These hours were terrible enough, even to the emotionless Gokarna. Religion forbade his remaining with his wife, or allowing any but the woman of special caste to behold her. All he could do was to sit in the room next to that in which she lay, kindle a sacrificial fire, repeat over it certain prescribed Vedic texts, and listen anxiously to the sounds issuing from the neighboring room. This lasted an unconscionable time. Then, when the night was at its most solemn ebb, the moaning and sobbing suddenly ceased, and silence fell on the priest’s house. This stillness was far more terrible than the noise had been. Gokarna’s unemotional nature was stirred to its very depths. Should he brave the Vedas—and go to her? While he waited, straining his ears, a new sound came:—a faint, baby wail that pierced the heart of the man and caused him to start joyously to his feet. A moment later the hanging before the doorway was pushed aside, and the nurse appeared, holding in her arms the child, wrapped in a piece of cotton cloth. For a second, Gokarna stood still, choking with hope. Then he ran forward, and put his hands on the tiny form: “Is it—is it a boy? Speak!” he said. The nurse answered not a word, but laid the child in his arms. * * * * * Not until noon the next day did Gokarna enter the room where his wife lay. Kota, on the bed, with the baby beside her, started up as he entered. But the words on her lips were stopped by his look. “In the name of the gods, Kota, I give greeting to thee—and to my son. My son,” he repeated, slowly, his eyes fixed upon the face of his wife, whose frightened expression did not diminish. “And thou,” he continued, turning to the nurse who stood at hand, listening intently, “see that, on penalty of banishment, thou prate to none concerning the matters of this house. I am now come to perform the ceremony of the breathing and the secret name. Therefore depart, woman, from the room, nor return until I summon thee.” The nurse, alarmed at his tone, made a hasty exit; and Gokarna turned again to his wife. Nor did he say another word on the subject nearest both their hearts. Immediately he took the child from its mother’s arms, at which it protested, with lusty voice, Kota watching it the while with tenderest mother-eyes. Gokarna, holding the child up before him, breathed three times upon it, and murmured: “Draw in thy breath with the _Rik_, breathe within the _Yagus_, breathe forth with the _Saman_.” Then, handing the babe for a moment back to its mother, he left the room, shortly returning with the articles of daily sacrifice:—honey, melted butter, and barley mixed together in a small earthen dish, in which stood also a spoon of beaten silver. Placing these on the floor beside the bed, he seated himself, took the child again, and looked up to Kota. “The name,” he said. “Find thou the omen for our name for him.”