"My lord is angry with his servant," he said humbly. "If he brought him a sword, he might cut his servant down, and try to escape; but it would be vain, for every part is strictly watched." I turned away in misery, for, with the place so firmly watched, how were my friends to reach me? Toward evening, when it was cooler, I went for a stroll, but soon turned back, for the loathsome figure of the filthy old fakir rose from among some bushes with his hands raised, cursing me volubly, and I was glad to get back to my tent and lie down to have a good rest before night, ready to keep awake for the visitor who might come. Salaman now came to say that my dinner was ready, and had been waiting two hours, but my appetite was very poor, and I got on badly. Still I ate, feeling that I needed all the strength I could get up, and at last my regular retiring hour came, and I lay down once more to listen to the trampling of my attendants and their low murmuring voices; then to the noises in the forest, and twice over I heard in the distance the low howl of a tiger. But how slowly the time passed before all was silent in the camp, and I waited for the whispering voice at the canvas! The moment it came I meant to creep to the side silently, and then I could hear the news of the friends who were near, and what they proposed to do. Can you imagine the misery and weariness of waiting hour after hour in the midst of this silence, broken only by the calls of the wild beasts and nightbirds, the slightest sound being turned into a footstep or voice? A hundred times over I must have thought that I heard Salaman or his men listening, and I grew hot with anxiety as I wondered whether they suspected anything. Then I turned cold as ice and shivered, for a shriek rang out from somewhere among the trees, and immediately I pictured the messenger transfixed by the lance of one of the sowars on guard. But I heard no further sound, and by degrees grew calmer, as I recalled hearing such a cry before, and knew that it was made by a night-bird.