Pratap could not at once turn away his eyes from so captivating a sight. It was not that Pratap lost himself in the fascination of that beauty or became a slave of his senses, that he could not turn away his eyes, but it was in abstraction that he gazed at that beautiful spectacle like a spellbound spectator. Thousand remembrances of a distant past came into his mind—all on a sudden the depth of his memory was stirred up, and waves of recollections began to strike themselves one against another.
Shaibalini had not fallen asleep. She was but reflecting on her situation, with her eyes closed. Finding her in that position Ramcharan had concluded that she had been sleeping. In her deep abstraction, Shaibalini could not hear the footsteps of Pratap when he entered the room. Pratap had come upstairs with the gun in hand. He now placed the gun against the wall. He was then in a state of forgetfulness and so the gun had not been carefully placed; it slipped and fell down on the floor. Shaibalini opened her eyes at the noise, and saw Pratap. She sat up on the bed, rubbed her eyes, and exclaimed with emotion,
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