the chain outside Tara's door and, taking a small padlock off her mother's spice-box, locked him in for the evening, only letting him out when it was supper time. Tara was excessively annoyed and swore he would not touch a morsel of food. The repentant girl, beside herself, begged and prayed for forgiveness. "I'll never, never do it again," she pleaded, "I beg of you at your feet, do please have something to eat." Tara was at first obdurate, but when she began to sob as if her heart would break, he had to turn back and sit down to his supper.
Charu had often and often said to herself that she would never again tease Tara and be very, very good to him, but Sonamani,—or something or other,—would get in the way and spoil her virtuous resolution.
And it came about that whenever Tara found her particularly quiet and good he began to look out for an explosion. How or why it happened he never could make out, but there it was sure enough,—a regular storm, followed by showers of tears,—and then the bright sun shone out and there was peace.
6.
Thus passed two whole years. Tara had never before permitted any one to cage him for so long a time. Perhaps it was his attraction for the novelty of his studies; perhaps it was a change of character, due to increasing age, which made his restless spirit welcome the change to a restful life; perhaps, again, his pretty little fellow-student, with her endless variety of teasing ways, had cast a secret spell over his heart.
Charu had reached her marriageable age. Moti Babu was anxiously casting about for a suitable bridegroom. But the mother said to her husband: "Why are you hunting for bridegrooms, high and low? Tara is quite a nice boy,—and our daughter is fond of him, too."
The proposal took Moti Babu by surprise. "How can that be?" he exclaimed. "We know nothing of his family or antecedents. Our only daughter must make a good match."
One day a party came over from the Raydanga Zamindar's to see the girl with a view to make a proposal. An attempt was made to get Charu dressed up and taken to the reception rooms outside. But she locked herself into her bedroom and refused to stir out. Moti Babu stood by the door and pleaded and scolded in vain; at last he had to return outside and make feeble excuses to the would-be bridegroom's party, saying his daughter was indisposed. They came to the conclusion that there was something wrong with the girl which was sought to be concealed, and the matter fell through.
Then Moti Babu's thoughts came back to Tara. He was handsome and well-behaved, and in every way desirable. He could continue to live with them, and so the wrench of sending away their only child to another's house could be done away with. It also struck him that the wilful ways of his little one, which seemed so readily excusable in her father's home, would not be so indulgently tolerated in that of her husband.
The husband and wife had a long talk about it and finally decided to send over to Tara's village in order to make inquiries. When the news was brought back that the family was respectable enough, but poor, a formal proposal was at once sent off to the mother and the elders. And they, overjoyed at the prospect, lost no time in signifying their consent.
Moti Babu discussed and settled the time and place of the wedding with his wife alone; with his habitual reticence and caution he kept the matter secret from everybody else.
Meanwhile Charu would now and then make stormy raids on the schoolroom outside,—sometimes angry, sometimes affectionate, sometimes contemptuous, but always disturbing. And gleams, as of lightning flashes, would create a hitherto unknown tumult in the once free and open sky of the boy's mind. His unburdened life now felt the obstruction of some network of dream-stuff into which it had drifted and become entangled. Some days Tara would leave aside his lessons and betake himself to the library, where he
