sound"—these words resounded ever in my inmost heart. Would the monk be likely, then, to redeem the promise of the robber? Why not, if he himself should be convinced that it was necessary for both of us to see and to speak to one another?
And with that came a new thought from whch streamed an unexpected ray of hope that at first dazzled and bewildered me. If my beloved should return, what was then to hinder my resigning from the Order and becoming his wife?
When this question arose in my mind, burning blushes covered my face, which I involuntarily hid in my hands, from fear that some one might just at that moment be observing me. To what hateful misinterpretation would such a course of action not be exposed? Would it not look as though I had regarded the Order of the Buddha simply as a bridge over which to pass from a loveless marriage to a love one? My action would certainly be so construed by many. But, when all was said and done, what could the judgment of others matter to me? And how much better to be a pious lay sister who stood loyally by the Order, than a sister of the Order whose heart lingered without. Yes, even if Angulimala only brought me the information that my Kamanita was still alive, and I could gather from the account of their meeting that my loved one was ever true to me in his faithful heart, then I would be able myself to make a pilgrimage to Ujjeni. And I pictured to myself how I should one morning, as a wandering ascetic, stand at the door of thy house, how thou wouldst with thine own hands fill my alms-bowl, and in doing so wouldst recognise me—and then all the indescribable joy of having found one another again.
To be sure, it was a long journey to Ujjeni, and it was
