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BOTH had swam off pretty far. What a lovely sight! What an ocean of felicity they were swimming in! Floating on the bosom of the infinite-embracing ample-breasted, ripple-tossed, azure—hued river, and bathed in a sea of moonlight, Protap’s eyes fell on the infinite Cerulean deep above, and he began to muse. Why is man not destined to swim in that ocean? Why is he not permitted to cleave those billows of clouds? What merit in an antecedent life can secure for me an ethervsailing existence? Swimming? How unprofitable to swim in this mundane river! Ever since my birth I have been swimming in the inexorable ocean of time dashing wave against wave and floating about like a straw from billow to billow. What more swimming after that! Shaibalini was thinking-this water has got its bottom, but I have been floating on fathomless waters.

Whether you fancy or no, Nature must have her way and beauty will not be concealed. Whatever sea you might swim in, the beauty of the blue waters will not tarnish, the chain of ripples will not be broken, the stars will shimmer to the “last syllable of recorded time,” the trees on the banks will sway in their wonted style, and the moonbeams will wanton in the water as ever. Oh, the tyranny of Nature! Like the fond mother she is ever ready to fondle you.

Such were the impressions on Protap’s mind, but not so on Shaibalini’s. The sickly emaciated white face which she had seen on the boat, was haunting her mind. She was swimming like an automatic doll; she had no peace. Both were clever in swimming, but in that swimming the sea of ecstasy was brimming over in Protap.