It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the room.  The night was fearful.  Late in the evening some rain had fallen; now the wind had risen and was blowing fiercely, the rain continuing at intervals.  Wherever the shutters were not fastened they flapped to and fro with the noise of thunder-claps, the sashes rattling continuously.  When Nagendra closed the door the noise was less noticeable.  There was another door near the bedstead, but as the wind did not blow in that direction he left it open.  Nagendra sat on the sofa, weeping bitterly.  How often had he sat there with Surja Mukhi; what pleasant talks they had had!  Again and again Nagendra embraced that senseless seat; then raising his face he looked at the pictures so dear to Surja Mukhi.  In the fitful light of the lamp the figures in the pictures seemed to be alive; in each picture Nagendra saw Surja Mukhi.  He remembered that one day she expressed a wish to be decked with flowers like Uma in the picture.  He had gone forth, brought in flowers from the garden, and with them decked her person.  What beauty decked with jewels had ever felt the pleasure felt by Surja Mukhi at that moment?  Another day she had desired to drive Nagendra’s carriage in imitation of Subhadra; whereupon he had brought a small carriage drawn by ponies to the inner garden.  They both got in, Surja Mukhi taking the reins; like Subhadra, she turned her face towards Nagendra, biting her lower lip and laughing.  The ponies, taking advantage of her inattention, went through an open gate into the road.  Then Surja Mukhi, afraid of being seen by the people, drew her sari over her face, and Nagendra, seeing her distress, took the reins and brought the carriage back into the garden.  They went into the chamber laughing over the adventure, and Surja Mukhi shook her fist at Subhadra in the picture, saying, “You are the cause of this misfortune.”

How bitterly Nagendra wept over this remembrance!  Unable longer to endure his suffering he walked about; but look where he would there were signs of Surja Mukhi.  On the wall where the artist had drawn twining plants she had sketched a copy of one of them; the sketch remained there still.  One day during the Dol festival she had thrown a ball of red powder at her husband; she had missed her aim and struck the wall, where still the stain was visible.  When the room was finished, Surja Mukhi had written in one spot—­

“In the year 1910 of Vikramaditya
    This room was prepared
For my Guardian Deity, my husband,
    By his servant
        SURJA MUKHI.”

Nagendra read this inscription repeatedly.  He could not satisfy his desire to read it.  Though the tears filled his eyes so that he could not see, he would not desist.  As he read he perceived the light becoming dim, and found the lamp ready to expire.  With a sigh he laid down; but scarcely had he done so ere the wind began to rage furiously.  The lamp, void of oil, was on the point of extinction,