He had but an instant’s view of the thing in its entirety:—a vast, close-packed sea of people, garlanded, decked, nay robed, in the brightest flowers; in the centre of the living mass a high, square altar, piled with firewood; and surrounding the altar, ranged in symmetrical order, twelve sacred cows, twelve accompanying priests, and twelve huge, earthen jars. All this Fidá took in at one, swift glance. The next instant a universal shout arose, and he was seized and drawn through the crowd, which opened for him, by two young Brahmans, naked except for loin-cloths and the sacred cord. In a moment Fidá was beside the altar, where stood the Rajah, flaming with jewels, and Ragunáth, scarcely less magnificent. Here, without a moment’s delay, the bewildered captive was taken in hand by two snatakas, and bound, hand and foot, with ropes. Then, as at some signal, the twelve priests began to chant those verses of the Rig-Veda that are designed for the great Srahda sacrifice. The crowd was silent now. There was not a whisper; there was scarcely a movement among them all. The twelve gray cows stood, as if long accustomed to such sights, mildly surveying the people. Fidá felt himself like them. He was stunned into perfect tranquillity. His eyes wandered aimlessly; he listened without interest to the words of the chant. He counted the number of flowers in the garland round the neck of the nearest cow. And all the time his mind was really circling about one idea, too horrible to be faced. For he had no doubt that he was to be the first offering in that triumphal sacrifice. This was the reason for Ragunáth’s evasion about his ransom. This was the explanation of Rai-Khizar’s mildness. Fidá looked toward the Rajah, whose eyes were fixed reverently on the ground. The next instant, however, he had caught Ragunáth’s glance, and the minister was smiling at him—a small, cruel, white-toothed smile, a smile like a grimace, that sent a sudden bolt through Fidá’s heart. Ragunáth could smile upon him in his death-hour! In that moment hatred was born in the Arab:—a hatred for this man, which, through all their future intercourse, never lessened and was never still.