piece of great good fortune that our would-be murderers very soon gave up the pursuit in the darkness; for, at the final ascent, my strength threatened to give way, and I felt that I was bleeding copiously from several wounds. My friend was also wounded, though less severely.
On the level once more, we cut up my robe and temporarily bound up our wounds, and then, leaning on Somadatta's arm, I fortunately succeeded in reaching home, where I was obliged to pass several weeks on a bed of pain.
There I now lay, tortured by threefold trouble. My wounds and the fever together consumed my body, and a burning longing for my beloved devoured my soul. But to these was soon added apprehension for her precious life. For the delicate, flower-like being had not been able to endure the news of the mortal danger in which I had been, and perhaps even yet was, and had fallen victim to a severe illness. Her faithful foster-sister Medini, however, went daily from one sick-bed to the other, and we did not lack at least for constant communication and stimulating intercourse. Flowers passed to and fro between us, and, as we were both initiated into the mystery of the language of flowers, we confided many things to one another by the help of these sweet messengers. Later, as our strength came back, many a dainty verse found its way from hand to hand, and our condition would soon have become really quite endurable if, with our recovery,—which kept even pace in her case and in mine, just as though we were too truly united to admit of any precedence whatever between us,—the future had not also approached and filled us with grave care.
I may say here, that the nature of the, to all appearance, enigmatic and sudden attack had not remained a mystery to us. No other than the son of the Minister of State,—Satagira was his hated name,—with whom I had striven on
