Binodini, suddenly becoming grave. "Yet the debtor has been made captive."
"Is this then no better than a gaol, friend Eyesore?" said Mahendra becoming also grave.
The boy came in with a lighted lamp, which he placed on the table. Binodini shaded her eyes with her palm from the sudden light. "Who knows, friend?" she said in reply. "There's no getting even with you in words. Let me go now. I've got other duties to attend to."
Mahendra clasped her hand as he said: "Since you've allowed yourself to he made captive, you shall not be released!"
"Unhand me, for shame!" cried Binodini. "Why want to bind me when I've no way of escape?" With which she tore away her hand and left the room.
Mahendra fell back on the scented cushions, the blood throbbing within his breast. What with the quiet of the evening, the solitude of the room, the breath of the new spring, he felt he could hardly contain himself. He put out the lamp, bolted the yenetian door, barred the glazed sashes and retired for the night, though it was quite early yet.
Even the bed seemed different; with an extra quilt over the mattress it was softer, and again there was a subtle perfume of khuskhus.[1] Mahendra tossed from side to side, as if trying to recover some token of the past to cling to; but they all seemed to elude his grasp.
At nine o'clock in the evening there was a knock at the closed door. Binodini was standing outside, saying: "Friend Mahin, your supper is waiting, open the door."
Mahendra jumped up to undo the fastenings, but as he touched the bar he stopped short, and throwing himself on the floor-bed, he cried out: "No, no, I'm not hungry, I don't want anything."
The anxious reply was heard: "Is anything the matter with you? Shall I bring you some water, is there anything else you'd like?"
"Nothing, thank you, nothing!"
"Don't keep anything back from me, please. If you're all right, why aren't you opening the door?"
"Mahendra almost shouted as he hurriedly replied: "No, no, I'm not going to open the door, not for worlds. Do go away!" with which he again got into bed, and resumed his gropings in the darkness, in the emptiness of his bed, in the turmoil of his heart, for some memory of the absent Asha.
Finding that sleep would not come, Mahendra got up, lit the lamp, and sat down with paper and pen to write a letter to Asha.
Oh my Asha, do not leave me alone here any longer. You are my good Angel,[2] when you are not with me my desires break their bonds and try to run away with me, I know not whither. Where is the light to guide me on to the right path—your trustful loving eyes alone can give it. O my true, my only one, come back to me, keep me safe, keep me filled with yourself. Rescue me from the sin of doing you wrong, the terrible fate of forgetting your love.
Thus Mahendra, to spur himself on towards Asha, kept writing through the long night hours. The distant church-clocks chimed, one after another, the hour of three. The sound of passing carriages in the street had almost entirely ceased. The Vehaga tune which was being voiced by some neighbouring dancing-girl had long since died away into the prevailing silence of sleep. Mahendra, somewhat consoled with the outpourings of his heart which he had addressed to Asha, went back to bed and this time fell asleep at once.
It was late when he woke next morning. The rays of the sun had entered his room. As he sat up he felt the tension of last night considerably lightened. Coming out of bed he saw the letter he had written lying on the table. "What have I been doing?" thought he. "What a sentimental ass I've been. How lucky I didn't post it! What would Asha have thought of me—the poor girl wouldn't have understood half of it!" Mahendra felt miserably ashamed think how he had been worked up, and for what a trifling reason. He tore up that letter and wrote a short and simple one in its place:
How much longer are you going to be? If your guardian is not returning soon, just let me know and I will run over and fetch you. I am not feeling a bit happy all alone!
XXVI
Annapurna was rather alarmed to find Asha come to her so soon after Mahendra's return. She put all sorts of questions to her—"So, Chuni, this Eyesore of yours you were telling me of, you think her the most accomplished person in the world?"
"It's quite true, Kaki, I'm not exag-
