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10 A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR her stick firmly on the ground and slowly and steadily walked down the hill. But Gul Begum stood still where she had left her. The flush had died out of her cheeks, and she had turned deadly pale. She made two or three steps forward, then suddenly stopped and put her hand up to her heart. She felt a chill all through her. Her fingers even were white. The group of chattering girls had melted away and she alone, cold and shivering, with a curse upon her. CHAPTER II FORECASTS “WHAT was it the old woman said ? Tell us once more, Shereen,” A group of listeners and inquirers had again clustered together, this time in a more secluded spot, out of sight of most of the village houses, and there was no laughter, only eager whisperings, nodding of heads, raising of eyebrows. What had it meant, this curse? Miriam’s words often had hidden meanings; her prophecies were often difficult of interpretation, but this sounded clear enough, “Rejected – a prisoner – a slave.” There seemed
11 A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR little room for conjecture here. And it was all true, of course, not one of all that eager group had any doubts as to that. “What’s that story about the Governor of Bamian’s so n, Dilbhar? You ought to know. You’re in their confidence.” “No one is in Gul Begum’s confidence,” the girl thus addressed replied; “she never seems to take much notice of their plans; she’s a strange girl, as I always tell you. When men come to the house, it isn’t she who waits on them, or fetches the water. She will take her father his food and her uncle his, perhaps, but after that, awa y she goes, and neither her mother nor any one else can dra g her back. The fact is, her father spoils her.” “The fact is, she’s flying at other game,” put in one. “The Governor of Bamian?” questioned another. “Or perhaps a Kabul prince?” suggested a third. “God knows,” whispered a girl who was evidently the ce ntre of attraction, and who must have remained behind after the others had scattered in the morning, as she alone seemed to have heard what had passed between the Vizier’s <strong>daughter</strong> and old Miriam. “Whatever it is, remember the curse, ‘Rejected – a prisoner – a slave.’” “Ah! That’s it, I see it now; she’s flying too high. What was it you said about her pride having a fall? Tell us again, Shereen?” “’Your pride must have a fall. You will have dust to lick, and tears to dry,’” repeated the girl thus addressed, with more gusto than such direful words spoken of her cousin would seem to warrant. “Have you heard anything about her horoscope, Shereen?” asked one older than the rest, who had not hitherto mingled in the general conversation. “Her horoscope? No, that is one of the things I have against my uncle; he never will have horoscopes made out; he does not believe in them; and as my father was awa y when I was born, I have no true horoscope either. My uncle was left in charge of the family, of course, but as he takes no interest in these things, he had nothing done at the time, and no one specially marked down the moment of my birth.” “I thought you had had your horoscope cast,” Dilbhar said thoughtfully, “and wasn’t there something strange and not altogether lucky about it?” Shereen reddened, and seemed put out. “You’re thinking of some idle tales told long afterwards when the hour and even the exact day of m y birth had been forgotten; that does not count. What is the good of bringing up old foundationless gossip that is best forgotten?”
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