“Has the Babu had any talk with you since he came home?  I am only a servant, you need not mind telling me.”

“I have had no talk with him.”

“How is that, Ma?  After so many days’ absence has he nothing to say to you?”

“He has not been near me,” and with these words fresh tears burst forth.

Hira was delighted.  She said, smiling, “Ma, why do you weep in this way?  Many people are over head and ears in trouble, yet you cry incessantly over one sorrow.  If you had as much to bear as I have, you would have destroyed yourself before this time.”

Suicide! this disastrous word struck heavily on the ear of Kunda; shuddering, she sat down.  During the night she had frequently contemplated this step, and these words from Hira’s mouth seemed to confirm her purpose.

Hira continued:  “Now hear what my troubles are.  I also loved a man more than my own life.  He was not my husband, but why should I hide my sin from my mistress? it is better to confess it plainly.”

These shameless words did not enter Kunda’s ear; in it the word “suicide” was repeating itself, as though a demon kept whispering, “Would it not be better for you to destroy yourself than to endure this misery?”

Hira continued:  “He was not my husband, but I loved him better than the best husband.  I knew he did not love me; he loved another sinner, a hundred times less attractive than I.”  At this point, Hira cast a sharp, angry glance from under her eyelids at Kunda, then went on:  “Knowing this, I did not run after him, but one day we were both wicked.”

Beginning thus, Hira briefly related the terrible history.  She mentioned no name, neither that of Debendra nor that of Kunda.  She said nothing from which it could be inferred whom she had loved, or who was beloved by him.  At length, after speaking of the abuse she had received, she said—­

“Now what do you suppose I did?”

“What did you do?”

“I went to a Kabiraj.  He has all sorts of poisons by which life can be destroyed.”

In low tones Kunda said, “After that?”

“I intended to kill myself.  I bought some poison, but afterwards I thought, ‘Why should I die for another?’ so I have kept the poison in a box.”

Hira brought from the corner of the room a box in which she kept the treasures received as rewards from her employers, and also what she got by less fair means.  Opening it, she showed the poison to Kunda, who eyed it as a cat does cream.  Then Hira, leaving the box open as though from absence of mind, began to console Kunda.  At this moment, suddenly, in the early dawn, sounds of happiness and rejoicing were heard in the household.  Hira darted forth in astonishment.  The ill-fated Kunda Nandini seized the opportunity to steal the poison from the box.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE CATASTROPHE.