relaxation to affairs of state, and when night drew on and the inmates of
the great luxurious palace, a veritable city within a city, gave
themselves up to reckless enjoyment, he was seldom present, for he would
withdraw to one of his small private apartments, and there sit,
pretending to read, but in reality brooding in silence. One poignant
sorrow had transformed him from a bright, happy youth, to a man sad-eyed,
dull, morose. Sometimes, as I watched, I noticed how he would suddenly
sigh heavily, and set his teeth as a bitter relentless expression would
flit for an instant across his countenance, and I knew that at such
moments there entered into his heart the contemplation of a fierce and
terrible revenge.

Even to me, his constant companion, whose opinion he sought almost
hourly, he made no mention of his heart's sorrow, yet from close
observation through many days, I knew the cause of his overwhelming grief
was the loss of Liola. He never mentioned her, for the day after we had
ascertained the truth about her tragic end, he had taken me aside and
asked me never to allow her name to pass my lips in his presence.

"Memories are painful, you know, Scars," he had said. "I must try and
forget, try and live down my sorrow if I can, although I fear I shall
carry it with me to the grave."

These words I often remembered when, alone with him, I watched the look
of ineffable sadness upon his face. In the Hall of Audience, the centre
of his brilliant court, his face was always pleasant, smiling and full of
good-nature, as it had ever been; but, alas! it was only a mask, for
alone, in the privacy of his chamber, he cast it aside and gave himself
up to debauches of melancholy painful to behold.

Thus weeks lengthened into months. He had wished me to keep from the
people the great loss sustained by the robbery from the Treasure-house,
believing that in the circumstances silence was best, and I had not
breathed a word to a soul, not even to Kona or Goliba. The city had
resumed its old look of prosperity, its markets were crowded daily, and
its populace were content in the knowledge that under the reformed
_regime_ they were free. Although once every week, Omar, with his court,
descended to the Temple of Zomara, and there adored the Crocodile-god,
human sacrifices had been discontinued, and the worship of the giant idol
was devoid of those revolting practices introduced by the Naya. Of the
latter, no tidings had been gleaned.