She thought on darker things: of the plight in which she was, of the worse one that was shortly to come to her. In her love of Fidá Ahalya was now, and, after the first day, had been, remorseless and surprisingly careless of discovery. This was all in accordance with the training of the child-woman, who, though she did not know it, had loved the Rajah as a daughter only, and had turned from him to the young Arab with all the truth and all the womanhood in her. There could never be for her another like Fidá. And she knew now that the end of love was very near. She had been denied its expression for a long time; but while its object lived she did not care. Now, however, in the midst of this brilliant scene, she suddenly perceived how weak, how worn he was. And it was borne in upon her that the pallor of his face was the pallor of death. How soon would the end come? How would it come? Could she show her love for him in performing the suttee? Would there be opportunity? or would he be burned, like a dog, on a handful of sticks, in the city of the dead at the other end of the plateau, far from her reach? The thought was too hideous to be maintained; but the shadow of it darkened over her heart. How was it possible that such dreadful things could be? How— She was interrupted in her morbid revery by Bhavani, who, tired of butterflies, came to drag her round the pools in search of the blue lily. Ahalya was not now in the humor for this amusement; and Bhavani became slightly peremptory in his demands. So, finally, she released herself from him, and, while he ran on, to the other side of the building, she, desirous of returning to her meditation, melancholy though it was, began slowly to pace up and down the flowery turf. Bhavani was quite out of sight; and Ahalya herself, her back toward the road, stood gazing out over the sunset plain below, when there was a sudden step behind her, and a voice exclaimed in her ear: “Can it be that I have found the embodied spirit of the summer?” She turned sharply, and found herself face to face with Ragunáth. Her first impression was one of disgust at the expression on his face; her first instinct to escape as quickly as possible from his presence. “I am not a spirit at all. I have lingered here too long and must go at once. Your favor, sir. Let me pass!” She motioned him imperiously out of her way; but, to her amazement, he only moved as she did, so as to be always in her path. He smiled, regarding her half-admiringly, half-respectfully, but kept his position till, stamping one small foot upon the ground, she cried, angrily: “Out of my path, my Lord Ragunáth!” “Nay, be not so hurried, Ranee,” he returned, mildly.