lack as though the earth were full of ink. He could not
distinguish between road and no road; nevertheless he continued his
way, for he had renounced the world, he was a _Brahmachari_. To those
who have given up worldly pleasures, light and darkness, a good and a
bad road, are all one. It was now far on in the night; now and then it
lightened; the darkness itself was preferable, was less frightful than
those flashes of light.

"Friend!"

Plodding along in the darkness the _Brahmachari_ heard suddenly in the
pathway some such sound, followed by a long sigh. The sound was
muffled, nevertheless it seemed to come from a human throat, from some
one in pain. The _Brahmachari_ stood waiting, the lightning flashed
brightly; he saw something lying at the side of the road--was it a
human being? Still he waited; the next flash convinced him that his
conjecture was correct. He called out, "Who are you lying by the
roadside?" No one made reply. Again he asked. This time an indistinct
sound of distress caught his ear. Then the _Brahmachari_ laid his
umbrella and drinking-vessel on the ground, and extending his hands
began to feel about. Ere long he touched a soft body; then as his hand
came in contact with a knot of hair he exclaimed, "Oh, _Durga_, it is
a woman!"

Leaving umbrella and drinking-vessel, he raised the dying or senseless
woman in his arms, and, leaving the road, crossed the plain towards a
village; he was familiar with the neighbourhood, and could make his
way through the darkness. His frame was not powerful, yet he carried
this dying creature like a child through this difficult path. Those
who are strong in goodwill to others are not sensible of bodily
weakness.

Bearing the unconscious woman in his arms, the _Brahmachari_ stopped
at the door of a leaf-thatched hut at the entrance of the village, and
called to one within, "Haro, child, are you at home?"

A woman replied, "Do I hear the _Thakur's_ voice? When did the
_Thakur_ come?"

"But now. Open the door quickly; I am in a great difficulty."

Haro Mani opened the door. The _Brahmachari_, bidding her light a
lamp, laid his burden on the floor of the hut. Haro lit the lamp, and
bringing it near the dying woman, they both examined her carefully.
They saw that she was not old, but in the condition of her body it was
difficult to guess her age. She was extremely emaciated, and seemed
struck with mortal illness. At one time she certainly must have had
beauty, but