tell me. I cannot bear to see you weep," said Jamini.
"—How I wish 'he' had come. When he left me I proudly told him he would repent and seek me again some day. Oh, if I could but see him at my death—if! Then—then I shall have forgotten all my sufferings through seven long years."
"Be comforted, love," said Jamini. "You will see him very soon. Rest assured you will."
"Ah, never. It is God's will that I should be denied even this momentary happiness, for I am on the very threshold of the next world."
"Dear sister, I did not think it proper to tell you without preparing you for the news lest the excitement should have any very bad effect on you. He is come. Gobindalal is here. Father wrote to tell him of your illness. He arrived only about two hours ago."
She made a feeble effort to rise, but Jamini prevented her. Tears flowed fast from her eyes. "Oh, bring him here," she said as soon as her emotion allowed her to speak. "Go quick—leave me alone. There is no time to be lost."
Jamini rose and left the room. In a little time with a soft faltering step Gobindalal after many years entered his own chamber.
There was death-like stillness in the room where in one corner a lamp burned low.
Sadly and softly he approached her and sat down by her side on the bed. Both remained mute for a while as they gazed at each other with eyes which overflowed with tears.
"Come nearer to me," she said when she had the control of her voice.
He crept closer to her and took her wasted hand in his. "Oh, can you forgive me, Bhramar!" he said, speaking hysterically.
"I have forgiven all—all before you could ask. May God forgive you."
There was a pause.
"Kiss me," she said again; "one last kiss to say that you love me yet."
He bent over her, he gently pushed the hair from her brow and kissed her, the tears gushing from his eyes. "Oh, I was mad when I left you," he said in the greatest anguish of his heart.
"I am happy." And her features lit up in the brightness of a smile. "Lay your hand in a farewell blessing on my head," she said again, "and—and speak the wish that I may be happy—hereafter." Then before he knew it, and while her hand was held in his, death stole imperceptibly upon her, and she passed out of life as quietly and peacefully as a child falls asleep on its mother's breast.
CHAPTER XV.
Bhramar's eyes were for ever closed upon this world. Gobindalal's mind was torn with grief. Poignant as his sorrow was he bore it calmly—a hurricane within, a deep tranquillity outside. With the help of his relations, to perform the last rites, he carried the remains of his wife to the place of cremation. And by the time all was over it was near day-break when with the rest he entered the water to bathe.
On his return home he sought his chamber where a ghastly vacancy stared him in the face on every side. He avoided company, and kept indoors to brood over his sorrow in solitude.
The day drew to a close, and night came on. He sat on where he was, reflecting upon the past and the present till after many weary waking hours sleep stole over his senses, and he forgot his sorrow and slept.
It was soon morning. The sun rose again, and the birds chirped among the trees; and he awoke to find the dull monotonous sky of daily life, and she gone for ever.
Gobindalal had loved two persons—Bhramar and Rohini. His love for the former lay in his heart, and she was his true and devoted wife. The latter he loved for her looks. His love for her lay in his eyes, and therefore it was bound to be shortlived. His senses had been caught by her beauty, although his heart was elsewhere. When he left his wife he knew that he was doing her a great wrong, but he was so mad after Rohini that he was determined to have her at any cost. The moment he was disenchanted his eyes opened. Then he was filled with remorse. Then he fully realised the difference between these two kinds of love. The one pure and unselfish, the other impure and selfish. The one love, the other desire. The one heaven, and the other hell. His behaviour to his wife broke her heart and finally laid her on a
