ire the
cause of her sickness, and, after much hesitation, she reveals her love
by inscribing a poem, with her fingernail, on a lotus leaf smooth as a
parrot's breast. The king hears the avowal of her love, rushes in to
her, and declares his passion: adding that daughters of a royal saint
have often been wedded by _Gandharva_ rites, without ceremonies or
parental consent, yet have not forfeited the father's blessing. He thus
overcomes her scruples. Gautami, the matron of the hermitage, afterwards
enters, and asks, "My child, is your fever allayed?" "Venerable mother,"
is the reply, "I feel a grateful change." As the king sits in solitude
that evening in the deserted arbor, he hears a voice outside, uttering
the verses--"The evening rites have begun; but, dark as the clouds of
night, the demons are swarming round the altar fires." With these words
of ill-omen the third act comes to an end.

The fourth act describes the fulfilment of this evil omen. The king has
now returned to the city, and has given Sakoontala a signet ring, with
an inscription on it, pronouncing that after there have elapsed as many
days as there are letters in this inscription he will return. As the two
maiden companions of Sakoontala are culling flowers in the garden of the
hermitage, they hear a voice exclaiming, "It is I! give heed!" This is
the great Durvasas, whom Sakoontala, lost in thoughts of her absent
husband, has neglected at once to go forth to welcome. The voice from
behind the scenes is soon after heard uttering a curse--"Woe unto her
who is thus neglectful of a guest," and declaring that Dushyanta, of
whom alone she is thinking, regardless of the presence of a pious saint,
shall forget her in spite of all his love, as the wine-bibber forgets
his delirium. The Hindoo saint is here described in all his arrogance
and cruelty. One of the maidens says that he who had uttered the curse
is now retiring with great strides, quivering with rage--for his wrath
is like a consuming fire. A pretty picture is given of Sakoontala, who
carries on her finger the signet ring, which has the virtue of restoring
the king's love, if ever he should forget her. "There sits our beloved
friend," cries one of the maidens: "motionless as a picture; her cheek
supported by her left hand, so absorbed in thoughts of her absent lover
that she is unconscious of her own self--how much more of a passing
stranger?"

In the fourth act there is an exquisite description of th