"Why?" asked Abhiram Swami curiously. "Have the germs of love sprung up in Tilottama's mind?"
"How much shall I disclose to you, Sire!" said she after a pause. "I have been watching her motions daily and nightly these good fourteen days, and am perfectly satisfied that Tilottama has conceived a very deep feeling."
"You, women," replied the ascetic with a smile, "as soon as you perceive signs of affection, outright conclude it to be deep. Bimala, don't be uneasy on the score of Tilottama's future happiness. It is because she's a girl that her mental balance has been disturbed at first sight. She'll no doubt soon forget Jagat Singha, should all talk on the subject be studiously refrained from."
"Not so, Sire," said Bimala, "The signs seen in Tilottama are not what you take them for. Within this fortnight, a change has come over her nature. She no longer finds delight in talking with her youthful companions or with me; nay, she seldom or never talks now-a-days. Her books are rotting under the couch; her flowers are withering for lack of water; her birds are pining for neglect;—she dosn't eat;—she dosn't sleep; she dosn't make her toilet; she, who was never given to thinking, is now wholly absorbed in thought every hour in the four and twenty. There's a palor in Tilottama's face."
Abhiram Swami remained silent for a long while.
"I was under the impression," he said, "that deep affection can not spring up at first sight; but woman's nature, specially that of girls, is known to God only. But what are you to do? Virendra will never lend his consent to such a match."
"For that very fear," said Bimala, "I havn't up to this
