"On one occasion, seeing that she had soothed and charmed the unhappy and suffering prince with her melodies, she begged permission to sing him a song of her own composition, set to his favorite air of 'Sah Mânee Chaitee' (The Lament of the Heart).[34] The prince smilingly assented, not without, as he afterwards told me, surprise and wonder at the singular hardihood and fearlessness of the young stranger. 'But,' to use his own words, 'she sang her wonderful song with such power, such a sweet mixture of the fragrance of the heart with the melody of touch, that the memory of it lingers still with me as a dream of a day in Suan Swarg (paradise). Then I snatched from her hand the lute, and struck on it in wild and imperfect utterances the burden of my love for thee, dear Sunartha Vismita.' "Just three months from the time of May-Peâh's departure, when I had become weary and disconsolate because of her unaccountable absence, she returned home, bearing letters and presents from the prince; and a month afterwards I set out, a happy bride, for the beautiful palace of Ban Sitha. "When we arrived at Sarapure, my brother went on before to announce my arrival to the prince--" Here she ceased suddenly, and gave way to a burst of passionate tears. After a little while she resumed her story, saying: "And so we were privately married. The prince, however, had long been failing in health, and after a few short months of unalloyed happiness he again fell grievously sick, and exhorted me to return home to my father, lest by his death I should fall into the power of his elder brother. But I refused to leave him, and followed him to his palace at Bangkok, where he sickened rapidly and died. His last words to me were: 'Fare thee well, Sunartha! thy presence has been to me like the light of the setting sun, illumining and dispersing the dark clouds which have hitherto obscured my sad life. Fear not; I will keep the memory of thy face bright and unclouded before my fading eyes, as I pass away rejoicing in thy love.' "A short time after my husband's death I found myself a prisoner in his palace, and as time passed on I was removed to this palace, where a residence befitting a queen was appointed to me, and where I first had the honor of receiving and entertaining the elder brother of my husband, the great king Maha Mongkut, who, ignoring my deep sorrow and deeper love for my late husband, offered me his royal hand in marriage. "Openly and proudly I rejected the cruel offer, for which reason I am here again a prisoner, and perchance will remain forever." She ceased speaking, and the Amazon entered to say it was time to shut the prison door. With her lips firmly pressed together, her nostrils quivering, and her head bowed in her strong grief, she motioned me her adieux. I saw her once or twice afterwards, sitting leisurely among the palace gardens, under the watchful eyes of the Amazonian guard, as self-absorbed, but, I thought, more hopeful than she used to be.