moon. Yet his heart was beating tranquilly.
When he lay down on the carven bed he did not toss and turn. He did not even feel inclined to indite a sonnet to his mistress's eyebrow or compare her to anything in heaven above or the earth beneath.
He was simply content, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It was not till the next morning that he recollected that he did not know the lady's name, nor where she lived.
Not that either ignorance mattered. He would find out next Friday.
CHAPTER IV
Noisy the Tavern where Life's wine has sped From variant cup to fuddle variant Head; Love peeps through crannied Door; each Drinker straight Flings cup aside to follow Her instead.
_Ebd-ul-Hamid_.
There was not much time for thought in Herat. Early in the morning Babar was astir to ride out with Yusuf to some of the sights, and find the first collation of the day spread in some suitable place.
Then on his return there was the State visit to the Court, where with pomp and circ.u.mstance he took his place as King of Kabul.
After that, each day had its entertainment at some new palace of delight, and sometimes after dinner had been served, the party would be carried off by one of the guests to a further and more intimate circle of amus.e.m.e.nt.