it is too
late. For as it seems, she will break her heart, in a little while,
whether she goes away with me, or not.

And then, he lifted her in his arms, and went away quickly through the
trees, down the hill.

III

THE DESERT AND THE NIGHT

III

THE DESERT AND THE NIGHT

I

So, then, night followed day, and day succeeded night, in order. And the
new moon waxed, and waned: and every day the sun rose up as usual, and
travelled slowly on, till he sank at eve, over the sand, beyond the
western hill. And then at last, there came a day, when just as he was
sinking, it happened that Babhru sat alone, watching him as he went
down, at that very same place in the wood where he had parted last from
Aranyani, the day she disappeared. And strange! short as had been the
interval of time, he was altered, and it seemed as though years had
rolled over him, writing on him in an instant the wrinkles of old age.
For he looked like an incarnation of dejection, worn and wan, with eyes
that were red and hollow, as if sleep had fled away from them, ousted by
her jealous rivals, sorrow and her sister care. And as he saw the sun
just on the very point of going down, he murmured to himself: He is but
showing me the way, and now very soon, I shall follow his example,
abandoning like him a birth, in which my business is done. For what is
the use of this miserable body, deserted and forsaken by its soul, and
left lying empty, and utterly forgotten, and despised? not even knowing
where to look, or where that soul is gone: this body, which long ago I
would have quitted not only without regretting it, but even with
delight, could but I know for certain that Aranyani is actually dead,
and unable to return: since but for the hope of that return, I should
have ceased to live these many days. Alas! I cannot even tell, whether
she is dead, or still alive. And yet it cannot be: she is not dead. And
yet, she is nowhere to be found: for I have searched the wood a hundred
times from end to end, till there is not a single one of all its leaves
I have not turned upside down, and all in vain. For she has vanished
like a dream, leaving not so much as even the shadow of a clue behind:
and she resembles a drop of dew, dried by the sun at noon on the leaf of
a red lotus, with nothing but the memory of those who saw it in the
morning to show that it was ever there. She has gone, I know not how, I
know not where; snatched away and stolen, and i