"I have such a right? What do you mean?"—said Maloti, in utter astonishment.
Looking on the floor with tearful eyes, the Benares lady said—almost in whispers—
"I will tell you. That is why I have come to-day."
Maloti's bosom throbbed with an uncertain terror. She glanced at the lady in breathless silence.
"Is your mother really dead?"
"That's what people say"—said Maloti, her tones clearly betraying her painful diffidence.
"Then you know. I am your wretched mother."—Tears freely flowed down the lady's cheeks as she uttered these words.
A thrill of horror passed through Maloti's frame. Involuntarily she moved away a little from her mother.
An incident that had occurred a few months ago, came back to Maloti's mind. She was at her paternal home then, before her husband took her to Dinapur. Mokshada, whom she called her grandmother, had just returned after a long pilgrimage. She was sharing a bed with an aunt of hers and this old lady. Thinking that Maloti was fast asleep, the two elderly ladies began a secret conversation. But Maloti was really awake and could catch every syllable that passed
