Fidá lay down in his corner, that night, tired out. According to old habit he slipped his hand inside his tunic and made sure that his little box was in its place, in a pocket that he had made for it himself, after his other clothes had been taken from him. Finding his treasure safe, he offered up a prayer, wondered where his uncle slept that night, still more wondered whether the Lady Ahalya was asleep, and, with her name on his lips, drifted off into unconsciousness. He was awakened by the sense that some one was bending over him. Next he felt the lightest touch upon his body. A hand was slipping along him so softly that only an acute sense could have felt it. Then Fidá opened his eyes. Ten brown, sinewy fingers were working at his sash. Quietly the Asra laid his own hands on those of the marauder, and, while the blood rushed to his heart, gripped them with the strength of a giant. The intruder gave a soft exclamation; and Fidá found himself looking into the eyes of Kanava. The gaze continued till the slave-master was beaten. He turned his eyes away. Then Fidá’s lip curled, and he spoke, his voice soft with scorn. “Go back, Kanava, and tell thy master that the Asra ruby is not for him.” And, with a violent gesture, he flung the man away from him as one would fling a bag of meal. Without a word Kanava got up and crept out of the room. After he was gone again Fidá relaxed, and, curiously enough, found no difficulty in going back to sleep. Nor did he afterward waste much time in thinking of the mortal enemy he had made by that night’s work. CHAPTER V POPPIES