Zenobie watched her with curiosity:  what did she feel for this infidel who wore no rings and only silver in his cuffs?

Hamilton, as soon as he was seated, drew out his pocket-book—­old and worn, for he spent little on himself—­and opened it.

The old woman sat up.  Zenobie’s eyes gleamed:  the business was going to commence.  Only Saidie did not stir nor move her eyes from his face.

“Two thousand rupees was the price agreed upon; here it is,” he said, taking out a thick bundle of notes that occupied the whole inside of the poor, limp pocket-book; and as the old woman stretched out a skinny claw for them and began to slowly count them, he turned his gaze away, on to the upturned face of the girl watching him with sensual adoration.

The old woman counted through the notes, and then securely tied them into the end of her chudda.

“The sum is the due sum, well counted,” she said, looking up; “and when will my lord take his slave?”

“To-night,” Hamilton replied briefly, but not without a swift enquiring glance into the girl’s eyes.  Though he had bought and paid for her, he could not get out of the Western knack of considering that the girl’s desires had to be consulted.

The old woman raised her hands in affected horror.

“To-night!  But she is not well clothed, she is not bathed and anointed; the bridal robes are not prepared.  My lord, it cannot be!”

Hamilton looked at Saidie; she crept to his side and put her head on his breast.

“Yes, to-night, take me to-night,” she murmured eagerly; he smiled, and put his arm around her.

“The bridal clothes are of no consequence,” he answered decisively.  “My camel waits below.  I will take her to-night.”

“She has no shoes,” objected the old woman.  “She cannot descend the stairs.”

“I will carry her down,” replied Hamilton, and, springing up from the little stool, he stooped over the lovely form at his feet, raising her into his arms, close to his breast.  Saidie clung to his neck with a little cry of pleasure, her bare, warm-tinted feet hung over his arm.

The old woman gasped:  Zenobie laughed.  The Englishman looked so big, so immensely strong.  The weight of Saidie, tall and well-developed as she was, seemed as nothing to him.

“Zenobie, will you hold the lamp at the doorway, that he may see his way?” Saidie cried out, slipping off a thin gold circlet she wore on her arm, and letting it drop into the other’s hands.

“Farewell, Zenobie; may you be always as happy as I am now.”

Zenobie caught the bracelet and ran to the wall, unhooked the lamp that hung there, and came to the door.

“Farewell, my mother,” Saidie said, as they turned to it.

“Farewell, my daughter; be submissive to the Sahib, and obey him in all things.”

The door was opened, and by the dim, uncertain light of Zenobie’s lamp, Hamilton, clasping his warm, living burden, went slowly and heavily down the bending stairs, feeling the life brimming in every vein.