The Rajah, however, was waiting her coming with very different feelings; for he loved Ahalya as most men love only in early youth. His delight in her was out of all proportion to his reserved and conservative nature. On her he lavished the wealth of his treasury. For her he would have sacrificed, without a thought, every other woman in his zenana. And while her escapades and her insubordination never failed to startle and hurt him, they only served, in the end, to bind her more strongly to him by the chains of fascination and elusiveness. The place where the two were to sup together was the Rajah’s favorite retreat:—an open-roofed, white-colonnaded room, in the centre of which was a broad, marble bathing-pool. Beside the water grew grasses and flowers, carefully tended; and near at hand, on the marble pavement, were piles of cushions, low stands, and all the articles of Oriental furniture necessary to a retreat where even slaves were not allowed to come without command. By night the marble terrace was lighted with lamps placed on stands; and now, in a soft glow of rosy light, beside an ebony table spread with choice dishes and rare wines, the Rajah lay, appreciating the change of this miniature fairy-land from the rough existence of camps and battle-fields; and waiting for that which should put a finishing touch to his deep content. She came, the Ranee of his soul, unattended, her delicate garments floating about her like a cloud. At sight of her he exclaimed, and she went to him, smiling and holding out her hands, secretly desirous that he should not kiss her face. She had her wish. Scarcely daring to touch her in her delicacy, he put her off at arm’s length, and gazed at her in a kind of wonder that such a thing should be human. “Beautiful one! My princess! Sit there and let me look at thee. Most exquisite one! Art thou too frail to eat?” He smiled at his fears, and began to lay before her the various dishes. “See, here are mangoes, and figs, and tamarinds, and little custard apples. And here is a kid cooked in sugar. And rice—and all these sauces. And there is a cup of the wine of Iran, from thy mother’s land, beautiful one.” With his own hands he served her, talking inconsequently, content just to gaze upon her roseate presence. And Ahalya, who had been wont to enjoy this patent adoration, sat wondering at herself that it had become painful to her. She strove well to conceal her feeling, not knowing what to make of it. And she ate, smiled, and praised the food and wine, but could think of nothing else to say. She was dreading the time that was coming; but she could not put it off. When both had eaten enough, and when another jar of Persian wine had been opened for the Rajah’s use, and Ahalya had washed her hands in a silver basin filled with rose-water, Rai-Khizar lay back on his cushions, called the Ranee to his side, and began tenderly: “Thou’rt glad, beloved of mine, that I am returned to Mandu?”