With a further profession of his unalterable friendship, Ahmad departed to his military duties.
He had gone but an hour or so, a period consumed by Prasad in bitter reflections and vows of revenge upon his supposed rival, when the bullock cart of the astrologer again rumbled and creaked its slow progress to the Mohammedan's door.
Prasad received him in illhumored silence.
The astrologer-physician nevertheless methodically proceeded to unpack his bag, and to an examination of his patient.
As before, he gravely felt Prasad's pulse, observed his tongue, and then expressed himself as being highly satisfied with the sick man's improved condition.
"I had purposed advising thee to take a bath of oil," said he, "but I find it will be unnecessary."
"Truly thou art a wise physician," remarked Prasad sarcastically. "Tell me now, I beg, how the heavens look this evening for the attainment of my wishes"?
The astrologer scrutinized his calendar for a space, then replied in a satisfied tone.
"All goes well, noble sir. The moment of triumph over thine enemy draws nigh. She whom thou lovest will fly to thy arms speedily."