IV

So then, time passed, and these two lovers lived together, she in the

heaven of having discovered the very fruit of her birth, and he half in

heaven and half outside, hovering for ever between delight and

discontent, balanced in a swing of hesitation between assertion and

denial, that like that other swing of hers was hardly ever still. And

little by little, as surfeit brought satiety, and custom wore away the

bloom of novelty, and familiarity began to rob her beauty of the edge of

its appeal, and emotion lost, by repetition, its sincerity, and

passion's fire began to cool, and the flood of desire to ebb, then

exactly as that cunning Gangadhara foretold, the doubt that, like a

seed, lay waiting in his soul began, seeing its opportunity, to swell

and grow, till there came to be no room for any feeling but itself. And

unawares, he used to sit gazing at her, with eyes that did not seem to

see her, as if continually striving to compare her with some other thing

that was not there, till under their scrutiny she shrank away and left

them, unable to endure, turning away a face that became paler and ever

paler, half with apprehension of discovery, and half with jealousy and

resentful indignation: for only too well her heart understood what was

passing in his soul, though he never dared to tell her, out of shame at

having to confess, that in return for the free and absolute gift of her

soul, he was yielding her only a fragment of his own, and even that,

with suspicion and reluctance: converting the very completeness of her

surrender into an argument against her, as if she did from policy alone

what came from the very bottom of her heart. And he seemed to her to say

by his behaviour: Did she not throw herself into my arms uninvited,

without even waiting to be asked, of her own accord, like an

_abhisarika_, and could such a one as this be really the wife that I was

looking for? Does it become a maiden, even a Widyadhari, to be bolder

than a man? And why is it, that for all that she can say, and all that

she can do, she never can succeed in arousing any corresponding

sympathy, or producing a conviction that we ever met before? And is this

the union I expected, devoid of that overwhelming mutual recognition

that would leap like fire out of the darkness of oblivion, if the

associations of a previous existence were really there?

So she would sit thinking, and watching him furtively, sitting in her

swing, and swaying gently to and fro, gazing out over the sea. And she

used to say sadly to herself: Now, as it seems, all my endeavours have

been fruitless; for do what I can, all my labours are unavailing. And I

have given myself away, and sacrificed all my magic sciences, for

nought. For it is clear that he cares for absolutely nothing, in

comparison with this dream of this wife of his previous birth. And yet

what could she, or any other wife whatever, give to him, or for him,

more than I have given. What! is the wife of the present birth so

absolutely less than nothing, compared with the wife of the past? What!

has not one birth the same value as another? And if she was the wife of

that birth, then I am the wife of this. Very sure I am, that she cannot

love him as well as I. Have I not become, from a Widyadhari, a mortal,

solely on his account. And yet, who knows? For it may be, I am

impatient, and am hoping to succeed, too soon; anticipating, and

expecting to pluck the flower of his full affection before the seed that

I have sown has had full time to grow. Well then, I will water it, and

watch it, and let it ripen. And I will strive, in the very teeth of his

prepossession, to overcome his stubborn recollection, and uproot it, not

by ill-humour or peevish premature despair, but by flooding him with all

the sweetness that I can. Yes, I will conquer him by becoming so utterly

his slave, that for very shame he will find himself obliged to sacrifice

his dream to me.

V

So then, as she said, she did. And making herself as it were of no

account, and utterly disregarding the absence of reciprocal affection in

a soul that held itself as it were, with obstinacy, aloof, she set

herself to thaw his ice by a constancy of service that resembled the

rays of a burning sun. And she met all his suspicion and his scrutiny by

such invariable tenderness, and with such a total absence of even the

shadow of complaining or reproach, that his heart began, as if against

its will, to melt, unable to hold out against the steady stream of

affectionate devotion, welling from an inexhaustible spring. And little

by little, he began to say to himself as he watched her: Surely it were

a crime to doubt her any longer. For such an irresistible combination of

unselfishness and beauty could not possibly flow from any other source

than the unconscious reminiscence of old sympathies, and adamantine

bonds, forged and welded in a previous existence. For she gives and has

given all, in return for almost nothing, resembling a mother rather than

a wife; and so far from resenting any lack of confidence, she makes up

for all that I do not give her, by increasing the quantity and quality

of her own, as if she had incurred an obligation to myself, in some

former and forgotten state, which she was never able to repay. And what

proof other than this could I demand? And if this good fortune of mine,

in her form, be not the reward of works, done in that birth which I

struggle to remember, what else can it be?

So then at last, there came a day, when they sat together in the

twilight on the palace roof, watching the moon, that wanted only a

single digit, rising like a huge nocturnal yellow sun, looking for the

other that had sunk to flee, far away on the eastern quarter, on the

very edge of the sea, which seemed for fear to tremble like an

incarnation of dark emotion, while a lunar ray, like a long pale narrow

finger, ran over straight towards them, stepping from wave to wave, and

seeming to say with silent laughter: Like me on the surge of the deep's

desire, love bridges over the waves of time. What is the tide without

me, but the livery of death?

And as she gazed, the eyes of Makarandika shone, for very excess of

happiness, and there came into each a crystal tear, that caught and

reflected the moon's ray, like a twin imitation of himself. And as she

looked, she murmured: Now at last, as I think, the victory is all but

mine, for I have never brought my husband yet so near the very edge of

love's unfathomable deep, as I have to-day. And now, with just one more

effort, he will fall into the bottomless abysses of my soul, and I shall

have him for my own. Strange! that she did not understand, she was

herself tottering on the very brink of a fatal gulf that would swallow

her up for ever, and plunge her, by a single step, into the mouth of

hell!

For even as she spoke, she turned, and looked for a single instant, with

unutterable affection, into her husband's face. And then, she said

aloud: _Aryaputra_, dost thou know, of what I am now thinking? And he

said: No. Then she said: How short a time it seems, since I settled on

that parapet in the form of a sea-bird, and saw thee first: and yet, the

difference is eternity!