His bitter secret was not hidden from Mahommed.

And this was an act of supreme devotion--to put at his hand the lulling, inspiring draught.

Did this fellah servant know what it meant--the sin of it, the temptation, the terrible joy, the blessed quiet; and then, the agonising remorse, the withering self-hatred and torturing penitence?
No, Mahommed only knew that when the Saadat was gone beyond his strength, when the sleepless nights and feverish days came in the past, in their great troubles, when men were dying and only the Saadat could save, that this cordial lifted him out of misery and storm into calm.

Yet Mahommed must have divined that it was a thing against which his soul revolted, or he would have given it to him openly.

In the heart and mind of the giant murderer, however, must have been the thought that now when trouble was upon his master again, trouble which might end all, this supreme destroyer of pain and dark memory and present misery, would give him the comfort he needed--and that he would take it.
If he had not seen it, this sudden craving would not have seized him for this eager beguiling, this soothing benevolence.