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CHAPTER XXV

The undergrowth that fringed the river-bank showed like a dark border to the twilight sky's saffron robe. The ducks returned in flights through the gathering dusk from their day-long sojourn on the feeding- grounds to their night-quarters in the lonely pools among the sand-banks. The crows had retired to their roosts and hushed their clamour. All boats had sought the bank except one large craft which was being towed silently upstream, making a black smudge on the dark golden-green of the still water.

Ramesh dragged a cane chair up to the bow and sat there in the faint light of the new moon. In the west- ern sky the shades of night swallowed up the last golden glimmer of twilight, and in the witchery of the moonlight the solid earth seemed to melt into haze. Ramesh murmured to himself, "Hem, Hem" ; and the beloved name twined itself round his heart with a con- tact ineffably sweet. The mere utterance of the name conjured up a vision of his lost mistress's eyes, moist with the dew of supreme tenderness, gazing through a mist, yet pouring forth the sorrow that lay in them. A shudder passed through his frame and tears rose to his eyes.

The whole of his life for the past two years unfolded itself before him. He recalled the occasion of his first meeting with Hemnalini; little had he realised what a fateful day it was for him! Jogendra had brought him home, and the shy youth was in great distress when he saw Hemnalini presiding over the tea-table. Little by little his bashfulness left him and

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