“But if the spice-bearer had informed me that the affair at the treasury had been discovered, I could have evaded my father’s wrath, made you my intercessor, and thus have escaped the visitation of his anger.” “That will subside, my son. I can still be your intercessor.” “But the punishment has been inflicted,--my back still bears the marks of stripes; and, though these may be effaced from my skin, they will never be obliterated from my memory. Those are wrongs, mother, which can neither be forgotten nor forgiven.” “Would you harbour a spirit of revenge against your father?” “No; but against the man who has caused that father to visit me with bodily chastisement my hatred will be inextinguishable.” “Nay, this is the working of unsubdued passion,--the feeling will abate. Your cool judgment may convince you that Moobarik has not been in fault, and you will be pacified.” Mujahid made no reply; but the lowering of his brow sufficiently indicated the deep-settled hostility that had already stirred the slumbering passions of his soul,--the fiercest and least tractable. At the mother’s intercession, after a week’s confinement, the prince was set at liberty; and, at her especial request, he forebore to exhibit any marks of enmity against the spice-bearer; but he wore a mask upon his countenance that disguised the rage working at his heart. He summoned his youthful playfellows around him, and seemed occupied by the amusements common to his age; but, with the eye of a lynx, he only watched for an opportunity to signalize his revenge upon the man who had aroused his hatred. This he sought to accomplish without involving himself in an act of legal criminality. The son of Moobarik was one of his comrades, and to him he showed marks of unusual attention, in order to blind him to the one dark purpose with which his own young heart was teeming. It happened that a discussion took place one day among the boys with whom the prince associated, upon the respective merits of different wrestlers who had distinguished themselves in the arena upon occasions when public sports had been exhibited before the king. In the course of the conversation the son of Moobarik mentioned his father to be so strong and skilful in the manly exercise of wrestling, that he had several times thrown some celebrated players. “Ay,” said Mujahid; “I should like to have a trial of skill with that sturdy father of yours. Do you think he would fear to encounter the strength of a boy of fourteen?” “Nay,” said Musaood Chan, with a good-natured laugh, “the king’s spice-bearer could have no objection, I should fancy, in proving his strength to the king’s son.” “It will be an unequal game--youth against manhood; yet I think I could make the spice-bearer turn his eyes to the sun without measuring my own length beside him.”