KING [gazing at Sakoontala].—­Alas! can this indeed be my Sakoontala? 
    Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face
    Emaciate with fasting, her long hair
    Twined in a single braid, her whole demeanor
    Expressive of her purity of soul: 
    With patient constancy she thus prolongs
    The vow to which my cruelty condemned her.

SAKOONTALA [gazing at the King, who is pale with remorse].  Surely this is not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares pollute by the pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should protect him from a stranger’s touch?

CHILD [going to his mother].—­Mother, who is this man that has been kissing me and calling me his son?

KING.—­My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am now once more thy fond and affectionate lover.  Refuse not to acknowledge me as thy husband.

SAKOONTALA [aside].—­Be of good cheer, my heart.  The anger of Destiny is at last appeased.  Heaven regards thee with compassion.  But is he in very truth my husband?

KING.—­Behold me, best and loveliest of women,
    Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness
    That erst oppressed my memory.  Again
    Behold us brought together by the grace
    Of the great lord of Heaven.  So the moon
    Shines forth from dim eclipse, to blend his rays
    With the soft lustre of his Rohini.

SAKOONTALA.--May my husband be victorious------
[She stops short, her voice choked with tears.

KING.—­O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer
    Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears,
    Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance,
    And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned
    And colorless in sorrow for my absence,
    Make me already more than conqueror.

CHILD.—­Mother, who is this man?

SAKOONTALA.—­My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny.

KING [falling at Sakoontala’s feet].—­Fairest of women, banish from
thy mind
    The memory of my cruelty; reproach
    The fell delusion that overpowered my soul,
    And blame not me, thy husband; ’tis the curse
    Of him in whom the power of darkness reigns,
    That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves
    For deadly evils.  Even though a friend
    Should wreathe a garland on a blind man’s brow,
    Will he not cast it from him as a serpent?

SAKOONTALA.—­Rise, my own husband, rise.  Thou wast not to blame.  My own evil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this judgment upon me.  How else could my husband, who was ever of a compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly? [The King rises.] But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine unfortunate wife return to thy mind?