These rooms were the choicest in the zenana. They consisted of a tiny suite of three, opening from a passage that led directly into the main palace. The first of them was an antechamber, heavily spread with rugs, walled with carved wood brought from Ceylon, and lighted day and night by a single crimson lamp suspended from the ceiling. The second room, in which Ahalya now lay, was a light and pleasant place, its floors covered with silken rugs, the walls frescoed gayly with birds and flowers, the furniture and the thousand ornaments it contained all of the costliest variety, and, at the end farthest from the windows, a little shrine to Rahda, the Lady of Love. The last room, accessible only through the other two, was the sleeping-room, its walls hidden by silken hangings of pale purple and gold; its couch covered with cloth of gold; the chests to hold the Ranee’s garments, of precious woods inlaid with ivory and pearl, lined with sandal-wood; and teak-wood toiletstands displaying mirrors, brushes, perfumes, and cosmetics wherewith a woman might be beautified:—a heavily gilded room indeed, and one in which Ahalya spent little time. Beyond these apartments of the favorite wife, across the whole length of this inner palace wing, stretched a long, narrow room, furnished with every luxury that Indian ingenuity could devise. This was the women’s day-room,—their common lounging-place,—where wife and slave met together in free converse. Around it were ranged the rooms of the other wives: Malati’s, where the young Bhavani, Rai-Khizar-Pál’s only son, the heir of Mandu, lodged with his mother; Bhimeg’s the Kshatriya woman’s; and those of Chundoor, the despised Sudra wife. At the end of the wing, farthest from the palace, lived the women slaves; and beyond was a separate house for the eunuchs. Such was the zenana, in the days of Indian rule in Mandu: a place full of life and color and sound; of interminable jealousy, strife, and bitterness; a place which only one man ever entered; he on whom all these women must expend the human love and fidelity that lay seething in their hearts. In the meantime, to Ahalya, waiting on her couch, came Neila, bringing with her a lad ten years old, shaggy-headed, with big, black eyes, and a sturdy figure, who went up and kissed the Ranee affectionately. His eyes were bright with excitement as he cried to her: “Alaha! Alaha!” (it was his name for her), “I have been riding to-day! Kasya put me upon a horse, and we went almost to the old temple and back. And—and I am to go every day now!” Trained studiously to the dignity of his birth, he gave little active sign of his pleasure; but his face expressed his delight, and Ahalya, more demonstrative than he, threw her arms about him and laughed in sympathy. “Beautiful, Bhavani! Beautiful! Now thou wilt soon be given a bow; and then—” “Then I shall really go and contend in the games before the beautiful Draupadi!”