Unconscious of the ill-omened gaze, careless of the recklessness and the indecorum of walking abroad unattended, Ahalya went on, hand in hand with the worshipful boy, joyously drinking in the exquisite air of the late afternoon. The sun almost touched the river in the west, and the air was suffused with rosy gold. From the south came a fragrant breeze, laden with the spicy breath of far Ceylon. There was a twittering chorus of birds. The trees and shrubs on every side were clad in foliage in the highest stage of fresh beauty. The tamarind and the willow vied with each other in grace. The bamboo was tufted with palest silver-green. The almond trees had finished blossoming, and the grass beneath their branches was strewn with pinkish petals. Here and there was a lilac shrub, heavy with clusters of pale purple flowers—emblems of Persia. And in sunny places the grass was strewn with white and golden gillyflowers, with occasional starry narcissi and daffodils. The whole world was abloom, and the air heavy with perfume. As she proceeded, Ahalya’s languid delight increased to a species of intoxication. She was bewildered by the beauty of the world, enchanted by the high, pure notes of the birds, by the whisper of winds in the trees, by the heavy hum of drunken bees, by the murmur of distant, rushing water. Bhavani, a little overcome by her manner, presently broke away from her to run after a new-come butterfly; and Ahalya walked on alone to the water palace. Arrived there, and seeing Bhavani happily racing away at a little distance, the Ranee seated herself beside the pool, almost in the very spot where, months before, Fidá had stood and listened to the curse that welled from out the mountains, whose sides were now swathed in a bluish haze, that grew gradually golden in the light of the setting sun. Here, in the shade of the willows and bamboos that overhung the basin, Ahalya’s mood changed, and her thoughts were no longer of the joy of the young summer.