“I am trying—­to understand.”  Her voice was small and contained.  The courage and control of it unsteadied him more than any passionate protest.  Yet he hurried on in the same low tone.

“Of course, I ought to have thought.  But, as I say, it seemed natural....  Only—­on Dewali night——­”

She caught her breath.  “Yes—­Dewali night.  Mai Lakshmi knew. Why did you not say it then?”

“Well ... so soon—­I wasn’t sure ...  I hoped going away might give us both a chance.  It seemed the best I could do,” he pleaded.  “And—­there was Dyan.  I’m not vamping up excuses, Aruna.  If you hate me for hurting you so——­”

“Roy—­you shall not say it!” she cried, roused at last.  “Could I hate ... the heart in my own body!”

“Better for us both perhaps if you could!” he jerked out, rising abruptly, not daring to let the full force of her confession sink in.  “But—­because of my father, I promised.  No getting over that.”

She was silent:—­a silence more moving, more compelling than speech.  Was she wondering—­had he not promised...?  Was he certain himself?  Near enough to swear by; and the impulse to comfort her was overwhelming.

“If—­if things had been different, Aruna,” he added with grave tenderness, “of course I would be asking you now ... to be my wife.”

At that, the tension of her control seemed to snap; and hiding her face, she sat there shaken all through with muffled, broken-hearted sobs.

“Don’t—­oh, don’t!” he cried low, his own nerves quivering with her pain.

“How can I not” she wailed, battling with fresh sobs.  “Because of your Indian mother—­I hoped....  But for me—­England-returned—­no hope anywhere:  no true country now; no true belief; no true home; everything divided in two; only my heart—­not divided.  And that you cannot have, even if you would——­”

Tears threatened again.  It was all he could do not to take her in his arms.

“If—­if they would only leave me alone,” she went on, clenching her small hands to steady herself.  “But impossible to change all the laws of our religion for one worthless me.  They will insist I shall marry—­even Dyan; and I cannot—­I cannot——!”

Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the chance and the hour and the grave tenderness of his assurance.  No time for shrinking or doubt.  Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her cloak—­that had come unlinked—­dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a slim strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds.

“Roy—­Dilkusha!” Involuntarily her hands went out to him.  “If it is true ... you are caring—­and if I must not belong to you, there is a way you can belong to me without trouble for any one.  If—­if we make pledge of betrothal ... for this one night, if you hold me this one hour ...  I am safe.  For me that pledge would be sacred—­as marriage, because I am still Hindu.  Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins—­not worthy to be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always Swami Bakht—­worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my heart.”