black eyebrow like a pencilled bow, he observed her lotus—like eyes remaining closed like sleeping lotus-buds, and marked the soft parallel lines in the long eye-lashes. He marked the small delicate hand resting against the cheek under the influence of sleep, as if a multitude had been heaped on a mass of flowers. The pressure of the hand had parted a little the beautiful luscious lips red with the stain of betel juice partially disclosing the pearly rows of her teeth. Anon the sleeping Shaibalini seemed to smile in some pleasant dream, and it seemed as though a flash of lightning swept across a moonlight sheet, and again the face resumed its former deep-sleep calm. Tears began to flow from Chandrashekhar’s eyes at the sight of the happy face of that girl of twenty reposing in the calm of deep slumber without a trace of voluptuousness about it.
The beauty of Shaibalini’s face quiescent in a profound sleep melted him into tears. “Alas! why did I marry her?” he thought. “This flower would adorn a King’s Crown. Why did I bring this jewel into the but of a learned Brahmin? By bringing her here I have rendered myself happy no doubt, but what is her happiness in it! Considering my age it is impossible to expect any love from her. Nor is there any chance of my love satisfying the craving of her mind. Moreover, I am always busy with my books; when shall I think of her happiness? By handling my books what pleasure can a young girl like her have? I am extremely selfish about my own happiness, and that is what prompted me to marry her. What shall I do now? Shall I throw my books collected at so much trouble into water and make the lotus-like face of a woman the be-all and end-all of mv existence? Fie! fie! I shall not be able to do that. Then will this innocent girl make the scape-
