"What I had to say" replied Tilottama, "I have said. What more shall I say?"
Bimala perceived from Tilottama's voice that she was weeping. Bimala laid her hand on Tilottama's head, and raised her face; it was bedewed with tears; Bimala felt the flowing end of Tilottama's cloth, and found it thoroughly wet. She then touched the pillow on which the latter had reposed her head, and also found it wet.
"How long can you stand this constant weeping?" said Bimala.
"And wherefore should I stand it?" said Tilottama eagerly. "The only regret is that I have stood it so long."
Bimala became silent and began to weep.
"But what's to be done for to-night?" asked Bimala with a deep sigh, after a pause.
Tilottama eyed Bimala's ornaments with displeasure.
"What's the need of thinking of that?" said she.
"My child," replied Bimala; "don't you slight me. You don't yet know Katlu Khan well. Partly for want of leisure, and partly to allow our grief to subside, the villain has spared us so long. I have ere this told you, to-day ends our freedom. I don't know what danger will befall us, should he miss us at the dancing saloon."
"What more danger can possibly befall us?"—said Tilottama.
"Tilottama," said Bimala rather calmly, "why do you at once despair? Still we have life—still we have innocence. So long as we have life—so long we will keep our innocence intact."
"Why then, mother?" Tilottama then said, "Fling off those ornaments; they are an eye-sore to see."
