THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
my kith and kin, or the loyal devotion of my clansmen. Dost thou not sometimes feel thy long absence from thy home, Norendra Nath, and from thy estate?"
A sigh escaped Noren, and he spoke in a low voice. "I am a wanderer on earth, Prince, I don't know if my grandfather's estate is still my own."
"If, indeed, thy grandfather's estate has passed away, the Emperor has Jaigirs in his gift. And who is more deserving of a gift than the chief who has served him faithfully from Orissa to Rajasthan?"
"No Jaigir would I have, Prince, in exchange for the estate which my fathers have held these three hundred years. Home has its ties, as thou hast said, and the thoughts of some I knew in childhood come to me often in the solitude of the desert and the darkness of the night."
"Why, that is the solace of an exile, that is the inspiration of a poet."
"I have not thy gift of poetry, Prince, I can only think and grieve in silence. But that reminds me, Prithwi Raj, of thy new Ballad of Pratap Singh, which made so much noise in Court, and which the great Akbar himself deigned to hear."
"Little noise can my verses make, Norendra, for I am not one of those inspired who are gifted with the gift of song. I write verses because they please me, and my Royal Master loves to encourage me with his kind approbation."
"Nay, thou speakest too lightly of thy gifts, Prince. Both in Agra and in Rajasthan have I heard thee named as one of the gifted."
"Trust not what the people say. When a Prince composes they will always admire. But if thou
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