“Go forward, my friend,” said Sir John, and Masters obeyed him. The Rorka rose, and touched him lightly with the Silver Staff of Office of a Waz. “I promote thee henceforward, Waz, to the house of Sir John. Waz-Masters shalt thou be, with all that appertains thereto. Accept this staff, Waz-Masters, for thou art a faithful friend.” Masters was unable to express his gratitude, the honour was so unexpected that it rendered him speechless; but a few moments later Alan smiled as he saw him talking earnestly with Zyllia, a kinswoman of Y-Kjesta’s. And as Alan watched the luminous eyes that smiled at Masters, watched the parted lips and the colour that came and went in the olive tinted cheeks of the beautiful Keemarnian, he foresaw, and foresaw truly, that soon Masters would forsake the lonely role of bachelor; and another love match would be made in Keemar—the land of all good. Then came the feasts and banquets; a pageant and procession through the streets of Hoormoori. Bhors gaily decorated, fancifully costumed bands, dancing children dressed like wood nymphs, fair-headed, slim youths with pipes like the pipes of Pan, woodland fairies, ladies in court attire, all took part in this wonderful procession. And Alan sat on a balcony in the Royal Palace and watched it. But half the time his eyes were feasting on the features of his bride of the morrow. Occasionally, under cover of the cheers and the darkness, his hand would stray out, and for a moment clasp hers in the darkness. But no chance had he of speaking with her alone, and her nearness maddened him with passionate longings. He longed to be alone with her, away in the woods and fields, along the seashore, just they two together, communing with nature in all her glory. “May I not speak to Chlorie a moment alone?” he begged earnestly. The Rorka smiled. “In your world, perhaps, it would be allowed. But I cannot sanction it. To-day she belongs to me—to the people. To-morrow she will be yours for ever. It is custom, my son. But to-morrow—” he stopped, and looked shrewdly at Alan. “I have been converted to your—‘honeymoon’. It is a strange idea to us of Keemar, but a beautiful one, and will, I think, prove popular with my countrymen. To-morrow you take her away—alone. No duenna’s guiding eye will follow you. The House of Roses in the Wyio Forest is at your disposal. It is ready—prepared. I have given way on many points, my son, but on this one I am firm. You cannot speak alone to Chlorie to-night. Now I wish to speak to Sir John.” Alan bowed his head and moved away, so that his uncle could take his place. He was further away from his love, but sat in the shadow and gloried in her as the light shone brightly on her profile.