“Whither I go ye know not. Sufficient it is that ye see me for the last time. I commend your mistress to your care. Farewell.” Then Oman, in his stained garments, with the marks of fetters on his wrists and ankles, left the room of mourning and passed through the house till he came again to the central room. Here, the crises of the day at last ended, his body was overcome with weariness; and he lay down beside the marble pool, and slept. CHAPTER XVIII SUNSET When Oman opened his eyes again, red dawn was just breaking upon a silent world. Kneeling at the pool, he performed his ablutions, and then walked to the open door. How fragrant the morning was! The air was rich with the perfume of flowers. Even in the early freshness there was a promise of heat; and drowsy bird twitterings complained of it. But Oman, standing quiet in the door of the water-palace, thought not of nature. He was looking out across still Mandu, the conquered land; and the heart in him bled and ached. Yesterday he had fought for his people, his country, his lord. To-day there remained only the bitterness of irretrievable defeat. And Oman’s one thought now was for the people:—the men and women of the fields, who were left to bend beneath the conqueror’s yoke. These lowly ones, for whom he had labored so long, he could help no more. If he went among them to-day, and listened to their plaints, he should have no comfort for them, could counsel nothing but that which it were best for them to learn for themselves:—submission.