It was now for the first time that fear seized Shaibalini. Was it fear? No, not exactly that. The range of human intellect, in a state of equilibrium, has well defined limits—poor Shaibalini had gone beyond that. She had nothing on earth to be afraid of; for her life had become an unbearable burden, and she felt that the sooner she could lay it down the better for her. All she could prize besides life, such as happiness, virtue, honour, caste and family distinction, she had already lost. What else had she to lose? How could fear be possible at such a stage of life? On that day, or perhaps before, Shaibalini had banished from her heart the fond hope which she had, from the very early years of her life, secretly fostered, with tender care—she had abandoned her most dear thing on earth for which she had willingly sacrificed all the pleasures and happiness of this world. After this, it was quite natural that her mind became deranged and lost all its strength and energy. Her body too was enfeebled; for she had no food for two days, and the fatigue and exhaustion caused in ascending the hills, through a thorny and inaccessible path, during a severe storm, had proved simply
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