us, it may be, hadst
thou never come. And should my father suddenly return, and find thee, it
would be worse. Why need I tell thee what thou knowest very well? And
what good can come to thee, by longing for what is forbidden? Thou dost
only add fuel to the flame of thy fever, which I, did I do my duty,
ought rather to quench, by pouring over it the cold water of distance
and separation. But my compassion for thee fights with my obedience to
my father, for I am only a woman after all, and very weak; and it may
be, I love thee just a very little. So be content with all that I can
give thee, and do not come again, but recover from thy fears, and forget
me. I cannot be thy wife, but I wish thee well. And now goodbye, and go
away.

So as she stood, dismissing him, Babhru turned without a word, and went
away into the wood, very slowly, while she watched him go. And she put
both her hands behind her head, and stood looking after him, absolutely
still. And as fate would have it, he turned round, just before he passed
out of sight, and looked back, and saw her standing, gazing after him
with a smile, with every outline of her round and slender woman's form
standing out sharp as the moon's rim, as if on purpose to intoxicate his
eye, against the background of the distant sand, like a threefold
incarnation of his inaccessible desire, and his disappearing happiness,
and his irrevocable farewell, in a feminine shape. And all at once he
came back to her with hurried steps. And he reached her, and fell down
before her, and seized a corner of her red garment that was loose, and
kissed it. And then he started up. And he said, in a voice that shook,
with tears stealing from his eyes: Well I understand that I am looking
at thee, for the very last time.

And then he turned, and went away very quickly, without looking round:
while she stood in agitation, looking after him, till he disappeared
among the trees.

II

A GLAMOUR OF NOON

II

A GLAMOUR OF NOON

I

So she stood, a long while, gazing in the direction of his departure,
touched by his emotion into an emotion, that was more than half
compassion, of her own, and sorry, yet fearing above all things to see
him return. And then at last, as if satisfied that he was actually gone,
she turned away. And she murmured to herself: Alas! poor Babhru, hadst
thou but known how near thy fear came to the very truth, I doubt whether
I could ever have got thee to go away at a