"None else," replied the guard.
"What's to be done then? Tell it to a maid-servant of the fortress."
The man was going away, when the Prince called him back and said,
"Look here! The matter shall take air, if you speak to any body about it; and who will leave the merry-making to help the woman?"
"That's too true," returned the guard. "And why will the guards allow any one to enter the prison? I don't dare bring any other into it."
"What shall I do then?" said the Prince. "There is only one means. Do you hastily convey the news to the Princess, through a maid-servant."
The guard hurried out to attend to the Prince's instructions. The Prince tended Tilottama so far as the circumstances of the case permitted. What were his thoughts then? Who can say? Did a tear stand in his eyes? Who can say?
The Prince was greatly embarrassed with Tilottama alone in the prison. If the tidings did not reach Aesha; if, again, she could not devise any means, what should it come to?
By degrees, Tilottama began to revive. Immediately the Prince saw through the open door two women (one of them veiled) approach with the guard. Seeing from a distance the stately form, the rhythmical gait and the graceful neck of the veiled beauty, the Prince perceived that Aesha herself was coming with her maid—and as if she had been bringing Hope with her. When Aesha and her maid came up to the door with the guard, the sentry asked the bearer of the ring,
