“Yet,” broke in Churi, “I bring a message to you from a—princess.” He paused. Fidá sat staring at him, incredulous of his ears. “I have a message for Fidá, Prince of the Asra,” repeated Churi, at length, with emphasis. “Wouldst hear it?” “Speak!” answered the slave, hoarsely. “These, then, are the words I was told to say to thee: ‘Why comes not the Asra to her that waits? The way shall be easy to one greatly aspiring’.” Churi spoke in the lowest voice; and Fidá strained forward to catch the words. “‘Why comes he not to her that waits? The way shall be easy—to one greatly aspiring’,” he repeated, trying to grasp all that it meant. “And there was this to be given,” continued Churi, taking from his girdle, and handing to Fidá, a faded and wilted poppy. Fidá grasped the flower in his hand, and started wildly to his feet. “Take me to her!” cried he. “Take me to her, Churi! Allah give thee life!” “Quiet! Quiet! Shall the whole palace hear thee?” Churi glared at him, without moving from where he sat. In his face there was no sign of life. And, at his words, and still more by the cold indifference into which his expression had relapsed, Fidá’s flaming eagerness was chilled. His face grew questioning. The hand holding the poppy dropped to his side. Then Churi spoke, slowly: “I have delivered to thee the message. Find thou the way.” “Churi!” The eunuch smiled, vaguely. The smile accomplished much. Fidá’s impatience gave way. Determination took its place. He sat down again beside his tormentor, placed the poppy carefully in his own sash, and then leaned persuasively toward his expressionless companion. “Tell me, Churi, wherein I am wrong,” he said, sweetly. Now, Churi had got himself into an anomalous position. He had, as a matter of fact, accepted a gift from Ahalya for the transmission of her message; and he was perfectly well aware that she expected him to go much farther in the betrayal of his office than she had asked in words. But Churi was not quite prepared for these lengths. His actions during the last few moments had been instinctive. He was trusting to chance to show him a method of procedure. After some little thought, he answered Fidá as truthfully as he could. “Thou’rt wrong in this, Asra, that thou acceptest this message for truth when it says: ‘the way is easy to one greatly aspiring’. The way is not easy, but, rather, so difficult that I see no means of traversing it.” “Dost thou not, indeed? Ah, but thou aspirest not, Churi. That is the difference.” Churi shrugged. “Now I already see the feat performed. Shall I explain it to thee?” “I am a listener, Asra.” “Then hark. Between the hours of twelve and two, the zenana is guarded by one that is a kindly man. At the hour of his watch this fellow, for just the shadow of an instant, falls asleep. Lo! The way is open!” Fidá smiled delightedly.