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139<br />
A VIZIER’S DAUGHTER – A TALE OF THE HAZARA WAR<br />
who came with you from <strong>Hazara</strong> would give ten years of their life to<br />
obtain. Freedom, and an honourable marriage with one; who is a<br />
servant of the living God, a saint, who devotes himself to prayer and<br />
fasting. Do you understand me, girl, a saint?”<br />
“I understand you, saint,” she began again in the same mocking tones,<br />
“I understand you quite well. you being sevent y, and fit mate for my<br />
old grandmother, or better still, her mother, who has been dead these<br />
fifteen years, desire to take me, who can barely number seventeen<br />
summers, as your lawful wife, as though there were some merit in that.<br />
Go to, fine saint, I see no piet y or virtue in you. I see before me<br />
nothing but a bad old man, a shameless, vile old sinner, with wrinkled<br />
face, and loosened teeth, and hair dyed black.” She flung herself back<br />
in an almost hysterical paroxysm of laughter. “I see no saintliness, no<br />
virtue there. it is a sin common to many old men when they are worn<br />
out and old, that they would fain take a young girl to wife, a young girl<br />
full of life, and gaiet y, and strength, and live their life, in fancy, at<br />
least, a second time in her. Away with you, old man, awa y, your offer<br />
pleases me in no wise. I have no desire to become any man’s wife,<br />
lawful or otherwise. I have no desire to be free unless in my own<br />
mountain home. I have no desire to be the prop of any man’s old age,<br />
unless it be that of my father. Go, find some other girl, one of those<br />
many who would give ten years of their lives to have the offer you<br />
make me, for I will none of you.”<br />
The Mir arose and would have seized her by the arm, but the Chief<br />
Secretar y interposed. “You may use all persuasion,” he whispered,<br />
“offer any inducements, but no force must be offered; remember that is<br />
part of the bargain.”<br />
The old man sat down again. Somehow he looked older now, but the<br />
girl remained standing, erect, firm, and fearless. “Listen,” the Mir<br />
began again, this time severely. “Hitherto, I have spoken to you kindly,<br />
and treated you as though you had some right to choose. Now, I will<br />
tell you that all your objections are absolutely useless. It may be that I<br />
am many years your senior. It may be that a younger husband would<br />
have suited your fanc y better, but, my good girl, do you now realise<br />
that you are no longer free as yo u were in the home from which you<br />
have been taken? You are no longer the spoilt child of what seems to<br />
have been a most indulgent and not over wise parent. You have no<br />
longer power over your own person, to do with it what may seem good<br />
to you; you are a war prisoner, the <strong>daughter</strong> of a rebellious subject,<br />
given over into lawfu l slaver y b y your king.”<br />
The girl sighed, and tears started unbidden to her e yes. These words<br />
recalled to her what she had lost – reminded her of her present<br />
position. Still she did not lose her presence of mind. “What you say is<br />
right,” she said more quietly, “I am a war prisoner, a slave, but I am<br />
not your slave. My master is there,” pointing to the Chief Secretar y,<br />
who sat a passive though interested spectator of the scene. “He went to
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