the ground. In the distance the
cocoanut palms waved their heads, the rustling of the leaves of the
fan palm reached the ear. Over all the light streamed, and the insect
troop came and went. Kunda sat there gazing.

A sash is gently opened; the figure of a man appears against the
light. Alas! it is Nagendra's figure. Nagendra, what if you should
discover the flower, Kunda, under the trees? What if, seeing you in
the window, the sound of her beating heart should make itself heard?
What if, hearing this sound, she should know that if you move and
become invisible her happiness will be gone? Nagendra, you are
standing out of the light; move it so that she can see you. Kunda is
very wretched; stand there that the clear water of the pool with the
stars reflected in it may not recur to her mind. Listen! the black owl
hoots! Should you move, Kunda will be terrified by the lightning. See
there! the black clouds, pressed by the wind, meet as though in
battle. There will be a rainstorm: who will shelter Kunda? See there!
you have opened the sash, swarms of insects are rushing into your
room. Kunda thinks, "If I am virtuous, shall I be born again as an
insect?" Kunda thinks she would like to share the fate of the insects.
"I have scorched myself, why do I not die?"

Nagendra, shutting the sash, moves away. Cruel! what harm you have done.
You have no business waking in the night; go to sleep. Kunda Nandini is
dying; let her die!--she would gladly do so to save you a headache. Now
the lightened window has become dark. Looking--looking--wiping her eyes,
Kunda Nandini arose and took the path before her. The ghost-like shrubs,
murmuring, asked, "Whither goest thou?" the fan palms rustled, "Whither
dost thou go?" the owl's deep voice asked the same question. The window
said, "Let her go--no more will I show to her _Nagendra_." Then foolish
Kunda Nandini gazed once more in that direction.

Oh, iron-hearted Surja Mukhi, arise! think what you have done. Make
the forlorn one return.

Kunda went on, on, on; again the clouds clashed, the sky became as
night, the lightning flashed, the wind moaned, the clouds thundered.
Kunda! Kunda! whither goest thou? The storm came--first the sound,
then clouds of dust, then leaves torn from the trees borne by the
wind; at last, plash, plash, the rain. Kunda, with thy one garment,
whither goest thou?

By the flashes of lightning Kunda saw a hut: its walls were of mud,
supporting a low roof. She sat do