and when we arrived it was still daylight. During the entire length of our journey, my father and uncle Radharaman were busy holding a whispered consultation. I could indeed have easily caught their words, but somehow I could not fix my attention on anything at the time.
Nobody had expected much pomp or ceremony in that poor house. Yet even what little they had expected they did not get. Only a few friends and relations of the bride were present. The place was poorly lighted by two or three torches and a torn, dusty shamiyana had been put up in the yard.
The welcome however was hearty and cordial enough. My father and uncle took their seats with very grave faces. The father of the bride went about with folded hands trying to propitiate his honoured guests.
I was taken into the inner apartment, which was full of women, and presented a truly festive appearance. We men require all sorts of arrangements to enable us to be merry, but merriment comes so naturally to women that they can be joyous under the most adverse circumstances.
When the bride was brought out among the men I looked at her, but could see little except her crimson silk dress. She was now to be made mine ceremonially in the presence of all, but already I looked upon her as mine, as the gift of a certain glowing twilight. She who had stolen into my heart in the silent evening was again being brought to me in the crowded and clamorous light.
As soon as she had been brought in, my father and uncle came forward and looked her up and down very intently. Then cried my uncle "Where are the ornaments of the bride. Let them be brought here and shown to all."
Surama's father stammered in reply, "These are all the ornaments I could afford. You see them on her person now."
