THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
image in his heart, as unbelievers in this land carry in their breasts that graven image which they call their God!"
Mihr-un-Nissa was a woman, and this last appeal touched her woman's heart under the strong armour of pride and decorum. "May Alla forgive my sin if I am doing wrong," said she in a voice which for the first time trembled a little, "but I may not refuse you, Prince, this your last request."
The veil fell softly and disclosed a face no longer proud, but radiant in its loveliness, and suffused with a soft blush which heightened its nameless fascination. Persia, the land of song and poetry and fair women, owned no face of more voluptuous beauty; and India, proud of her dark-eyed daughters, boasted of none more bewitching.
In vain have the limners of Delhi in after times attempted to paint that indescribable grace on ivory and canvas; in vain have the bards of the West tried to describe in rich colours the Light of the Harem. The beauty of woman mocks the toil of the painter and the poet alike, and the beauty of Mihr-un-Nissa was an inspiration which came with her and passed away with her.
The humid glance of that woman fell on Selim timidly and tenderly, and the heart of the Prince heaved within him. But the veil was resumed, and the face which had beamed like a passing vision was hid once more.
