She exulted in the thought that Saïd would be restored to her at last; forgetting that she grew old, that the day of her charm was passed and the light of youth quenched in her eye. She recalled bright moments of her life; the last days of maidenhood, when Saïd led a bride to his dwelling on the seashore; her meeting with him after long separation in the gateway of the lonely khan, in the first pallor of the dawning. Then, as they sat together, the sun rising upon the desert, he had vowed that she alone was mistress of his fancy, and should rule in his harìm. His heart had warmed to her then, and she had been very happy. But Ferideh, the Christian’s daughter, had cast a spell upon him, weaning his love from her. Now it was in her power to make him hate Ferideh, and, when the first mad rage of jealousy should be spent, he would surely come to his old wife for comfort. Her heart made a song of passing sweetness rhythmic with the grinding of the mill.
She was indulging in such dreams as these when the tones of her lord’s voice, cursing the doorkeeper for a sleepy pig, scion of a race of dogs, caused her to start. She rose quickly and, disposing her shroud-like clothing as decently as the hurry would allow, stepped out to meet him in the sunlight. Her companion remained by the mill, gaping after her with eyes of awe.
Saïd strode aimlessly into the yard, followed by his bare-legged escort and the sunshade. Seeing Hasneh come towards him, he greeted her carelessly and straightway turned his back; but she ran, and, falling on her knees, caught the skirt of his cloak.
“Allah bless thee!” he cried testily, striving to draw away. “Come to me at another time when I have leisure. For the present I am very busy. … O Ferideh, what wouldst thou, light of my eyes? I come to rest awhile with thee till the heat of the day be over. … Let go my robe, woman, lest my anger light on thee!”
In her eager haste to be heard, Hasneh had had no eyes save for Saïd only. She did not see Ferideh issue forth from the door of the women’s quarters, nor the face of the favourite handmaid peeping from the projecting lattice of the upper storey. Now suddenly, as Saïd ceased speaking, she found herself face to face with her adversary; and the shock robbed her of speech. Ferideh had come forth hurriedly, unveiled. Her eyes were steely bright, her mouth was a thin line of dire rage and determination.
Hasneh still clung to the merchant’s robe, but her gaze was fixed on her rival’s face, fascinated with a kind of horror. Saïd strove to free himself but could not.
“If, indeed, thou hast anything to say, speak, woman, and make an end!” he exclaimed, with rising anger. “If thou art dumb, as thou seemest to be, unhand me—dost hear?—and that speedily, or it shall be the worse for thee!”
“O Saïd, O my beloved, hear me but a minute!” she gasped, aiming to kill Ferideh with her eyes. “It is no good news that I bring thee, O my soul. Know that Nûr visited thee this morning, and, finding thee from home—”
She fared no further, for Ferideh sprang on her and closed her mouth. Though, from glaring in her rival’s eyes, Hasneh had seen what was coming and was half prepared to meet it, the shock all but bore her to the ground. It forced her to quit hold of Saïd’s garment, and, kneeling as she was, pressed her back and down on her heels.
“Merciful Allah! What does this mean?” cried the lord of the house, surprised out of all countenance. “Allah destroy you both! Speak, O Ferideh! What has Hasneh done to thee that thou shouldst so misuse her?”
“Thou askest what she has done! … O my dear lord, she is a liar, a backbiter and a breeder of all mischief! She hates me, as thou must surely have observed, with a great hatred, because I have borne a son to thee while she is childless. She had a quarrel in this same hour with Sàadeh, my handmaid, wherein she called me every foul name and swore to poison thy mind against me, she cared not by what falsehood. Every day she does something to my hurt or annoyance, and Sàadeh tells me that she has vowed to kill Suleyman, thy son and mine. There is no safety with her in the house. … Do I not right to stop her mouth with my hand lest she speak a lie in thy ears? A false tongue is powerful to make mischief, and, Allah pardon! I die only to think thou mightest have believed her tale. O my beloved, hasten to my chamber, where I will explain to thee the whole matter.”
One of her hands closed Hasneh’s mouth while with the other she held her rival’s throat in a tight clutch, forcing her backwards so that she was nearly powerless. Even when Saïd sharply bade her let go if she would not strangle the woman, she still clung to her hold.
“Speak, O Ibrahìm,” quoth Saïd, turning to the doorkeeper, who, with the bare-legged henchman, stood looking on aghast. “Heardest thou aught of this quarrel of which the lady speaks?”
“Yes, surely,” replied the negro, with a candid grin. “There is no doubt but that the mother of Suleyman—may she be blessed in him!—speaks truth; for I myself was disturbed a while ago by a great din, and heard with my own ears the lady Hasneh utter foul insults. But of a truth I wonder not that she grows spiteful, for she is the butt and laughingstock of the other women. They name her Mother of Wind and jeer at her for no reason. It is no wonder, I
