of his
eyes, which haunt me, as they gloated on thee, like a terror, bidding me
beware, and saying as it were: Ha! Ha! thy treasure is discovered. And I
resemble one, whose buried hoard of gold has been seen by other eyes;
and hardly do I dare to be away from thee, not as before, merely for
love of thee, but for fear, lest, on returning, I should find my
treasure gone.

And all at once, he burst into a sob; and he rose, and took a step or
two away from her. And Aranyani rose also, and she said with agitation:
O Babhru, what was he like, this man? Was he tall and powerful, like
thee? And Babhru said: Nay, he was a little ugly man, with weasel eyes.
And Aranyani laughed, as if with relief. And she exclaimed: O Babhru,
what is this? Is this a man of whom to be afraid? What! shall I fall a
victim to this little man with weasel eyes, who hides in bushes? Be
under no concern, for so much I will tell thee, that not even a hundred
such pigmies shall ever carry me away.

And Babhru said sadly: Alas! Aranyani, thou dost not understand: and
like the flower in thy hair, thou art utterly ignorant of thy own
attraction. And exactly such a man as this, whom thou despisest, is the
most dangerous of all. Dost thou think, if once through his agency the
world should suddenly become aware of what this wood contains, it would
long remain unvisited by others? It was not the face of the intruder
that I feared, but his tongue, which, could I but have caught him, I
would have cut out of his throat, to keep it from betraying thy
existence to the world outside.

And as he looked towards her, with tears in his eyes, all at once
Aranyani changed colour, turning suddenly paler, as if her heart,
appalled by the apparition of some menace in his words, had summoned to
its assistance all the blood in her face. And after a while she said:
Babhru, thou art ill, and thy unfortunate affection not only makes thee
overestimate my value, but even leads thee to alarm thyself and me, by
creating imaginary fears. And moreover, come what may, the mischief, if
any mischief is, is done, and the tongue that is thy bugbear is safe and
at a distance in its owner's head, talking, very probably, of anything
but me. But now, while we ourselves are talking, time has fled, and it
is nearly noon; for the shadows are at shortest; and now, I dare not let
thee stay here any longer; as indeed, I was to blame, in allowing thee
to stay at all; and better had it been for both of