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Updated: June 1, 2025
My father's wife is old and harsh with years, And drudge of all my father's house am I. My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears, Come back to me, Beloved, or I die! As the song stopped, Trejago stepped up under the grating and whispered "I am here." Bisesa was good to look upon.
She was a widow, about fifteen years old, and she prayed the Gods, day and night, to send her a lover; for she did not approve of living alone. One day the man Trejago his name was came into Amir Nath's Gully on an aimless wandering; and, after he had passed the buffaloes, stumbled over a big heap of cattle food.
They have taken my Beloved, and driven her with the pack-horses to the North. There are iron chains on the feet that were set on my heart. Call to the bowmen to make ready The voice stopped suddenly, and Trejago walked out of Amir Nath's Gully, wondering who in the world could have capped "The Love Song of Har Dyal" so neatly.
The waves rose with the wind, and the white foam of "stupendous" breakers angrily lashed the rock-bound shore. "Will you ride it out?" asked McKay of the captain, as the two stood with the doctor crouched under the gunwale of the yacht and holding on to the shrouds. "Why shouldn't we?" replied Trejago, shortly, as though the question was an insult to himself and his ship.
So the message ran then "A widow, in the Gully in which is the heap of bhusa, desires you to come at eleven o'clock." Trejago threw all the rubbish into the fireplace and laughed. He knew that men in the East do not make love under windows at eleven in the forenoon, nor do women fix appointments a week in advance.
"You have lost a good friend, Captain Trejago," said the lady. "He was that, ma'am. My lord was one of the finest, noblest men that ever trod in shoe-leather. And you, ma'am it must be very terrible for you." "Losing him in such a way, it is that which embitters my grief. But this gentleman" she turned to Mr. Loftus "comes from the Embassy to seal up his lordship's papers." "Quite right, ma'am.
But he had no thought of his looks as he sprang on to the white, trimly-kept deck of the yacht. Captain Trejago met him. "Who are you?" asked the sailing-master, rather abruptly. "I wish to see Mrs. Wilders," replied McKay, still more curtly. "You had better wash your face first," said Captain Trejago, very jealous of the proper respect due to Mrs. Wilders. "It is uncommonly dirty."
Trejago cannot tell. He cannot get Bisesa poor little Bisesa back again. He has lost her in the City where each man's house is as guarded and as unknowable as the grave; and the grating that opens into Amir Nath's Gully has been walled up. But Trejago pays his calls regularly, and is reckoned a very decent sort of man.
It would only distress him greatly, and, in his present precarious condition, he should be spared all kind of emotion. With this idea she had begged Captain Trejago to say nothing as yet of the sad end of his noble owner. "Will it not be best to get the general down to Scutari?" she asked the doctor. "In a day or two, yes. When he has recovered the shaking of the move on board."
It was a pretty little laugh, and Trejago, knowing that, for all practical purposes, the old Arabian Nights are good guides, went forward to the window, and whispered that verse of "The Love Song of Har Dyal" which begins: Can a man stand upright in the face of the naked Sun; or a Lover in the Presence of his Beloved?
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