Part 26 (1/2)

A personal explanation would be easier; less abrupt, kinder. Not that he meant to back out--far from it. He was ready to be a good, just, generous husband; unless of course, the nameless one preferred not to take second place, as she must do. There was no helping that. It was not his fault. Love had come ...

He paced quicker as he remembered the words which had so touched him-- ”And G.o.d the Father may send a father's love to the mother of his son.” Well! G.o.d send He might; though that would be a different sort of love altogether from this absorbing pa.s.sion. Anyhow he could do no more. A Kazi, able if necessary to perform the marriage ceremony, was within call. He, himself, was ready. All that was wanting was the lady. Surely she was late in coming.

A rustle made him start and listen; but it was only the doves in the orange trees.

No one! No one!

The moon rose after a time over the garden and flooded the terraces with such silvern brilliance that the very pebbles on the path showed distinct.

But no one came--no one!

Could she have heard?

Impossible; it was still a Court secret, and she was a religious recluse--so far as he knew.

Besides; even if she had changed her mind, she might have come--or sent a message.

So, at last, in rather an ill humour he went back to the Palace and dismissed the waiting Kazi with a handsome fee.

There was one more Friday ere he left Herat; and, feeling ill-used, sore, yet in a way mightily relieved, he waited in Ali-s.h.i.+r's tomb for another hour or so. No one should say _he_ had failed in his part of the bargain! He was quite ready. Besides he had told the woman plainly that he was not in love with her; so she had no right to feel aggrieved. If she did.

But that could scarcely be. Every good Mussulman knew she had no claim to a whole man--though little Ma'asuma had every bit of him. Yea!

every bit. So it was as well, doubtless, that no one came.

And as he went back to the palace his only regret was that he should have called the nameless one ”My moon.”

The t.i.tle belonged to his love, of right; but she would, she could never bear it because of the nameless one who had changed her mind--apparently; but she had not sent back his ring!

CHAPTER V

Forward and onward! do not ask the task, Fortune importune! Is not strife true life?

Kasim-beg was in a fever to leave Herat. Marriage, he said, was good, and it was proper to choose a cousin, who was doubtless charming; though for his part he believed the rather in choice by outsiders; for if the result was not happy there was no self blame, and self blame was the devil for destroying decent calm. But Kings.h.i.+p was more important still, and as the Most High had not been so very secure on his new throne before he had started, he simply could not afford to be away more than six months.

And Babar could not but admit his faithful old minister was right. So he said farewell reluctantly to little Ma'asuma and started at the head of his small army for Kabul. And as he rode up the last slope whence he could see the gilded city of Herat, he told himself he could not have done it better. He had seen everything--he ran over the list of the sights in his mind, and found eighty-two of them! In fact the only one worthy of notice which he had omitted was a certain convent.

He flushed a little at the remembrance, and set the thought aside with self-complacence that he had come through the temptations of the most luxurious town in the world quite unscathed. He had not played any indecent or scurvy tricks, he had not touched wine. He had altogether been quite a virtuous prince. So, with characteristic buoyancy, despite the fact that he had said good-bye to his first and only love, he settled himself in the saddle, and his face for home.

Here difficulties arose at once. It began to snow the very day they left Herat, and Babar was for taking the low road for safety's sake.

It was the longer of course, but the hill road was at all times difficult and dangerous; in snow practically impa.s.sable.

But Kasim-Beg, who had been in a fuss for days, behaved very perversely, so that in the end Babar gave way and they started for the pa.s.ses, taking one Binai, an old mountaineer, as their guide. Now whether it was from old age, or from his heart failing him at the unusual depth of the drifts, is uncertain; but this is sure--having once lost the path he never could find it again so as to point out the way!

However, as Kasim-Beg and his sons were anxious to preserve their reputation as route-choosers, they dismounted, beat down the snow and discovered something like a road along which the party--much reduced by defections due to the delights of Herat--managed to advance for a day, when it was brought to a complete stand by the depth of the snow, which was such that the horses' feet did not touch the ground. Seeing no other remedy, Babar ordered a retreat to a ravine where there was abundance of firewood, and thence despatched sixty or seventy chosen men, to return by the road they had come, and, retracing their footsteps, to find on the lower ground any Huzaras or other people who might be wintering there, and to bring a guide who was able to point out the way. This done they halted in the ravine for three or four days awaiting the return of the men who had been sent out. These did, indeed, come back, but without having been able to find a guide.

What was to be done? Nothing but place reliance on G.o.d and push forward. So said Babar, a light in his clear eyes as he recognised that he was in a tight place, that before him and his lay such hards.h.i.+ps and sufferings as even he had scarcely undergone at any other period of his life. But then at no other period of his life had Love been waiting, her rosy wings fluttering, for him to win through.

”Warm yourselves to the marrow this night,” he said to all. ”Eat your fill and carry firewood in place of the victuals. We shall need every atom of strength we can save and spend.”

But he himself spent a wakeful night and wrote a Turkhi verse to console himself. It ran thus and was rather poor; though nothing else was to be expected under such circ.u.mstances: