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 The fervour of Hemlata's last words was not lost on her hostess, but Mihr-un-Nissa's game was not yet over. She was playing with her guest as a kitten plays with a poor wounded bird.

"Seat thyself for one moment, sweet lady of Debipur; thou hast been exceedingly kind to pay me this visit, leave me not so soon. I know the teachings of thy religion, which are also those of mine; but our Mullahs do not always control a man's wandering fancy, do they, my love?"

"But such wandering fancy is sin, Begum Saheba," replied Hemlata. "A man thinks not of a wedded woman without committing sin."

"But men are sinful, my sister, are they not? And they will sometimes think of women torn away from them and wedded to others, will they not? And, strange as it may seem, the wedded women, too, sometimes pardon the men who preserve their fair images in their manly hearts, do they not?"

This was positively wicked! What is worse—this was perhaps true! Hemlata, burning with anger and shame, rose from her seat again as she replied, "I expected not this from thee, Begum Saheba, when I came to see thee to-night. I am deeply indebted to thee for the good news thou hast given me. Permit me now to depart."

"Sit thee down, my sister," said Mihr-un-Nissa, now in a graver voice, "for I have a tale yet to tell. These eyes have seen young Norendra Nath—it matters not how or where. I have seen Princes and Chiefs in my day, but I have seen few who have a truer soul than the friend of thy childhood. And I tell thee more, gentle sister, if a woman's eyes can