ed on the hills; it was not possible to find out a smooth track in the midst of the rank growth of little shrubs and creepers. Her hands too were bleeding at the thorns and pricks of those wild plants, the sharp pointed ends of broken boughs and the stump of trees. Now commenced Shaibalini's penance. All these, however, did not cause pain and suffering to Shaibalini. She had made up her mind to undergo that penance. Willingly and of her own accord, she had deserted the blissful society, and entered into that dreadful wilderness of the hills, full of wild and ferocious beasts. So long she lay immersed in the dark and endless abyss of sin, and would not the burden of her crime be lightened if she would now undergo the penance by calmly bearing the inflictions of pain and suffering? So Shaibalini, sick with thirst and hunger—her body bleeding all over—began to ascend the hills without any rest. No beaten track could be seen—the falling shade of night had then covered everything with darkness. But then, even during the day it was not possible to trace out a way of easy access in the midst of the overgrowing shrubs and innumerable stones of those hills. Shaibalini, therefore,
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