Gold was hers, with gems more than she could count, and few were the weeks that did not bring her added wealth or gifts.

She had palaces to dwell in--alone; gardens to wander in--alone; eunuchs and slaves to rule over--alone.

But never a friend had she, save the woman of the Assassins, to whom she clung because she, Masouda, had saved her from Sinan, and who clung to her, why, Rosamund could not be sure, for there was a veil between their spirits.
They were gone--they were gone! Even the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away, and she was desolate as a child lost in a city full of folk.

Oh! and her heart was filled with fears for them, and most of all for one of them.

If he should not come back into it, what would her life be?
Rosamund bowed her head and wept; then, hearing a sound behind her, turned to see that Masouda was weeping also.
"Why do you weep ?" she asked.
"The maid should copy her mistress," answered Masouda with a hard laugh; "but, lady, why do you weep?
At least you are beloved, and, come what may, nothing can take that from you.