THE TWO WIVES.

At the time when this story commenced, Realmah had already received the two wives who were bestowed upon a man of his rank by the laws of the nation.

The cousin-wife, the Varnah, as she was called, was a plain young woman, possessing sundry good qualities as a housewife. She was regular, punctual, methodical, and a great lover of possessions, not from avarice, but from a desire to have many things to furbish up, and to put in their right places. The heads of Realmah’s tribe had given her to Realmah with a kindly wish to compensate in some measure for his infirmities. He would never be able to acquire much property, they thought; but whatever he did acquire would be taken care of, and made the most of, by his Varnah.

The alphabet-wife (the Ainah), was one of those girls whose personal appearance it is so difficult to describe, because there are no general terms which can be applied to it. She was not beautiful, nor handsome, nor pretty; nor was she even what is called interesting-looking. In truth, her whole appearance was at first sight rather insignificant, and nobody would have turned to look at her as she passed. Yet she was worth looking at, if looked at with a loving attention. Her small features were full of subtle mobility, and readily expressed the swift change of her thoughts. Her hair was a reddish brown, not unbeautiful; her deep-set eyes, of a dark blue colour, were really very expressive when you came to look into them; and there was an air of great resolve about her well-formed lips. She was one of those people in whom dress and distinction of any kind make such a difference. If she had been a princess, one could have made something of her. But she never was well dressed; and, as to distinction of any kind, she had none.

The poor Ainah had never been taught those graceful movements which were carefully cultivated from their earliest youth by the girls of the higher class of the Sheviri.

And then, again, her hands and feet were by no means small.

I wish I could in honesty speak more favourably of the personal appearance of the Ainah; but, to tell the truth, it was unmistakeably plebeian. She had sprung from one of the lowest tribes of the nation--namely, that of the fishermen. After the manner of her tribe, she pronounced some of the commonest words quite wrongly. _Louvarah_ (house) she made into _luffee_: _darumid_ (people) into _roomee_: _volata_ (provisions) into _vlatee_; with a hundred other gross errors of language. Realmah was well skilled in his language; and the poor Ainah never uttered a sentence in which she did not sorely shock his sensitive ears. Yet, in reality, as Realmah was the most thoughtful man of his nation, so his Ainah was the girl of the largest mind and nature in that town. This was totally unknown to him; and he had received her as he would have received any other chattel assigned to him by the laws of his country. It was not in his nature to be unkind to any one; but such an idea as that of loving his Ainah never entered his mind, and would have been received by him from any one else with a smile of derision.

It was on the morning succeeding the night during which Realmah had uttered the soliloquy mentioned in the first chapter, that the young man entered his abode, and began talking with his two wives--not with a hope of gaining any ideas from them, or with much care for their sympathy, but from a natural wish to talk out his own ideas to somebody--to give them, as it were, shape by utterance.

“Have you seen the ambassador from the Phelatahs?” said Realmah.

“Yes,” replied the wives.

“And what do you think of him?”

“He is beautifully dressed,” said the Varnah, “and his presents are of the first quality. He has given us a vase with heads all round it, and serpents crawling up it, meeting, and together forming the handles: it is quite a treasure.”

It may here be remarked that all the nations of the lake excelled in pottery. It was not that they understood the art of burning; but individual thought and skill were thrown into each article, and the variety and strangeness of the designs compensated in great measure for the want of knowledge shown in completing the processes of manufacture.

“Yes, yes,” said Realmah, somewhat peevishly, “the presents that will return to the giver hereafter as spoil, may well be handsome; but what do you think of the man himself? For my part,” he exclaimed with vehemence, “I believe him to be false as the hooded adder.”

“When did you get truth from any of his nation?” replied the Varnah. (This was the general opinion entertained by the Sheviri of the Phelatahs, and was the correct common-place for the Varnah to utter.)

“I do not mind that,” replied Realmah; “what I want to know is, whether the story which this man brings us is a mere pretext or not. Is our nation to be the slave, and not the ally?”

By the way, Realmah, in his lordly indifference, had never told his wives what was the pretext upon which the ambassador had come.

“And what do you think, Ainah?”

“I noted him well,” she answered. “He looks straight into people’s eyes, because it is the habit of honest men to do so, and he knows it is the way to gain credit; but I could see that it gave him pain, and that it was a great effort.”

Realmah, who had been looking down upon the ground, lost in meditation, suddenly raised his eyes, and gazed with astonishment at the Ainah.

“And who told you to observe this?” he said.

“My heart,” she answered.

“Pray do not say _phonee_, my good Ainah.” (That was the word amongst the fishermen for ‘heart.’) “Why turn everything into that foolish _ee_? Cannot you say _phonata_?”

“_Phonata_, then,” said the Ainah, timidly, with the tears rising to her eyes.

“Any one that has got eyes with any power of insight, even the women can see it,” muttered Realmah; “but our elders, though they have the wisdom and experience of grey hairs, cannot. I must, at all risks, force my suspicions upon them.”

“Do not go now,” said the Varnah. “You must come and see my bridal room, which the dear little Ainah” (she really loved the Ainah, because the girl was so useful and unselfish) “has helped me to decorate.”

Realmah, who, like most great men, was essentially good-natured, consented to follow the Varnah to the bridal room. She led the way, expecting a burst of applause from him. The Ainah followed; and, as she followed, sighed.

There is no knowing how many thousands of years have passed since those three human beings walked into that bridal room; but, ancient as the time was, that sigh which tells so much about a wounded heart was still more ancient, and had not been unknown even in the primeval Paradise.

Realmah walked about the bridal room, and did his best to appear pleased with the clay vases, the various ornaments formed of feathers, the flint and bronze weapons, and the woven hangings; but his mind was in the assembly of his chiefs, composing a speech which should be endured even from a young man, which should rouse suspicion, and compel a clear and decided course of action.

Suddenly he exclaimed, “If this is truth, then are the ways of falsehood much maligned; if this is policy, then are the ways of children politic; if this is the prudence of great chieftains, then are great chieftains little removed from ordinary men; if this is statesmanship, then are statesmen blind alike to the history of the past, and to the just forecasting of the future.”

Saying which, Realmah made two profound bows, one to his Varnah, and the other to the Ainah (for that was high courtesy according to the customs of his nation), and rushed from the bridal chamber into the open air. His wives looked after him amazed. As the hangings closed behind him, the Varnah said, “Poor Realmah! we should live but meanly if it depended on him to provide for us. But let us look again over all our presents.” The Varnah was very skilful in obtaining presents, and had laid all her relations under strict contribution. With her father she was an especial favourite. Ever since the death of his last wife, she had made the old chief very comfortable; and it was with the greatest reluctance, and only from a strong sense of duty, that he had given her up to Realmah. The wonderful flint knives, and many of the bronze ornaments that adorned the Varnah’s bridal room, had belonged to the old chief; but, as the Varnah judiciously observed, why could he not glory over them as well in his daughter’s house as in his own? And the old chief did come frequently to his daughter’s house, and was always kindly treated by the Varnah, for she was not like one of King Lear’s daughters, but loved her father and her kindred. Only where she was, the property must also be, that it might be duly cared for, and kept in order.

The Ainah sighed again, and she also said “Poor Realmah!” and only God could know what depths of tenderness, sympathy, appreciation, and hopelessness were contained in those two words; for the Ainah was well aware that she was but the slave of a great man--and nothing more than the slave.

Meanwhile Realmah bent his steps slowly and thoughtfully towards the great council-chamber, where, under the presidency of his uncle, the chief of the East, the assembled chiefs and their principal councillors were considering what answer should be given to the ambassador of the Phelatahs.