"Why, Pratap? Let us get up on the bank," said Shaibalini in great anxiety.
Pratap. I won't get up—I will die here.
Pratap left the support.
Shaibalini. Why do you say so, Pratap?
Pratap. It is no joke—I will surely drown myself here. Let me have your hand.
Shaibalini. What do you want of me, Pratap? I will do anything you like, for your sake.
Pratap. First make a promise to me, and then I shall get up.
Shaibalini too now left the support. In her eyes, the stars ceased to shine, the moon grew pale and sickly, and the blue water of the river seemed to blaze like blue fire. She saw, as if Foster had come and stood before her in a threatening attitude, with a sword in hand. Pratap and Shaibalini were swimming side by side, close to each other. The heart-rending conversation between them was going on in the midst of the pattering noise of the breaking ripples. The smiling image of the glorious moon could then be seen most charmingly reflected in the fine particles of water which were shooting up in silvery fountains on all sides. This again, was
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