"How do you know?"

"Because a wandering monk came to the abbey of Tahkt-i-Bahi near
Peshawar and told Vasettha the Abbot."

I had nearly spoilt all by an exclamation, but I held myself
back. I saw she was dreaming awake and was unconscious of what
she said.

"The Abbot said, 'Do not describe her. What talk is this for holy
men? The young monks must not hear. Some of them have never seen
a woman. Should a monk speak of such toys?' But the wanderer
disobeyed and spoke, and there was a great tumult, and the monks
threw him out at the command of the young Abbot, and he wandered
down to Peshawar, and it was he later - the evil one! - that
brought his sister, Lilavanti the Dancer, to Peshawar, and the
Abbot fell into her snare. That was his revenge!"

Her face was fixed and strange, for a moment her cheek looked
hollow, her eyes dim and grief- worn. What was she seeing? - what
remembering? Was it a story - a memory? What was it?

"She was beautiful?" I prompted.

"Men have said so, but for it he surrendered the Peace. Do not
speak of her accursed beauty."

Her voice died away to a drowsy murmur; her head dropped on my
shoulder and for the mere de- light of contact I sat still and