It was after sunset when Bhavani rose to go; and he and Oman took leave together, Zenaide begging Oman, in an undertone, to come again to her that she might talk with him further. Oman promised readily; and then, arm in arm, he and the Rajah set out into the starry half-light. As they left the water-palace behind them, there fell on both an unexpected silence:—such a silence as, coming from the mind and will of one, is not to be broken by his companion. It settled over Oman oppressively; for where Bhavani was concerned, he was quick to feel the slightest change in mood. Encompassed by uneasiness, they moved on in the evening light, and Oman perceived that Bhavani’s steps lagged. It was as if he loitered to get courage to speak. Oman had a sense that some revelation was pending; but instinct told him that he might not question, might not make the slightest advance toward confidence. They proceeded till they were within a few yards of the palace, and Oman began to think his feeling a mistake, when suddenly Bhavani halted, and, turning to his companion till, even in the dim light, Oman could see how drawn and pale was his face, he said, in a muffled voice: “Zenaide sent for thee to-day?” “Yes.” “And wherefore? Wherefore? What did she want of thee?” For the shadow of an instant Oman hesitated. Then he answered, quietly: “She had heard that I taught a new creed. She desired to hear it.” “Is that all?” The words shot from Bhavani’s lips. “That is all,” was the tranquil rejoinder. Bhavani found no reply to this, yet he did not move on. Oman stood waiting, with fear in his heart. He heard Bhavani say, in a voice that was monotonous with repression: “She had been weeping. I could see it. She had wept.” Then, all at once, he flung both arms over his head, and cried out, in a voice deep with long-endured anguish: “How long, O Brahma! How long? My strength fails me at last. I can endure it no more. I shall fall—I shall fall!” “Wherefore?” murmured Oman, at his shoulder. “Can you not see? Do you not perceive?” whispered Bhavani, hoarsely. “I love her. I love her, Oman. I love Zenaide.” Then Oman began to laugh. He laughed till Bhavani, seizing him by the shoulder, shook him like a rat, crying to him the while to speak. And Oman obeyed him, saying, in a tone of bitter mockery: “Thou lovest her, Bhavani, thou, Rajah of Mandu! Thou lovest her whose heart has been given in turn to half a hundred; who loves thee to-day for thy gold, who will love me to-morrow for my creed: _Thou_, son of Rajahs, stoop to _such_?” And again he laughed. Bhavani straightened up, and his face grew hard and set. “Ah, thou speakest well. It is folly indeed to talk to thee of love. But have no fear. I am Bhavani, a prince, the son of princes. I have not stooped, nor shall I.”