THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
chamber of sickness, were known to them alone. Thoughts arise in such moments that cruel words might have been left unsaid, and cruel wrongs might have been forgiven. But not a word of what was past was spoken. Night after night the devoted woman smoothed the pillow of her suffering lord, and tended him in his pain; and her eyes, long unused to tears, often glistened with moisture as she gazed on his emaciated form and bloodless face. And he, too, at times, looked with his weak, tearful eyes on that venerable woman, ever faithful and true, whom perhaps he had not understood so long. Their souls were drawn closer together, their tears sometimes mingled, and silent prayers perhaps welled up from their hearts for forgiveness and peace on earth.
Poor Hemlata's sorrow was more open, and even convulsive. With a daughter's partial love she had been blind to the failings of her father's nature. She knew him tender and kind and loving towards her from her infancy; she was proud of his strength, his determination, his greatness. Nestling in her mother's breast she would often watch for hours that loved and tender father passing away from her for ever. Sobs burst from her bosom which she could not restrain, and often she stole out of the room to give vent to that agony and despair which almost broke her young heart.
Sirish, too, was in constant attendance, but with a man's self-control. The silent young man arranged everything, ordered everything, did everything that was possible to secure proper treatment and relief. The drugs and drinks prescribed by physicians were administered by him, nourishment and food were prepared under his own eyes. Attended by his
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