servant, not the grihini, nor the neighbours, relations, or members of the family, not one of them knew that a cloud had arisen in the sky, that a worm had entered the flower, that an insect had attacked that charming image of love. Yet it was so. Things were no more as they had been. Their smiles were not the same. Bhramar, Gobind Lâl—did they no longer smile? They smiled, but not as of yore. The smile that had beamed forth spontaneously at the meeting of the eyes no longer came; no more that smile, half laughter, half love; the smile that spoke at once of overflowing joy and of unsatisfied desire appeared no more. Those loving looks were gone, the look which had made Bhramar think, "How beautiful he is!" and Gobind Lâl, "How many charms she has!"—that look had fled. The longing looks with which she gazed on the love-lit eyes of Gobind Lâl, so intently fixed on hers, which set Bhramar thinking, "I shall never in this life reach the further shore of this ocean of love." That look—in dwelling on which Gobind Lâl forgot all the world beside—that look was gone. No more those loving forms of address, in-
