y, but rather because
she is equally unable and unwilling, either to stay, or go: and in the
agony of her beautiful perplexity, she is craving to be delivered from
the choice, by having the matter settled for her: and now, the weight
even of a hair would turn the scale. And he drew near slowly, and said,
after a while: Hast thou forgotten, O cousin, that there will be no
farewell to say to thy surroundings, though thou shouldst leave them
now? For there is absolutely nothing to prevent thee from returning to
visit them, as often as thou wilt. But still she answered nothing,
remaining with her back turned towards him, exactly as before.

And once again he said: Aranyani, dost thou hear me? I do not ask thee
to say goodbye for ever to the wood.

And he waited for a while, and at last, as she never either moved or
spoke, he said again: Since, then, thou art absolutely determined, and
thy mind is made up to let me go away alone: it is well. So, now, there
is nothing left, but for me to go. And I must absolutely depart,
whether I will or no. For my kingdom requires me, and my retinue is
waiting at the bottom of the hill, to bring me over the sand. And
sometimes in the wood thou wilt remember me, and it may be, offer water
to the ghost of our dead happiness, and the love that might have been,
for in this wood I cannot live, and if thou wilt not come away, it is
useless to return. So bid me but farewell, and I will go, and thou shalt
never see me more.

And then she turned. And she put out her hand towards him, as if with
entreaty, and made a single step, and all at once she swayed, and would
have fallen, but that he caught her in his arms. And she said, in a
voice so low as scarcely to be heard: Take me, if thou must, and
quickly, for in another moment, I think that my heart will break in two.

And then, she sank down, bereft of her reason, and lay in his arms in a
swoon.

And Atirupa stood for a moment, looking down upon her, as he held her in
his arms. And he said to himself, as if half in irresolution: So, then,
it is over, and I have conquered, and she has yielded, and is mine. And
yet, somehow or other, I feel, in this instance, a touch of something
that resembles pity, and there is as it were a sting, resembling that of
a bee, mixed with my honey, which I never felt before. For after all,
she is my own relation. And what will she do, when she finds out her
mistake? And yet, after all, the mischief is done, and now