The place was, like the religion it still symbolized, a magnificent ruin. And its setting was worthy of it; for the fields on either side were overrun with flaming poppies, blooming for the second time in the year, and filling the whole air with the somnolence of their burden of opium. Beyond the fields, a fitting frame for the picture, the jungle commenced again: a high wall of subdued color, green and brown, splashed with the scarlet of the wild-cotton flowers. Fidá, halting in wonder, felt his heart suddenly grow light. Here were poppies—her flowers. It was a propitious omen. In his trouble, he had come upon a place devoted to her symbols. Was it a sign to him to remain in Mandu, hoping, however vainly, sometime to find a way to her? Smiling a little at the Indian superstition of his thoughts, he moved on, rambled for a time round the rock-strewn rooms within the temple, and finally out into the fields, where the flowers took effect on him again and set his mind running hotly upon Ahalya, the one woman of his world. An hour had passed since he left the palace, and he knew that in a little time he must turn his steps again toward slavery. This thought intensified the delight of lingering here, held by the fascination of the wild flowers. And it was now, at the most beautiful hour, in this enchanted spot, that she herself, Ahalya, came to him. Fidá saw two figures appear from the trees by the temple. Both were women. He got to his feet, trembling a little. Only one was advancing:—dressed all in white, the head-veil thrown back from her face, under one arm a broad, flat basket. Yes; it was Ahalya. Fidá perceived that he was neither blind nor mad. She, the Ranee, was here, with him. Hesitatingly he advanced toward her, two or three steps, and their eyes met. Ahalya crimsoned violently; and seeing this, Fidá grew bold. Not thinking of the enormity of his daring, with only the memory of two empty weeks upon him, he went straight toward her, and when he was at her side began, passionately: “Most beautiful of women! Lotus-lidded! Lily-faced! I behold thee, and thou art not a dream!” And then abruptly he paused, overcome by the situation. Ahalya turned to look behind her, and Fidá’s eyes followed hers. Churi had arrived at the ruin, but he and Neila stood leaning against a fallen stone, their backs to the poppy-field, evidently talking together. The Ranee, seeing herself safe enough, became confused; and, still half turned away from the slave, murmured, with an embarrassed manner: “I came—to gather poppies. Did my lord send you hither?” “Thy lord—sleeps,” muttered Fidá.