And I went home feeling like a man saved from the very mouth of death,
saying to myself: Now then, happen what will! for at least I have
secured the key of the door leading to Táráwalí, in the form of her
maid. And now, it may be, I shall see her very soon. For beyond a
doubt, there has been some blunder, or perhaps she was occupied with
business of moment, that left her no leisure for affairs like mine.
And all my fears may have been in vain. And at least, I can wait with
hope, and not as I did before, in horrible despair, cut off from every
means of communication. And I sat with a heart almost at peace,
prepared to wait till the coming of Chaturiká on the following day.
But it turned out contrary to my expectation. For I had been waiting
for little more than a single hour, when there came a knock at the
door. And when I opened, there stood Chaturiká again. And she said
rapidly: The Queen will await thee in the garden to-night at sunset.
And I exclaimed, with a shout of joy: Ha! sunset! It is as I thought.
Well I knew there was some mistake, and that she could not fail. And
beyond a doubt, she had forgotten the time, remembering only when
reminded by thee. Victory to thee, O Chaturiká! for to thee alone I
owe the sunset, and now I will give thee for it almost anything thou
canst ask. And Chaturiká said: Give me nothing. And she stood in
silence, looking at me with strange eyes, in which, as it seemed, pity
and curiosity seemed to be mingled with compunction and some element
that I could not understand. And suddenly she came to me, and laid her
hand upon my arm. And she whispered very quickly, as if she was half
afraid of what she said: Do not go. And then, she turned and vanished
from the room, as if to escape before I had time to ask for
explanation.
And I said to myself, looking after her in wonder: What! do not go? So
then, as it seems, there will be danger. But little does she know me,
if she thinks that any danger would keep me from the Queen. And
indeed, in the garden there is room for any number of assassins, if
Narasinha or anybody else were jealous of my visiting Táráwalí.
Danger! And I laughed in derision, that was mixed with intoxication,
as if the very notion of danger from a rival added, somehow or other,
to the sweetness of anticipation, by stamping me as a claimant to the
affection of Táráwalí who was greatly to be feared. And all at once,
light broke in, as it were, upon my soul. And I cried out in ecstasy:
Danger! Ha! at last, all the mystery is solved. It was danger that
prevented my Táráwalí from sending me any message or bidding me to
come. And all the while she knew it, and she had to be very careful,
fearing for my life. And suddenly, I struck my hands together, and I
cried: Ha! what a fool I am! Why, she told me so herself, when I saw
her for the second time, and yet I had forgotten it. And all this
while, in the peevishness of my own oblivion and presumption, I have
been blaming her, expecting things utterly unreasonable, and loading
her extraordinary sweetness with miserable suspicions arising from my
own imagination, and the blindness of my insatiable passion. Ah!
Táráwalí, forgive me if I wronged thee! But I will make it up to thee
to-night, and beg for thy divine forgiveness at thy feet. And all this
hesitation was all the while only on my account: and yet, brute that I
was! I never guessed it, till Chaturiká gave me, as it were, a hint,
and put me upon the scent. And what else was her delay but an
irrefutable proof of her affection, showing that she chose even to
allow herself to be misinterpreted rather than let me run on her
account into the danger that she knew.
And instantly, all the clouds of darkness and desolation rolled away
in a body from my soul, leaving it bathing in the ruddy glow of
sunset, and passion, and emotion, exactly as it was before. And I
waited, plunged in the ecstasy of reminiscence and anticipation, till
at last the sun began to sink. And then, once more I went, on feet
dancing with agitation and delight, to the palace gates, and saw the
_pratihárí_ standing waiting as before. And as I entered, never
doubting that she had instructions of my coming, she barred the way,
saying: What is thy business? And I said: I have come by appointment
to see the Queen. Then said the _pratihárí_: Thou must come another
time, for the Queen is not here.
And I stopped short, as if she had suddenly run a dagger into my
heart. And I said in a low voice: Not here? It cannot be. Thou art
mistaken. And the _pratihárí_ said: There is no mistake at all. She is
gone. And I said: Gone? Where? When? And she said: She went within
this hour, to visit her maternal uncle; for want, as I think, of
something better to do. And when she will return, I cannot say.
And then, my heart stopped. And I stood for a single instant, erect,
and I turned, as if to go away. And all at once, there came from the
very middle of my heart, a cry, that tore me as it were to pieces,
and I fell in the street like a dead man.