But there was no movement; Taramonnee was evidently stunned. Jasoda stooped and raised her, whilst a terrible fear crept over her. The child’s head fell back, her hand dropped. Was it possible? Could she be _dead_? Yes, she was dead, though she had not meant to kill her; and, since she could not bring her to life, what was she to do? She gazed with horror at this awful, motionless thing, whose life she herself had taken, oh, how easily! She could no longer endure those staring, glazing eyes, she must put them out of her sight. Raising the limp body with a supreme effort, she carried it in her arms to a dry well at some distance, and then averting her face, she threw it down. It struck against the sides, with a dull muffled sound, and fell to the bottom with a hideous crash that made her shudder. As Jasoda went slowly homewards, she was conscious that she was now the same as Moola, the son of Maldhu, who had cut his wife’s throat with a sickle; or the city girl, who drowned her baby in the tank in the Mango tope. She cooked the evening meal as usual, and heard Jooplee inquire for Taramonnee, and send to seek her at a neighbour’s; presently she became anxious, talked of snakes, hyenas, and devils, and even went herself to each postern door, and called, “Taramonnee, Taramonnee;” but she never once thought of inquiring about her from the sullen girl who was washing the cooking-pots. The old grandmother said soothingly, “Surely she hath gone with Almonee, who lives across the river.” But this did not satisfy her anxious parent, and the neighbourhood was summoned, and a great search made. It was full moon--a splendid harvest moon--and bright as day. All night long Jasoda lay awake, watching the moonbeams and listening to the melancholy howl of the jackals, and the heavy thud of the ripe banka fruit as it fell in the courtyard. Should she run away or stay? she asked herself. She debated the vital question long, and finally resolved that she would abide and await her fate! She was weary of life. Why prolong it? The river was low; best perish by the rope, and thus end all. At least she would have rest and peace, and perhaps a new and better life in another world. At daybreak, the body of Taramonnee was brought in and laid before her mother, who tore her hair in a frenzy, and beat her head against the wall. The hakim was summoned, and solemnly declared that the child had not met her death by accident. No; behold, there was the blow on her temple; of a surety, she had been murdered,--and by whom? Jooplee read the answer in Jasoda’s eyes. “Yes, I struck her,” admitted the girl boldly. “She came to me by the cane-field, and pinched me sorely when I was asleep. I am _glad_ she is dead.”