me alone," she went on, clenching her
small hands to steady herself. "But impossible to change all the laws of
our religion for one worthless me. They will insist I shall marry--even
Dyan; and I cannot--I _cannot_----!"

Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the chance and
the hour and the grave tenderness of his assurance. No time for
shrinking or doubt. Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her
cloak--that had come unlinked--dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a
slim strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds.

"Roy--_Dilkusha_!" Involuntarily her hands went out to him. "If it is
true ... you are caring--and if I must not belong to you, there is a way
_you_ can belong to me without trouble for any one. If--if we make
pledge of betrothal ... for this one night, if you hold me this one hour
... I am safe. For me that pledge would be sacred--as marriage, because
I am still Hindu. Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins--not worthy to
be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always _Swami
Bakht_--worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my heart."

And Roy stood before her--motionless; stirred all through by the thrill
of her exalted passion, of her strange appeal. The pathos--the nobility
of it--swept him a little off his feet. It seemed as if, till to-night,
he had scarcely known her. The Eastern in him said, 'Accept.' The
Englishman demurred--'Unfair on her.'

"My dear----" he said--"I can refuse you nothing. But--is it right? You
_should_ marry----"

"Don't trouble your mind for me," she murmured; and her eyes never left
his face. "If I keep out of purdah, becoming Brahmo Samaj ...
perhaps----" She drew in her full lower lip to steady it. "But the
marriage of arrangement--I cannot. I have read too many English books,
thought too many English thoughts. And I know in here"--one clenched
hand smote her breast--"that now I could _not_ give my body and life to
any man, unless heart and mind are given too. And for me.... Must I tell
all? It is not only these few weeks. It is years and years...." Her
voice broke.

"Aruna! Dearest one----"

He opened his arms to her--and she was on his breast. Close and tenderly
he held her, putting a strong constraint on himself lest her ecstasy of
surrender should bear down all his defences. To fail her like this was a
bitter thing: and as her arms stole up round his neck, he instinctively
tightened his hold. So yielding she was, so uns