ever stood and in the same dress. Joy and sorrow struggled to gain ascendancy in the expression of her face. But so long as the eyes of others rested on her face, it never lost its smile.
II
In the bedroom of Sunanda, at the head of her bed, stood a small box of marble. It contained a few trifles, the largest in size being a letter. It was written by herself, but for all that she cherished it. There were no means of knowing beforehand to whom it was written, as it was not addressed. But the contents revealed his name. They also revealed many things about the person who wrote it, which otherwise would have remained unknown for ever. The letter ran thus:
"Every human being possesses something which to the possessor is priceless. And this thing, he or she is unwilling to share with anyone, lest it loses its value. I have such a thing; it is my sorrow. I do not want to share it with anybody. There is nothing else of my very own, to which I can cling, which I can cherish in the inmost recess of my heart. So I keep it jealously hidden. But a time will come when I shall cease to be, and then I wish you to take charge of it. It is my very own and to none else can I entrust it. It came to my heart from the hands of God and none knew. I have kept his trust. I hid this priceless sorrow beneath my mantle of laughter, as the green turf hides the treasure lying in the dark womb of the earth. You too have always looked upon my face masked with laughter; so I do not know whether you will believe this tale of tears.
A human child takes its birth in a world full of light and joy. But I came into a world which had no welcome for me. The only person who then took me in her arms, did so with eyes full of tears. To me, the world meant nothing but my mother's arms; the single tie which bound
