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THE WRECK

with Ramesh from that first meeting on the sand-bank to their arrival in Ghazipur and what had been obscure before became dear as daylight. Ramesh had known throughout that she was not his wife, and had been at his wits' end wondering how he could dispose of her, while she had calmly assumed him to be her hus- band and was preparing, unabashed, to settle down with him in lifelong companionship.

Shame pierced her heart like a dagger and as various incidents recurred to her memory she would gladly have sunk into the floor. Disgrace would cling to her all her life; there was no escape from its stigma.

She threw open the door and passed out into the garden behind the house. The dark wintry sky stretched above her in repellant coldness like a vault, of black marble. No wisp of cloud, no haze was to be seen and the stars shone clearly. A plantation of mango saplings in the foreground accentuated the gloom. No avenue of escape from her misery opened before her mental vision. She sank down on the chilly grass and sat there, in statue-like rigidity, without shedding a tear or uttering a sound.

She took no count of the passage of time but by-and- by the biting cold pierced her to the heart and she shiv- ered in every limb. When at last the waning moon cleft the darkness behind the motionless palms Kam- ala slowly rose, retired to her own chamber, and closed the door.

In the morning when she opened her eyes Saila stood by her bed. Kamala sat up at once, ashamed that she had slept so late.

"Don't get up, dear," said Saila, "you had better sleep on for a little; I'm sure you're not well. You look tired and there are dark lines under your eyes. Tell me what the matter is, dear," and Sailaja sat down beside her and put her arm round Kamala's neck.

Kamala's breast heaved and she could restrain her

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