da where can I abide?" were the old man's thoughts when the
question of giving her in marriage arose in his mind. Had it never
occurred to him to ask himself what would become of Kunda when his
summons came? Now the messenger of death stood at his bedside; he was
about to leave the world; where would Kunda be on the morrow?

The deep, indescribable suffering of this thought expressed itself in
every failing breath. Tears streamed from his eyes, ever restlessly
closing and opening, while at his head sat the thirteen-year-old girl,
like a stone figure, firmly looking into her father's face, covered
with the shadows of death. Forgetting herself, forgetting to think
where she would go on the morrow, she gazed only on the face of her
departing parent. Gradually the old man's utterance became obscure,
the breath left the throat, the eyes lost their light, the suffering
soul obtained release from pain. In that dark place, by that
glimmering lamp, the solitary Kunda Nandini, drawing her father's dead
body on to her lap, remained sitting. The night was extremely dark;
even now rain-drops fell, the leaves of the trees rustled, the wind
moaned, the windows of the ruined house flapped noisily. In the
house, the fitful light of the lamp flickered momentarily on the face
of the dead, and again left it in darkness. The lamp had long been
exhausted of oil; now, after two or three flashes, it went out. Then
Nagendra, with noiseless steps, went forth from the doorway.

CHAPTER II.

"COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE."

It was night. In the ruined house Kunda Nandini sat by her father's
corpse. She called "Father!" No one made reply. At one moment Kunda
thought her father slept, again that he was dead, but she could not
bring that thought clearly into her mind. At length she could no
longer call, no longer think. The fan still moved in her hand in the
direction where her father's once living body now lay dead. At length
she resolved that he slept, for if he were dead what would become of
her?

After days and nights of watching amid such sorrow, sleep fell upon
her. In that exposed, bitterly cold house, the palm-leaf fan in her
hand, Kunda Nandini rested her head upon her arm, more beauteous than
the lotus-stalk, and slept; and in her sleep she saw a vision. It
seemed as if the night were bright and clear, the sky of a pure
blue--that glorious blue when the moon is encircled by a halo. Kunda
had never seen the halo so l