throne, there was, as he had said, something dreamlike and unreal about
his whole person, intensified perhaps by the dim atmosphere and shadowy
splendor of his surroundings.

Behar Asor had ceased to watch him, but lay motionless, with his face
covered by the white mantle which he wore about his shoulders. The first
storm of angry disappointment over, he had relapsed into a passive
oriental acceptance of the inevitable, which did not, however, exclude an
undercurrent of bitter brooding and contempt.

Some time passed before either of the two men spoke. At last Behar Asor
lifted his head and glanced quickly sidewise at the figure seated on the
throne. Nehal Singh's eyes were now entirely closed and seemed to sleep.
Such a proceeding would have been excusable enough in the suffocating
heat, but the sight drove the old man into a fresh paroxysm of
indignation.

"Sleepest thou, Nehal Singh?" he demanded, in a harsh, rasping voice. "Is
it not sufficient that thou hast failed thy destiny, but in the same hour
thou must close thine eyes and dream, like a child on whose shoulders rest
no duty, no responsibility? Awake! I have more to say to thee."

Nehal Singh looked up.

"I have not slept," he said gravely, "though, as to what concerns duty and
responsibility, I might well have done so, for I have neither the one nor
the other. Speak, I pray thee. I listen."

Behar Asor remained silent a moment, biting his forefinger. There was
something in the action strongly reminiscent of a cunning, treacherous