se the
most, and Boonda Broke would promise the doors of Heaven as a gift to
the city, and the treasures of Solomon to the people, if it might serve
his purposes. But all was quiet save where the mourners followed their
dead to the great funeral pyres, which were set on three little hills
just outside the city. These wailed as they passed by. The smoke of the
burnt powder had been carried away by a gentle wind, and in its place
was the pervasive perfume of the peach and cherry trees, and the aroma
of the gugan wood which was like cut sandal in the sun after a rain. In
the homes of a few rich folk there was feasting also, for it mattered
little to them whether Boonda Broke or Pango Dooni ruled in Mandakan,
so that their wealth was left to them. But hundreds of tinkling little
bells broke the stillness. These were carried by brown bare-footed boys,
who ran lightly up and down the streets, calling softly: "Corn and tears
and wine for the dead!" It was the custom for mourners to place in the
hands of the dead a bottle of tears and wine, and a seed of corn, as it
is written in the Proverbs of Dol:

"When thou journeyest into the Shadows, take not sweetmeats with thee,
but a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine; that thou mayest have
a garden in the land whither thou goest."

It was yet hardly night when the pyres were lighted on the little
hills and a warm glow was thrown over all the city, made warmer by
roseate-hued homes and the ruddy stones and velvety dust of the streets.
At midnight the Dakoon was to be brought to the Tomb with the Blue
Dome. Now in the Palace yard his body lay under a canopy, the flags of
Mandakan and England over his breast, twenty of his own naked body-guard
stood round, and four of his high chiefs stood at his head and four at
his feet, and little lads ran softly past, crying: "Corn and tears and
wine for the dead!" And behind all these again were placed the dark
battalions and the hillsmen. It went abroad through the city that Pango
Dooni and Cumner paid great homage to the dead Dakoon, and the dread of
the hillsmen grew less.

But in one house there had been no fear, for there, by the Aqueduct of
the Failing Fountain, lived Cushnan Di, a fallen chief, and his
daughter with the body like a trailing vine; for one knew the sorrow of
dispossession and defeat and the arm of a leader of men, and the other
knew Tang-a-Dahit and the soul that was in him.

This night, while yet there was an hou