“She does well to be afraid, Lord, for by you sits that god,” and with a shiver of disgust and the slightest possible motion of her head, she indicated Dacha, who had become quite drunken and at the moment was engaged in embracing the lady on his left, who also seemed to be somewhat the worse for alcoholic wear, or to put it plainly, “half seas over.” “Nay,” I answered, “the god I mean is called Heu-Heu, not Dacha.” “Heu-Heu, Lord! You will learn all about Heu-Heu before the night is over. It is Dacha whom she must marry.” “But Dacha is your husband, lady.” “Dacha is the husband of many, Lord,” and she glanced at several of the most handsome women present, “for the god is liberal to his high priest. Since I was bound between the eternal fires there have been eight such marriages, though some of the brides have been handed on to others or sacrificed for crimes against the god, or attempting to escape, or for other reasons. “Lord,” she went on, dropping her voice till I could scarcely catch what she said, although my hearing is so keen, “be warned by me. Unless you are indeed a god greater than Heu-Heu, and your companion also, whatever you may see or hear, lift neither voice nor hand. If you do, you will be rent to pieces without helping any one and perhaps bring about the death of many, my own among them. Hush! Speak of something else. He is beginning to watch us. Yet, O Lord, help me if you can. Yes, save me and my sister if you can.” I glanced round. Dacha, who had ceased embracing the lady, was looking at us suspiciously, as though he had caught some word. Perhaps Hans thought so as well, for he managed to make a great clatter, either by tumbling off his stool or dropping his drinking cup, I know not which, that drew away Dacha’s half-drunken attention from us and prevented him from hearing anything. “You seem to find the Lady Dramana pleasant, O Lord Blowing-Wind,” sneered Dacha. “Well, I am not jealous and I would give such guests of the best I have, especially when the god is going to be so good to me. Also the Lady Dramana knows better than to tell secrets and what happens here to those who do. So talk to her as much as you like, little Blowing-Wind, before you blow yourself away,” and he leered at me in a manner that made me feel very uncomfortable. “I was asking the Lady Dramana about the sacred tree of which the great wizard, Zikali, desires some of the leaves for his medicine,” I said, pretending not to understand.