with his wife, he should live away from his native village and his home.
Gobindalal, however, could not make up his mind to go home; and he continued to live in Calcutta.
CHAPTER XIV.
It happened that Bhramar fell so ill again that she became confined to her bed. On hearing of it her sister, Jamini, came to Haridragram to nurse her. The doctor, under whose treatment she had been placed, was not without his fears about her. Her disease was rapidly on the increase, eating into her vitals, until her strength completely failed. Then it seemed that death was not distant. Madhabinath was now constantly by his daughter's bedside, feeding her, and administering medicine, with his own hands.
A month flew by. She was worse and worse. The doctor could well see what the end would be, and ventured one day to pronounce that her case was hopeless.
"Dear sister," said Bhramar to Jamini, "I shall never get well again. It is no use my taking medicine any longer, for I feel that the cold hand of death is upon me. I love a moon-light night. If I die next month I wish it could be on the night of the full moon. I shall wait the day, sister. Something in me tells me that I shall not outlive it."
Jamini wept.
They urged her no more to take medicine, for they felt it was no use. However, as time went on she was found more and more cheerful till she again seemed as jolly and jocose as in the happy old days. In vain did Jamini entertain a hope that she might yet recover when for the first time for many days she found her sister in such good spirits. She little thought that her cheerfulness was only like the flash of a lamp about to go out.
Her end drew nearer and nearer; yet she was calm and wore a smile on her face. At length arrived that last terrible day and she knew it by Jamini's silent weeping and an exchange of significant looks among those about, who had called to see her. There was an awful silence in the house. "I feel very uneasy; I fear to-day is the last day of my life," she said when she was alone with her sister.
Jamini burst into loud sobs.
"Do not weep," she said, "oh, do not, dear sister, until I am gone. I have only a few hours left. I wish to talk to you while I can."
She wiped away her tears and nestled closer to her, trying to look more easy as she smoothed back a few stray locks that fell over the pale brow.
"I wish to be alone with you for a while, sister," said Bhramar. "I wish for something."
Evening drew on, and then it ran into night.
"Is it a moon-light night?" asked Bhramar.
Jamini stepped up to an open window and said it was.
"Open the window nearest me, top and bottom, and let me look upon the moon-light," she said. "I love it very much."
Jamini did as she was asked, and let in a flood of moon-light, that lit up a portion of the sick-room.
"Dear sister," she said again, "will you open that window there and see if there are any flowers growing in the garden below?"
Seven years before in summer-time Gobindalal used occasionally at day-break to stand at the window indicated to enjoy the freshness of the dawn and the sweet perfume of flowers wafted from the garden below. That window had never been opened since, and her sister had now some difficulty in throwing it open for its having for long been allowed to remain closed.
Jamini looked attentively. "I see nothing," said she, "except a few withered trees and a rank growth of weeds and other useless plants."
"Seven years before there was a garden there," said Bhramar, sighing. "For want of care the trees have withered and died out."
A silence fell between them. After a while she said again, "I love flowers. Will you order a maid to get me some?"
The order was quickly given to a servant woman, and in a little time she brought in a quantity of roses and other sweet-smelling flowers.
"Strew these on my bed," she said, "as on the night following my bridal."
Jamini did it with an affectionate care.
"That will do," she said. "But—oh, how I wish—" She stopped; and a big tear slowly coursed down her cheek.
"What else you wish done, dear? Oh,
