ground, and walked northward,
through an avenue of champaka trees, where, as a favourable omen, I
heard the low murmuring cry of a pair of chakravakas. Taking an
almost opposite direction, I saw before me what appeared to be a great
building, and it was only by touching it that I found it to be a clump
of trees. Going eastward, and turning once more to the south, I passed
through some mango trees, and saw the light of a lantern shining among
the leaves. I then knew that I was right, and went straight up to the
bower, inside of which was a summer-house, with steps leading up to
it, and spread with soft twigs and flowers for a carpet. The room was
furnished with a handsome couch, a golden water-jar, trays of flowers,
fans, &c. After I had been seated a short time, I heard the tinkling
of ornaments and smelt a powerful perfume. Rising up hastily, I
slipped out, and stood concealed by the shrubs outside. Presently I
saw the lady enter; she looked about her, and not seeing me, was
evidently disappointed and distressed. I heard her say, with a sad low
voice, "Alas! I am deceived, he is not coming; O my heart, how can
this be borne? O adorable Kama, what have I done to offend thee, that
thou thus burnest me and dost not reduce me to ashes?"

Having heard this, I made my appearance, and said: "O lovely lady, do
you ask how you have offended Kama? You have given him great offence,
since you disparage his beloved Rati by your form, his bow by your
arched eyebrows, his arrows by your glances, his great friend, the
perfumed wind of Malaya, by your sweet breath, the notes of his
favourite bird by your voice. For all this Kama justly torments you.
But I have done nothing to offend him; why should he so distress me?
Have pity on me, and cure the wound inflicted by the serpent of love,
with the life-giving antidote of an affectionate look."

Delighted at seeing me, she required no entreaty on my part, and
readily yielded to my embrace; and, sitting down on the couch, we
conversed as though we had been long acquainted.

At last the time for separation arrived, and I rose up to go; but she
with tears detained me, saying: "When you depart, my life seems to
follow. If you go, let me go with you."

I answered: "O my beloved, that is impossible. If you love me, be
guided by me, and we shall soon meet again, not to be parted."

This she readily promised, and I told her exactly what was to be done.
Then quitting her with reluctance, I ret