Putting down his guitar, Debendra wiped away her tears.  Hira shivered.  Then Debendra began such pleasant jesting, mingled with loving speeches, and adorned his conversation with such ambiguous phrases, that Hira, entranced, thought, “This is heavenly joy!” Never had she heard such words.  If her senses had not been bewildered she would have thought, “This is hell.”

Debendra had never known real love; but he was very learned in the love language of the old poets.  Hearing from Debendra songs in praise of the inexpressible delights of love, Hira thought of giving herself up to him.  She became steeped in love from head to foot.  Then again Debendra sang with the voice of the first bird of spring.  Hira, inspired by love, joined in with her feminine voice.  Debendra urged her to sing.  Hira, with sparkling eyes and smiling face, impelled by her happy feelings, sang a love song, a petition for love.  Then, sitting in that evil room, with sinful hearts, the two, under the influence of evil desires, bound themselves to live in sin.

Hira knew how to subdue her heart, but having no inclination to do so she entered the flame as easily as an insect.  Her belief that Debendra did not love her had been her protection until now.  When her love for Debendra was but in the germ she smilingly confessed it to herself, but turned away from him without hesitation.  When the full-grown passion pierced her heart she took service to distract her thoughts.  But when she imagined he loved her she had no desire to resist.  Therefore she now had to eat the fruit of the poison tree.

People say that you do not see sin punished in this world.  Be that true or not, you may be sure that those who do not rule their own hearts will have to bear the consequences.

CHAPTER XXX.

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI.

It is late autumn.  The waters from the fields are drying up; the rice crop is ripening; the lotus flowers have disappeared from the tanks.  At dawn, dew falls from the boughs of the trees; at evening, mist rises over the plains.  One day at dawn a palanquin was borne along the Madhupur road.  At this sight all the boys of the place assembled in a row; all the daughters and wives, old and young, resting their water-vessels on the hip, stood awhile to gaze.  The husbandmen, leaving the rice crop, sickle in hand and with turbaned heads, stood staring at the palanquin.  The influential men of the village sat in committee.  A booted foot was set down from the palanquin:  the general opinion was that an English gentleman had arrived; the children thought it was Bogie.

When Nagendra Natha had descended from the palanquin, half a dozen people saluted him because he wore pantaloons and a smoking-cap.  Some thought he was the police inspector; others that he was a constable.  Addressing an old man in the crowd, Nagendra inquired for Siva Prasad Brahmachari.