It was impossible for him to express his gratitude in words. The presence of his mother standing near with her dark, watchful eyes kept him silent. He could only gaze from wife to child and then back again at his wife. In his shining eyes, full of unspoken happiness, the girl might read what she pleased. Even as he knelt by the mat on which she lay the new longing arose to possess, to enjoy, to claim his own, and carry his precious treasures away. The watching mother detected the emotion, and a twinge of jealousy caused her to stir uneasily. She advanced and laid a hand upon his shoulder, her gold bracelets ringing as they fell together upon her wrist with the movement. "Come away, my son; she is still weak, and unable to bear a long farewell. Be assured that we will keep her safe and sound till you return, her and her little son." Ananda bent lower over the recumbent figure, and his mother's brow contracted as she saw the motion. "Beloved! keep your heart warm for your absent husband," he whispered, as he kissed the beautiful mouth. Dorama, as a well-behaved married woman, should have shown no emotion beyond grief. She should have received the kiss and the words in silence, allowing the eyelids to droop under his ardent gaze; but in these latter days of progress the orthodox Hindu feels the insensible breath of the new spirit, and yields to it without actually breaking away from the old rules. That same spirit moved her to put her arms round his neck and to draw him down again till their lips touched a second time. "Do not be long, beloved. The slave waits impatiently for her lord." "Come! come! The carriage is ready, and his honour, your father, is impatient to be off," said the voice of his mother, as once more her hand rested on his shoulder. He rose to his feet and accompanied her without another word, turning once only to look back and smile at the eyes that followed him so wistfully. Neither husband nor wife forgot the incident. Every detail, every look and word were engraved upon their memories, and with this their aching hungry hearts had to be contented until they should meet again. As the time drew near for Ananda's return Dorama moved like one in a dream. During the day she was abstracted and thoughtful, except when she was with her little son. If by any chance she could carry him out of hearing of the other members of the family on pretence of giving him the air, she spoke of his father, pouring out the pent-up feeling in words, the meaning of which was beyond the child's comprehension. It brought relief, although it did not allay the terrible longing. When the pink satin coat that Royan was to wear on his father's home-coming was finished, Dorama stole away to the little room she had shared with her husband, and slipped it on. The boy's eyes sparkled with delight at the colour and sheen.