Deep shadows settled in street corners: the bustle of the city
was hushed: the gong at the temple of Shiva announced the time of
the evening prayer.

In the dark of the autumn evening, deep as a limpid lake, stars
throbbed with light, when the guards of the palace garden were
startled to see through the trees a row of lamps burning at the
shrine of Buddha.

They ran with their swords unsheathed, crying, "Who are you,
foolish one, reckless of death?"

"I am Shrimati," replied a sweet voice, "the servant of Lord
Buddha."

The next moment her heart's blood coloured the cold marble with
its red.

And in the still hour of stars died the light of the last lamp of
worship at the foot of the shrine.



XLIV

The day that stands between you and me makes her last bow of
farewell.

The night draws her veil over her face, and hides the one lamp