The departure of the Rajah and his army wrought, at first, little visible change in the life of the palace at Mandu. The zenana was a little duller, the ceremonies less formal, the work of the royal court less arduous;—for Manava, though a just man, had not his over-lord’s popularity as a judge. To Fidá, however, the absence of Rai-Khizar-Pál made a marked difference; and his life was almost entirely changed. He had a new sense of freedom; and he saw Ahalya oftener than ever. Since she was no longer subject to her husband’s will, both she and Fidá had a much greater feeling of confidence, but also a greater sense of dishonor than when he was at hand. The duties of the Asra, meantime, were light, and less uncertain than they had been. All the morning, and, indeed, nearly to mid-afternoon, he was with Bhavani. But when their various tasks and pursuits were over, the young prince generally elected to spend the rest of his time in the zenana, where he was the spoiled pet of twenty or thirty women. In this way many hours were unquestioningly open for the slave and Ahalya; but Fidá was shortly made aware that most of them must be hours of sadness. One week from the evening on which he had had his last talk with Churi, he reappeared in the room of the eunuch, who, as usual at that hour, was within. The Asra walked up to him, and silently tendered him the golden box. Churi looked quickly into his face—and his eyes remained fixed there. “The charm—hath not worked?” he asked. “No,” answered Fidá, shortly. “Thou’rt not better?—Thou’rt worse?” “Yes.” “But the reason of it?” Churi looked down at the treasure now lying in his own hand, and a faint smile stole across his lips. “The charm—is gone?” “I sold it. I sold the birthright of the Asra. I have doubly cursed my race. It is fitting, indeed, that I should expiate the sin by death!” “Nay, despairing one. We shall cure thee yet. ’Tis but a lingering fever. I shall try to help thee. There is a certain draught of herbs—” Fidá interrupted him with a sort of laugh. “Nay, Churi, spare thy skill. Fever-draughts will not avail against the curse of the Saint. There. I thank thy generosity. I thank thee, also, Churi, for all the rest thou hast done for me. I tell thee now in the face of death, that, were all to do over, I would face a thousand ends for half the glory I have known in her. And all this, I owe to thee. Had I mine uncle’s riches in addition to the ruby, they should be thine. And yet—Allah comfort her when I am gone! That—that, Churi, makes me suffer. Oh, I talk folly in my weakness. Heed me not. A peaceful rest to thee!” And, turning on his heel, Fidá was gone.