“I will think no more on this robe,” said Fagir, with bitterness; “if my thoughts be tainted with imperfection, my acts at least are blameless. It is enough if a man live righteously; he is not master of his own heart.” Here was at least an admission, and that from one of the proudest of men, that the heart has a root of bitterness in it that even the most righteous of mortals have no power in themselves to root up.