have you taken pity upon your servant at last and come to see him?"
The answer came in a sweet voice: "My poet, I have come."
Shekhar opened his eyes—and saw before his bed the figure of a woman.
His sight was dim and blurred. And it seemed to him that the image made of a shadow that he had ever kept throned in the secret shrine of his heart had come into the outer world in his last moment to gaze upon his face.
The woman said: "I am the Princess Ajita."
The poet with a great effort sat up on his bed.
The princess whispered into his ear: "The king has not done you justice. It was you who won at the combat, my poet, and I have come to crown you with the crown of victory."
She took the garland of flowers from her own neck, and put it on his hair, and the poet fell down upon his bed stricken by death.
