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So long as she had been on the plain, on the burning-ground, covered by the dark night of Sraban, so long she had been fearless, a denizen of her own kingdom. By daylight the homes of men filled her with fear. Men and ghosts dread each other, for their tribes inhabit different banks of the river of death.
In the month Sraban a stranger, falling sick, stayed in her house. She was placed there by the Brahmachari. I heard her name was Surja Mukhi. She was ill of consumption; I attended her, had almost cured her. Now " Breathing hard, Nagendra repeated, "Now?" "In the destruction of Haro Mani's house the woman was burnt." Nagendra fell from his chair, striking his head severely. The blow stunned him.
On the afternoon of Srában 20th he called in half a dozen city roughs, armed them with thick sticks, and plied them with spirits, telling them on no account to appear in the public apartments of his house until they received a signal agreed on. At seven o'clock Amarendra Babu, with his son and an uncle named Rashbehari, arrived at Jogesh's house in a second-class cab.
The time seemed so long that two of the four grew restless, and went to see why it did not come. Nitai and Gurucharan being gone, Bidhu and Banamali remained to watch over the body. It was a dark night of Sraban. Heavy clouds hung In a starless sky. The two men sat silent in the dark room. Their matches and lamp were useless.
Thus all the widow's thwarted love went out to wards this little child. One night in Sraban Kadambini died suddenly. For some reason her heart stopped beating. Everywhere else the world held on its course; only in this gentle little breast, suffering with love, the watch of time stood still for ever.
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