“Tell me not that any man with visage so deathly is in health. Thine appearance troubles me, for I repose great trust in thee, and I dare not depart in fear of thy death. Speak, Manava,—what thinkest thou of him?” “He hath the appearance of a man very ill,” answered the minister, thoughtfully regarding the slave. “Fidá, for the space of a week keep to thy room, and let Churi and the priests attend thee and bring thee back to strength again. Thou must accept so much of aid, for thy look troubles me sorely.” The Asra threw himself on the floor at the King’s feet, and once more protested that his looks belied him, that he was perfectly able to perform his usual tasks. And the Rajah, whose projects were upset by the prospect of this slave’s illness, allowed himself to be persuaded against his own judgment, and proceeded to the object of the audience. “Fidá el-Asra, thou hast been in Mandu, in my service, scarce half a year as yet; but because thou art of high birth and noble training, I repose confidence in thee. I cannot take thee with me upon my campaign, because I should fear to lose thee in the north. But, in leaving thee behind, I am about to place thee in a position of great trust. Manava, whom thou seest standing upon my right hand, is, in my absence, to be part ruler of Mandu. To Kasya here, my faithful eunuch, I intrust the guardianship of my women. To thee I give the last of my treasures, the hope of Mandu: my son, Bhavani, the flower of my heart; to be taught and guarded till my return. Thou shalt have full direction over him, save only in those times when the Lady Malati, his mother, desires his presence. Already Bhavani loves thee, Asra; and thy training makes thee fitted to be his companion and his master in my absence. For this trust that I repose in thee, give me thy fealty.” Deeply touched by a mark of favor so little deserved, Fidá fell upon his knees and pressed the Rajah’s foot with his brow. In that moment of abasement he was very near to confession; and, had it not been for the presence of the other two, Fidá might, at that moment, have opened up his heart and told his lord all the story of his treachery and crime. A moment’s swift reflection, however, brought with it the remembrance of Ahalya; and in dread for her the impulse passed away, and he found himself protesting incoherently his gratitude, his fidelity, and his sorrow at the departure of the Rajah. Once more, before he was dismissed, Rai-Khizar-Pál, noting anew his gaunt and pallid face, expressed some concern for his health; and then, giving his hand to his slave’s lips, sent him away. Fidá, his nature suddenly revolting against himself, sought his room, flung himself face down upon his bed, and there, in guilty misery, poured out some sort of inchoate prayer of remorse.