_Minstrel_ He left me behind to give you hope. When did he go? _Minstrel_ In the first hour of the watch. Now the third hour has passed, I think. The air is chilly. I dreamt that three women, with their hair hanging loose---- Oh, leave off your dream-women. I am sick of your dreams. Everything appears darkly ominous. I didn't notice before the hooting of the owl. But now---- Do you hear that dog whining on the far bank of the river? It seems as though a witch were riding upon him and lashing him. Surely, if it had been possible, Chandra would have come back by now. How I wish this night were over. Do you hear the woman's cry? Oh, the women, the women. They are ever crying and weeping. But they cannot turn those back, who must go forward. It is getting unbearable to sit still like this. Men imagine all sorts of things when they sit still. Let us go also. As soon as we are started on our way fear will leave us. But who will show us the way? There is the blind Minstrel. What do you say, Minstrel? Can you show us the way? _Minstrel_ Yes. But we can hardly believe you. How can you find out the path by simply singing? If Chandra never comes back, you shall. We never knew that we loved Chandra so intensely. We made light of him all these days. When we are in the playing mood, we become so intent on the play, that we neglect the playmate. But, if he once comes back, we shall never neglect him any more. I am afraid that we have often given him pain. Yet his love rose above all that. We never knew how beautiful he was, when we could see him every day. (_They sing._) _When there was light in my world You stood outside my eyes. Now that there is none, You come into my heart. When there were dolls for me, I played; You smiled and watched from the door. Now that the dolls have crumbled to dust, You come and sit by me. And I have only my heart for my music, When my lute-strings have broken._ That Minstrel sits so still and silent. I don't like it. He looks ominous,--like the lowering autumn cloud. Let us dismiss him. No, no. It gives us heart, when he sits there. Don't you see that there is no sign of fear in his face? It seems as if some messages were striking his forehead. His body appears to espy some one in the distance. There seem to be eyes on the tips of his fingers. Simply by watching him, we can see that some one is coming through the dark. Look. He is standing up. He is turning towards the East, and making his obeisance. Yet there is nothing to be seen, not even a streak of light. Why not ask him what it is that he sees? No, don't disturb him. Do you know, it seems to me that the morning has dawned in him. As if the ferry-boat of light had reached the shore of his forehead. His mind is still, like the morning sky. The storm of birds' songs will burst out presently. He is striking his lute. His heart is singing. Hush. He is singing.