He would not give Surja Mukhi’s ornaments to his sister, but would keep them beside him wherever he went, and when his time came would die looking at them.  After completing the needful arrangements he would leave home, revisit the spot where Surja Mukhi had died, and then resume his wandering life.  So long as he should live he would hide in some corner of the earth.

Such were Nagendra’s thoughts as he was borne on in his palanquin; its doors were open, the night was lightened by the October moon, stars shone in the sky.  The telegraph-wires by the wayside hummed in the wind; but on that night not even a star could seem beautiful in the eyes of Nagendra, even the moonlight seemed harsh.  All things seemed to give pain.  The earth was cruel.  Why should everything that seemed beautiful in days of happiness seem to-day so ugly?  Those long slender moonbeams by which the heart was wont to be refreshed, why did they now seem so glaring?  The sky is to-day as blue, the clouds as white, the stars as bright, the wind as playful; the animal creation, as ever, rove at will.  Man is as smiling and joyous, the earth pursues its endless course, family affairs follow their daily round.  The world’s hardness is unendurable.  Why did not the earth open and swallow up Nagendra in his palanquin?

Thus thinking, Nagendra perceived that he was himself to blame for all.  He had reached his thirty-third year only, yet he had lost all.  God had given him everything that makes the happiness of man.  Riches, greatness, prosperity, honour—­all these he had received from the beginning in unwonted measure.  Without intelligence these had been nothing, but God had given that also without stint.  His education had not been neglected by his parents; who was so well instructed as himself?  Beauty, strength, health, lovableness—­these also nature had given to him with liberal hand.  That gift which is priceless in the world, a loving, faithful wife, even this had been granted to him; who on this earth had possessed more of the elements of happiness? who was there on earth to-day more wretched?  If by giving up everything, riches, honour, beauty, youth, learning, intelligence, he could have changed conditions with one of his palanquin-bearers, he would have considered it a heavenly happiness.  “Yet why a bearer?” thought he; “is there a prisoner in the gaols of this country who is not more happy than I? not more holy than I?  They have slain others; I have slain Surja Mukhi.  If I had ruled my passions, would she have been brought to die such a death in a strange place?  I am her murderer.  What slayer of father, mother, or son, is a greater sinner than I?  Was Surja Mukhi my wife only?  She was my all.  In relation a wife, in friendship a brother, in care a sister, abounding in hospitality, in love a mother, in devotion a daughter, in pleasure a friend, in counsel a teacher, in attendance a servant!  My Surja Mukhi! who else possesses such a wife?  A helper in domestic affairs, a fortune