Prasad rose wearily from his recumbent position.
"Ahmad," he exclaimed. "In truth, I feel as if I may be sick. Perchance thou wilt not be obliged to resort to subterfuge in my behalf."
Ahmad turned a penetrating look toward his guest.
"Thou wilt not attend the ceremony of to-day"? he asked.
"As thou advisest," returned the other. "Do what thou thinkest best for me. I am sick with love, with jealousy, with I know not what, for yonder Rani."
He turned and slowly made his way toward one of the exits from the room.
Ahmad also rose to a standing posture.
From the balcony of a minaret near by, the voice of a Mollah resounded through the clear atmosphere.
"There is but one God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God."
Ahmad strode from the room to a porch facing the west. He knelt and reverentially bowed his forehead to the pavement.