As a matter of fact, Kapalkundala stood almost in touch with the house-wall, posing her fine head intently to catch the faint sound inside and breathed deep and hard like a tiny pair of bellows out of white-hot eagerness and terror.
At the companion's behest, one of the plotters came out and at once perceived Kapalkundala who also distinctly saw the person's contour and lineaments in the clear moon-light in the glade. Hardly could she make out whether her spirit lifted or fell at the sight. She found the stranger in Brahmin-garb—in dhoti—and the exterior well-covered under a muslin. The Brahmin looked of tender age with the down of youth hardly visible on the upper lip. The face was exceedingly beautiful—as beautiful as that of a woman—but unlike women it was full of glowing spirit and pride. The hair, quite unusual with men showed no sign of a razor's touch and being unclipped, as with women, crowded upon the muslin and be-spread the back, the shoulder, the arm and, least of all, the bosom. The forehead was broad and high, though a bit swollen with a solitary vein showing out in the middle—the eyes full of brilliance as of lightning flashes—and a long drawn sword in the hand. But amidst all this colouring, gleamed a spectre of frightfulness, as if, a black gaunt shadow of a dark, sinister design lent its pigment to the lustrous gold of the skin. The glance, keen as a knife-blade, cut into Kapalkundala's heart. Both stared on at each other's face for sometime. Kapalkundala was the first to
