[_frowning_].--Why not, pray?

PRIYAMVADA.--You are under a promise to water two more shrubs for me.
When you have paid your debt, you shall go, and not before.
[_Forces her to turn back_.

KING.--Spare her this trouble, gentle maiden. The exertion of watering
the shrubs has already fatigued her.
The water-jar has overtasked the strength
Of her slim arms; her shoulders droop, her hands
Are ruddy with the glow of quickened pulses;
E'en now her agitated breath imparts
Unwonted tremor to her heaving breast;
The pearly drops that mar the recent bloom
Of the Sirisha pendant in her ear,
Gather in clustering circles on her cheek;
Loosed is the fillet of her hair: her hand
Restrains the locks that struggle to be free.
Suffer me, then, thus to discharge the debt for you.

[_Offers a ring to Priyamvada. Both the maidens, reading the name
Dushyanta on the seal, look at each other with surprise._

KING.--Nay, think not that I am King Dushyanta. I am only the king's
officer, and this is the ring which I have received from him as my
credentials.

PRIYAMVADA.--The greater the reason you ought not to part with the ring
from your finger. I am content to release her from her obligation at
your simple request. [_With a smile_.] Now, Sakoontala my love, you are
at liberty to retire, thanks to the intercession of this noble stranger,
or rather of this mighty prince.

SAKOONTALA [_aside_].--My movements are no longer under my own control.
[_Aloud_.] Pray, what authority have you over me, either to send me away
or keep me back?

KING [_gazing at Sakoontala. Aside_].--Would I could ascertain whether
she is affected towards me as I am towards her! At any rate, my hopes
are free to indulge themselves. Because,
Although she mingles not her words with mine,
Yet doth her listening ear drink in my speech;
Although her eye shrinks from my ardent gaze,
No form but mine attracts its timid glances.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--O hermits, be ready to protect the
animals belonging to our hermitage. King Dushyanta, amusing himself with
hunting, is near at hand.
Lo! by the feet of prancing horses raised,
Thick clouds of moving dust, like glittering swarms
Of locusts in the glow of eventide,
Fall on the branches of our sacred trees;
Where hang the dripping vests of woven bark,
Bleached by the waters of the cleansing fountain.
And see!
Scared b