"Come."
The Prince proceeded to the inner apartment with the ascetic. He saw that a room was entire. In it was an old, time-worn couch; on it lay the lean, yet still beauteous form of Tilottama. Still was she surrounded by the mild-gleaming lustre of her former beauty. There she lay in her loveliness, like the 'fairest of stars, that crowns the smiling morn with his bright circlet,' about to disappear from our blessed sight. Beside her, sat a widow, who was gently passing and repassing her hand over her body. She had no ornaments on her person; she was a dirty, forlorn widow. The Prince could not at first recognise her; and how could he? She that had been perpetually young, was now an old woman.
When the Prince came in and stood beside Tilottama's bed, her eyes were closed. Abhiramswami called her, saying,
"Tilottama, Prince Jagat Singha is come."
She opened her eyes, and gazed at the Prince; her look was soft and tender; there was not a shadow of rebuke in it. As soon as she saw the Prince, she cast her eyes down. By and bye, tears began to trickle down her cheeks, in a continuous stream. The Prince could not contain any longer; all bashfulness and reserve vanished; he threw himself down at the feet of Tilottama, and bedewed her flowery frame with his silent tears.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CONSEQUENCE THE DREAM BELIES.
The fatherless, forlorn girl is on her sick-bed, Jagat Singha
