Thus a month passed away. Oman, occupied almost day and night, saw little of Zenaide, whose burden of grief was hers to bear alone. Oman, even in his sadness, had found consolation in an unexpected effect of his labor of the past ten years. He perceived that what he had hoped for against hope was true: the people loved him. Through his years of work among them they had treated him ill. They had been deaf to his teachings; they had mocked at his laws; they had reviled him for heresy to their faith. He had come to believe that he had brought good to not one soul. And now, suddenly, upon the accession of a little pomp, they went to him, sought his counsel, obeyed and loved him more than they had ever obeyed and loved even Bhavani. Oman took their devotion for the best that it brought; and rejoiced that his way was made easy for him. Now he longed only for the return of Viradha, which could not be much further delayed. He had gone away in December. It was now the end of March. Surely the thought of his young wife must draw the warrior homeward soon. Nay, Oman had a presentiment that the course of events would force him back. Oman was right. Viradha did return, shortly. It was the last week in March, and the spring was in its loveliest, early beauty. Was it right that this renewal of youth, these ever-recurrent love-yearnings of nature, should be broken by the harsh voices of war, an autumnal woe of blood and death? Yet this came: so swiftly, so overwhelmingly, that there was no time for consideration or planning. Only action was necessary; and only action was taken. The first premonition of disaster came upon the afternoon of the second day of April, when two or three wounded and exhausted fugitives reached the haven of Mandu, bringing the startling news that Viradha and his little army were close at hand, in full retreat before a victorious Mohammedan horde, who had pursued them clear across the mountains. It was a thunderbolt; for none had ever dreamed that the plateau, defended by the whole wide range of the Vindhyas, could be in danger from the conquerors of Delhi. But the word of the fugitives had to be accepted. Their plight was unquestionable. Within twenty-four hours Viradha and his men would be in Mandu, where something, no man said what, must happen. Through the night, every soul on the plateau labored as never before. Even the children were pressed into service; and Brahman and Sudra worked side by side, placing barriers along the causeway, which, when the Manduvians had reached the plateau, could be thrown across the narrow bridge, and the invaders shut away. It was the only plan of defence that occurred to Oman as feasible; and none of those that sat in council with him could find a better. All was uncertain. They could only busy themselves as best they could;—and wait.