at last, on the
night of the Dipawali, when the streets were full of people, suddenly
I saw her coming straight towards me. But she never saw me, by reason
of the crowd: and the prey is not thinking of the hunter, when the
hunter is thinking of the prey. And I hid myself in a doorway, and let
her pass by; and I followed her with stealthy steps until at last she
turned away into a narrow lane that resembled the jaws of death. And I
caught her up with silent tread, and all at once I took her by the
wrist as she went, with a grip like an iron band.

And she turned and saw me, and she started, and uttered a faint cry.
And instantly I said: Cry out, even once, and I will sever thy head
from its body. Make absolutely no noise, and I will do thee absolutely
no harm. But come with me, for I need thee for a little while. I have
been at pains to find thee, and now I will not let thee go. But unless
thou dost exactly as I tell thee, I will treat thee as I did thy
accomplice on the river bank, a little while ago. And she turned a
little paler as she listened, understanding that I did not speak in
jest. And I said: Go on before me, in silence, to my house, for well
thou art acquainted with the way. And I will follow, just behind, and
if thou makest, as thou goest, so much as a sign, thy head will roll
from its shoulders on the instant. And she bowed her head, and went.
And when we reached the door, I opened it and we went in. And I shut
the door, and there was no other light than the moonlight, which fell
in a flood upon the floor. And I said: Sit there in the moonlight, for
I have something to say to thee. And she sat upon the floor, watching
me with fascination like a bird before a snake.

And I walked to and fro before her, and suddenly I stopped, and I
said: Tell me, O Chaturika, what would the Queen say, if I told her of
thy habit of babbling to thy relations of her secrets? And for answer,
Chaturika began to sob, grovelling upon the floor at my feet. And I
said: Sit still, thou little fool, and listen: for thou shalt earn my
forgiveness by doing as I bid thee: and if not, I will save the Queen
trouble by becoming thy executioner myself. To-morrow night, I must
see her in the garden as before: and it can only be by thy
contrivance. And now, how is it to be done?

And Chaturika said, weeping: To-morrow night it cannot be, since she
has given that evening to another. And moreover, for thee every night
is equally impossible, f