Diggaja could sing no longer; all of a sudden his ear was bewitched. Like the symphony breathed by 'harps angelical,'— nectarous, enchanting strains suddenly entered his ear; Bimala herself had begun to sing in the full compass of her voice.
The 'enchanting ravishment' begot of the seven notes flooded the still expanse of the nightly firmament. The sounds mounted the wings of the cool summer breeze and went away.
Diggaja listened with bated breath. When Bimala had finished, he said,
"Again."
Bimala. "What again?"
Diggaja. "Pray, sing another dear song."
Bimala. "What shall I sing?"
Diggaja. "Sing a Bengali air."
"I will." Saying this, Bimala began to sing again.
While thus engaged, she felt a strong pull at the border of her dress. She turned round and saw that Gajapati had well nigh come upon her heels, and held fast the flowing end of her sheet, as if his life had depended upon it.
"What is the matter?" asked Bimala in surprise. "Is the ghost out again?"
The Brahmin could not speak, but pointed with his finger,
"There!"
Bimala looked at the direction in silence. Deep and hard breathings entered her ear, and she espied something near the road.
Summoning up courage, she drew nigh and discovered a handsome and well caparisoned horse lying on the ground, gasping for life.
