groped under the pillows and mattress of the bed, bur the keys he could not find. Giribala stood near the door stiff and silent, like a marble image gazing at vacancy. Trembling with rage, Gopinath came to her, and said with an angry growl: ‘Give me your keys or you will repent it.’
Giribala did not answer, and Gopinath, pinning her to the wall, snatched away by force her bracelets, necklace and ring, and, giving her a parting kick, went away.
Nobody in the house woke up from his sleep, none in the neighbourhood knew of this outrage, the moonlight remained placid, and the peace of the night undisturbed. Hearts can be rent never to heal again amidst such serene silence.
The next morning Giribala said she was going to see her father, and left home. As Gopinath’s present destination was not known, and she was not responsible to anybody else in the house, her absence was not noticed.
The new play of Manorama was on rehearsal in the theatre where Gopinath was a constant visitor. Lavanga was practising for the part of the heroine Manorama, and Gopinath, sitting in
