"Peace, idiot! Let me finish what I intend to say to my sister-in-law. In return for our kindness he has gone off, we can't say where. He tried to entice away the foolish deluded Dorama and persuade her to go with him; but we discovered the plan just in time to stop her." His wife was not satisfied. She had no objection to the distortion of the tale. What she feared was the discovery of the truth by Gunga. The story of the widow ceremony must come to her ears before many more days were passed; and nothing would be gained by rousing her wrath unnecessarily. As long as there was a breath of life in Pantulu, Gunga ruled absolutely; and it was in her power to turn out Sooba and his wife if serious offence were given. "Leave it to me," said Sooba confidently and untroubled by any qualms of conscience. "Our sister is occupied in looking after her husband. Her own approaching widowhood will take up the rest of her thoughts. We need not fear that she will make inquiry or trouble about anything until the end comes. Then I in the absence of Ananda will be chief mourner and master of the house. It will be your voice and not our sister's that will hold the attention of the zenana. The jewels may be worn by you; they will become you well, wife." She was not satisfied even with this rosy dream of wealth and authority, and she asked uneasily: "When will you tell Gunga of her son?" "In another week perhaps I may begin to break the news." The days that followed the widowing rites passed strangely for Dorama. She hated her new position and inwardly revolted against it. She loathed her rough garment and bare head. The cool evening wind caught her behind the ears and at the back of her neck--where formerly the heavy strands of hair formed a covering--and gave her twinges of neuralgia. She shivered and drew up the saree shawl-wise over her head, but it slipped down having nothing to cling to. She missed the daily details of her toilet. There was no hair to comb, and scent, and plait with fresh blossoms; no jewels to fasten on arm and neck. She was not permitted to use any of the various cosmetics treasured in the brass box with its many divisions that was her own special property; the rouge, sandal-wood paste, saffron powder, lip-salve, henna and the sweet atta of rose. The only thing allowed was the use of pure water. The food was good, but the mode of serving deprived her of appetite. By the time her turn came she was so full of misery and impatience at her altered circumstances, that she found no pleasure in eating the excellent curry prepared in the kitchen. Alone and like a guilty thing she bolted her meals, sometimes shedding bitter tears as she did so. Even the luxury of grief was denied. If tears were seen or a sob heard, she was reproved. Did she want to bring bad luck upon the house? she was asked. If a basin was broken or a pot upset, angry glances were directed towards her. If the woman slicing vegetables cut