Nagendra said:  “You need not speak; I know that you suspect me of feeling love for Kunda Nandini.”

Surja Mukhi, hiding her face at the feet of her husband, wept.  Again raising her face, sad and tearful as the dew-drenched lily, and looking into the face of him who could remove all her sorrows, she said:  “What can I say?  Can I tell you what I have suffered?  Only lest my death might increase your sorrow, I do not die.  Otherwise, when I knew that another shared your heart, I wished to die.  But people cannot die by wishing to do so.”

Nagendra remained long silent; then, with a heavy sigh, he said—­

“Surja Mukhi, the fault is entirely mine, not yours at all.  I have indeed been unfaithful to you; in truth, forgetting you, my heart has gone out towards Kunda Nandini.  What I have suffered, what I do suffer, how can I tell you?  You think I have not tried to conquer it; but you must not think so.  You could never reproach me so bitterly as I have reproached myself.  I am sinful; I cannot rule my own heart.”

Surja Mukhi could endure no more.  With clasped hands, she entreated bitterly—­

“Tell me no more; keep it to yourself.  Every word you say pierces my breast like a dart.  What was written in my destiny has befallen me.  I wish to hear no more; it is not fit for me to hear.”

“Not so, Surja Mukhi,” replied Nagendra; “you must listen.  Let me speak what I have long striven to say.  I will leave this house; I will not die, but I will go elsewhere.  Home and family no longer give me happiness.  I have no pleasure with you.  I am not fit to be your husband.  I will trouble you no longer.  I will find Kunda Nandini, and will go with her to another place.  Do you remain mistress of this house.  Regard yourself as a widow—­since your husband is so base, are you not a widow?  But, base as I am, I will not deceive you.  Now I go:  if I am able to forget Kunda, I will come again; if not, this is my last hour with you.”

What could Surja Mukhi say to these heart-piercing words?  For some moments she stood like a statue, gazing on the ground.  Then she cast herself down, hid her face, and wept.

As the murderous tiger gazes at the dying agonies of his prey, Nagendra stood calmly looking on.  He was thinking, “She will die to-day or to-morrow, as God may will.  What can I do?  If I willed it, could I die instead of her?  I might die; but would that save Surja Mukhi?”

No, Nagendra, your dying would not save Surja Mukhi; but it would be well for you to die.

After a time Surja Mukhi sat up; again clasping her husband’s feet, she said:  “Grant me one boon.”

“What is it?”

“Remain one month longer at home.  If in that time we do not find Kunda Nandini, then go; I will not keep you.”

Nagendra went out without reply.  Mentally he consented to remain for a month; Surja Mukhi understood that.  She stood looking after his departing figure, thinking within herself:  “My darling, I would give my life to extract the thorns from your feet.  You would leave your home on account of this wretched Surja Mukhi.  Are you or I the greater?”