KING [_gazing at Śakoontalá_].--Alas! can this indeed be my Śakoontalá? Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face Emaciate with fasting, her long hair Twined in a single braid, her whole demeanor Expressive of her purity of soul: With patient constancy she thus prolongs The vow to which my cruelty condemned her. ŚAKOONTALÁ [_gazing at the King, who is pale with remorse_]. Surely this is not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares pollute by the pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should protect him from a stranger's touch? CHILD [_going to his mother_].--Mother, who is this man that has been kissing me and calling me his son? KING.--My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am now once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not to acknowledge me as thy husband. ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny is at last appeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in very truth my husband? KING.--Behold me, best and loveliest of women, Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness That erst oppressed my memory. Again Behold us brought together by the grace Of the great lord of Heaven. So the moon Shines forth from dim eclipse, to blend his rays With the soft lustre of his Rohiní. ŚAKOONTALÁ.--May my husband be victorious------ [_She stops short, her voice choked with tears._ KING.--O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears, Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance, And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned And colorless in sorrow for my absence, Make me already more than conqueror. CHILD.--Mother, who is this man? ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny. KING [_falling at Śakoontalá's feet_].--Fairest of women, banish from thy mind The memory of my cruelty; reproach The fell delusion that overpowered my soul, And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse Of him in whom the power of darkness reigns, That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves For deadly evils. Even though a friend Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow, Will he not cast it from him as a serpent? ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own evil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of a compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly? [_The King rises_.] But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine unfortunate wife return to thy mind?