rja Mukhi was not there, but upon the
undisturbed bed there lay a letter. At the sight of it Kamal became
dizzy; she could not read it. Without doing so she understood all,
understood that Surja Mukhi had fled. She had no desire to read the
letter, but crushed it in her hand. Striking her forehead, she sat
down upon the bed, exclaiming: "I am a fool! how could I allow myself
to be put off last night when parting from her?"

Satish Babu, standing near, joined his tears with his mother's.

The first passion of grief having spent itself, Kamal Mani opened and
read the letter. It was addressed to herself, and ran as follows:

"On the day on which I heard from my husband's mouth that he no longer
had any pleasure in me, that for Kunda Nandini he was losing his
senses or must die--on that day I resolved, if I could find Kunda
Nandini, to give her to my husband and to make him happy; and that
when I had done so I would leave my home, for I am not able to endure
to see my husband become Kunda Nandini's. Now I have done these
things.

"I wished to have gone on the night of the wedding-day, but I had a
desire to see my husband's happiness, to give him which I had
sacrificed myself; also, I desired to see you once more. Now these
desires are fulfilled, and I have left.

"When you receive this letter I shall be far distant. My reason for
not telling you beforehand is that you would not have allowed me to
go. Now I beg this boon from you, that you will make no search for me.
I have no hope that I shall ever see you again. While Kunda Nandini
remains I shall not return to this place, and should I be sought for I
shall not be found. I am now a poor wanderer. In the garb of a beggar
I shall go from place to place. In begging I shall pass my life; who
wilt know me? I might have brought some money with me, but I was not
willing. I have left my husband--would I take his money?

"Do one thing for me. Make a million salutations in my name at my
husband's feet. I strove to write to him, but I could not; I could not
see to write for tears, the paper was spoilt. Tearing it up, I wrote
again and again, but in vain; what I have to say I could not write in
any letter. Break the intelligence to him in any manner you think
proper. Make him understand that I have not left him in anger; I am
not angry, am never angry, shall never be angry with him. Could I be
angry with him whom it is my joy to think upon? To him whom I love so
devotedly, I re