"I need not, my lord," replied the Syud. "What Alla hath put into thy heart I now see in thine eyes, and so be it! Ameen! ameen! ameen! It is his destiny. He is not fit to live; let him die, perjured and faithless as he is. My lord, he had sworn on the holy book to me to be true. He had touched my feet and my neck as witness to his oath. Yet see, since then, nay, within a few weeks, this letter--worst of all--was written. But O, my prince! there must be no mistake. Even at the last, let not the blood of a guiltless man be on our heads." The Syud's resolution had wavered for a moment, but was rallied by the secretary as the King shook his head, but did not reply. "Meer Sahib," he said, "we have had the same doubts, my lord and I. Considering how we obtained the letters, can there be uncertainty?" "God forbid!" replied the Syud--"God forbid! it is enough. I see in this revelation the hand of the All-wise, and we, his creatures, should not resist His destinies and His justice. We cannot do so even if we wished," and he bowed his head reverently over his beads. "Hark! what is that?" "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! (If God give I will take! If God give I will take)" was suddenly shouted in an outer court of the palace by a powerful voice, and interrupted the priest for a moment. "Listen!" he continued, grasping the Meerza's arm. "What is that cry, so strange, and so early?" "It is but one of the city beggars," said the King, looking across to his secretary with a peculiar glance of intelligence, "who perhaps has not slept off his night's potions. One of thine own disciples, perhaps, Huzrut." "I will go and listen," said the secretary, rising; and he proceeded to the terrace where the morning prayer had been performed. "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" arose in clear deep tones, now unchecked by the heavy quilted curtain of the royal chamber. It was a common form of cry of fakeers or other beggars; but there was something in the rough tone of the voice which seemed to strike familiarly upon the Meerza's ear. "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" The last cry was followed by a remonstrance from the soldiers below, who, belonging to the guard of the private apartments, had evidently stopped the intruder. "Gently, O Syn," cried one; "what dost thou here so early? Do not bawl so loud, friend, else they will be awakened up yonder, and thou wilt be whipped and put in the stocks. Come and sit here, and rest thyself if thou wilt." "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" was the only reply. "Nay, but thou canst not enter here, Syn. This is the private court of the Hareem, and thou must be silent," continued the soldier. "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" "The fellow is mad or drunk. Here, Jemadar," cried another voice; "what is to be done with this Fakeer?" "Who can this be?" thought the Meerza. "This is no common cry. I must see the worthy Syud out, and get speech of the crier." "Ulla dilâyâ----"