y. And that thou shalt do at once. Go out now, and walk
without stopping straight to the door: and I will follow in thy steps.
And do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then
turn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. And then
begone where thou wilt until to-morrow.

And I opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly,
leading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way
round the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop,
beside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined
temple of the great god. And there she turned and looked at me, and
then continued on her way until she disappeared. And I stood and
watched her go, saying to myself: I think she will bring me the key
to-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for I scared her almost
to death, and she is frightened. And I was very sorry for her, and yet
it was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing
her to absolute submission. And yet she was beautiful to look at, even
so, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly
changed into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling
dangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. And very
strange is the difference fixed by the Creator between a woman and a
man: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only
makes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.

XXIII

And next day, I waited all the morning for Chaturika to come, and noon
arrived without her coming. And I said to myself as I sat waiting: She
will come by and by, and I cannot expect her very early, for she may
have many other things to do as well as mine. And it may be no easy
task that I have given her to do. And now, what am I to say to
Tarawali, when I come upon her in the garden, and see her, O ecstasy!
again? And strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart
began to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. And I
said sadly to myself: Alas! I am afraid, or rather I am sure, that the
very sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my
resentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom
of my resolution, and every recollection of all that I have heard to
her discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. Do what she
may, I cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which
ob