Kusum, as she heard this, embraced her husband's feet with all the ardour of a lifetime, covered them with kisses, and touching her forehead to them reverentially, withdrew herself. Hemanta rose, and walking to the door, said: "Father, I won't forsake my wife." "What!" roared out Harihar, "would you lose your caste, sir?" "I don't care for caste," was Hemanta's calm reply.

They were the familiar footsteps of his father, Haribar Mukerji, and Hemanta, not knowing what it meant, was in a flutter of excitement. Standing outside the door Harihar roared out: "Hemanta, turn your wife out of the house immediately." Hemanta looked at his wife, and detected no trace of surprise in her features.

On the background of eternal night, Fate seemed to have painted this one single picture for all time annihilation on every side, the judge in the centre of it, and the guilty one at his feet. The sound of slippers was heard again. Approaching the door, Harihar Mukerji said: "You have had enough time, I can't allow you more. Turn the girl out of the house."