Churi smiled cynically. “Thou boy! Verily thou knowest little of women. Wait in patience, Asra. I think thou shalt see her again. I will not prevent thee. But now, leave this place, if you court not death.” Without further words, Fidá turned and left the room. When he reached his bed again, he flung himself upon it, and lay for a long time staring into the dark. Then, gradually, he fell to weeping; and while he wept, Allah had pity on his weakness, and sent him sleep. But Ahalya! Poor Ahalya! While her lover’s heart accused her of all faithlessness, she suffered not one whit less than he. She loved Fidá, indeed, wholly. Their meeting had been of her own desire and arrangement. But she was young in intrigue, new to dishonor. And when solitude brought her face to face with what she had done, she was plunged into despair. Her mind distorted all things. Fidá seemed infinitely remote from her. Their love had been a thing of such magical growth that, having been half the time unconscious of the workings of her own senses, she, in the first reaction, began to disbelieve altogether in her love. She was in a labyrinth of warped emotion, shame, and remorse; and, till she found herself again, the very name of Fidá was abhorrent to her. All through the day that followed their first meeting the Ranee lay on her bed, wide-eyed, tearless, and unapproachable. Neila wondered and watched, but dared not intrude upon her. On the evening of that day came Rai-Khizar-Pál, all unconsciously bringing her punishment for her sin. For two days after this she remained in seclusion, while Neila and Churi vainly took counsel together on behalf of the slave, for whom each felt some sort of unselfish concern. But, though Fidá was on the verge of madness, not a word could be got out of Ahalya concerning him: not one message would she send. Churi began to doubt his theory of the fallibility of women; and Neila would not have been surprised at a full confession of everything to Rai-Khizar-Pál. But at last, miraculously, came an incident from an unexpected quarter that did what no amount of pleading and persuasion could have accomplished. In the hidden drama that had, in the past few days, been enacted in Mandu, there was a certain personage, long since accustomed to play an important rôle in every game of intrigue, who had had no part at all. Nevertheless, Lord Ragunáth was not going to be discounted forever; and it was at this stage of events that he appeared upon the scene. Perhaps a scent of hidden things was in the air. Perhaps his sensibilities, attuned to all that was secret, caught some vibration of treachery; though the nature of that treachery remained undreamed-of. At any rate, it was just at the time when the object of his furtive desires was torn and riven with a struggle in which he was not concerned, that Ragunáth suffered one of his periodic fits of madness, and hit upon a new and, at last, successful method of gaining one of his ends.