Mihráb again waited on Zál, who received him graciously, and asked him
in what manner he could promote his wishes. Mihráb said that he only
desired him to become his guest at a banquet he intended to invite him
to; but Zál thought proper to refuse, because he well knew, if he
accepted an invitation of the kind from a relation of Zohák, that his
father Sám and the King of Persia would be offended. Mihráb returned to
Kábul disappointed, and having gone into his harem, his wife, Síndokht,
inquired after the stranger from Zábul, the white-headed son of Sám. She
wished to know what he was like, in form and feature, and what account
he gave of his sojourn with the Símúrgh. Mihráb described him in the
warmest terms of admiration--he was valiant, he said, accomplished and
handsome, with no other defect than that of white hair. And so boundless
was his praise, that Rúdábeh, who was present, drank every word with
avidity, and felt her own heart warmed into admiration and love. Full of
emotion, she afterwards said privately to her attendants:

"To you alone the secret of my heart
I now unfold; to you alone confess
The deep sensations of my captive soul.
I love, I love; all day and night of him
I think alone--I see him in my dreams--
You only know my secret--aid me now,
And soothe the sorrows of my bursting heart."

The attendants were startled with this confession and entreaty, and
ventured to remonstrate against so preposterous an attachment.

"What! hast thou lost all sense of shame,
All value for thy honored name!
That thou, in loveliness supreme,