THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
men were amply rewarded. Sirish was the host on the melancholy occasion. He went among the long lines of the assembled people; he spoke to them gently, made inquiries kindly, bestowed gifts amply. And in the midst of their tears the gathered multitude blessed the new Master of the Debipur House.
Late in the evening Sirish came home and prostrated himself before his mother-in-law and invoked her blessings. "I am a poor man's son, mother, born in a cottage. Thou hast raised me to affluence and rank, and made me thy own son. Help me, mother, and the ancient fame and glory of this noble House will not suffer in my hands."
There was a ring of sincerity in the voice of the old widow as she blessed him. "There are higher riches, my son, than earthly wealth; and with those riches and gifts the Most High hath endowed thee. He who hath chosen thee for this high position will be thy help and support; may He prolong thy days and increase thy glory. My days on earth are nearly ended, and the distant shrines of Mathura are a suitable place for a lone woman who seeks only to be re-united in her next life to him who is gone."
Late in the night he came to his wife, sitting alone and sad. It was the first time for months that they were by themselves undisturbed. Sirish respected the grief of his wife; he gently drew her to his bosom, laid her head on his shoulder and kissed her on the brow.
"I have loved thee, Hemlata, since thou wert a child; I have loved thee, my sweet one, as my bride and my wife. Doubly dear to me art thou to-day when he is gone who united us in life. By his sacred memory we shall love each other as man and wife as long as we live."
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