THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
gorgeous room. The walls were of sandstone, carved and decorated with white and black marble of beautiful designs. Pillars of stone rose in chaste grandeur, and were inlaid with precious stones, imitating creepers and flowers. Silken curtains hung from the ceiling, a rich carpet was spread on the floor. A fountain played in the centre and fell in a sparkling shower over an ample vase of white marble. The basin was inlaid with stones of different tints so as to deceive the eye, and the beholder half thought that fishes of various kinds were glancing under the rippling water. A perfect silence reigned, and a faint fragrance pervaded the dimly-lighted room. For a moment Noren looked around, dazed and bewildered; it all appeared a dream to him. But he was too feeble to think; he turned his head on his pillow and slept.
The red streaks of the morning were peeping through the silken curtains, and the fragrant oil lamps were flickering in their sockets when Noren opened his eyes again. The same brilliant scene met his eye—the same room, but now peopled with human figures. One elderly nurse, a Rajput woman by her dress and appearance, was lying on the floor of the room still asleep. An attendant, who seemed a Brahman lad by his holy thread, was in the corridor and had apparently been sent there to prepare food for the Hindu patient. Close by the bedside, silent and watchful, stood a young woman with dark, piercing eyes and a face of striking beauty, bronzed by toil and exposure. Her raven locks fell in ringlets from a dark velvet skull-cap, and set off her bright keen features. A rich velvet bodice, worked in gold
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