With the evening came his answer. With all this, he had still little enough; for the King ruled in his zenana, and Fidá began to know something of the sinner’s suffering. She was beyond the protection of him to whom by right of soul she belonged. She was beyond him; and yet, second by second, he must suffer for and with her. He wept and raved and clenched his shaking hands in the madness of jealousy at this retribution of the wrong he had done. In the new day, as he came to gaze upon the tranquil face of his conqueror, his whole being was stirred with wonder that such things as were in his heart could lie there unsuspected. But Rai-Khizar-Pál could not know the heart of his slave, nor how, with night, hope came again.
As soon as Churi went on guard at midnight, Fidá appeared in the antechamber, unstrung and reckless. He would have rushed past the eunuch without a word, but that he was forcibly restrained. This action, on the part of his one ally, goaded Fidá fairly to madness; and, without speaking, he flung himself into a fierce struggle with the eunuch, whose strength, however, he presently discovered to be very great. When both of them were all but exhausted, the Asra, coming to himself, fell back, staring hopelessly at his opponent, and murmuring, more to himself than to Churi:
“Thou traitor! Oh, miserable! Have I sold my birthright for this!”
“Madman!” retorted Churi, “thinkest thou there is no reason in what I do? I serve our lady. She bade me deny thee entrance.”
“It is not true!”
“By Krishna, I swear it.”
“Ahalya!” Fidá’s face grew deathlike.
“Neila came to me at dusk. The Ranee is sick and shaken with grief and fear. Thou canst not see her—yet.”
“Yet!”
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.”