To Fidá, still leaning against the courtyard wall, this sight of armed and armored men passing out to honorable combat, was bitter indeed. All the warrior in him rose and struggled for place in his enfeebled frame. He was sick with the servility of his life. He loathed the despicable part he had played. Every soldier that passed him seemed to him to walk over his heart, bringing back vivid pictures of what had been, when the smell of battle was sweet to his nostrils, and the battle-cry the fairest music his ears could know. Once he had been a man! Now—now—he would not answer the question of his conscience. When the hour was over, when the last foot-soldier had passed out of the courtyard and was lost in the winding road, he drew a long, heavy sigh, and moved his eyes. The first thing they encountered was the figure of Ragunáth, standing near him, gazing fixedly in the direction of the departed host; and Fidá saw with wonder the expression on his face: an expression of deep-seated relief, joy,—nay, rather, triumph. The Asra stared yet more earnestly, a sudden apprehension striking home. Was it possible that, at last, Rai-Khizar-Pál being gone, Ragunáth meant to taste the well-guarded fruit? Fidá’s lips shut tight. Was there finally to be an open struggle between them? Was it to be his happiness once to perform a real service for the King? Wondering, hoping, hating, he stood there, nor heeded how he was grinding the golden box deep into the flesh of his left side. CHAPTER IX ASRA FIGHTS AGAIN