THE SLAVE OF GRL AGRA
never, never forget. Wilt thou, Hemlata, think kindly of me when I am far away?"
"Can I ever forget thee, Noren?" asked Hemlata, unable to restrain her tears any longer.
"Nay, weep not, sweet Hemlata, I should not cause thee a pang at this our parting. Part we must for the sun is about to rise, and yet one token I would fain leave with thee before I leave. In our childhood we planted this jasmine bush and it has grown and blossomed. Of this I will make a suitable token."
Noren broke off a twig of the jasmine bush and made something like a bracelet of it. He held Hemlata's hand gently and slipped the creeper bracelet tenderly over it.
"The flowers will wither in a day or two, but the twig will last longer. As long as thou hast a kindly remembrance of me, Hemlata, keep this jasmine bracelet in memory of me. When thou hast ceased to think of me, cast it away as a withered and useless twig."
The red glow of an Indian winter sunrise streaked the sky with its bright radiance. It witnessed a solitary wanderer crossing the broad Ganges in a little skiff on his way to Rajmahal. It also saw a young girl sitting alone on the steps of a temple in the Palace gardens of Birnagar, shedding the first bitter tears of womanhood.
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