flexions of the one-loved name, "Bhramara," "Bhomara," "Bhorna," "Bhumri," "Bhumi," "Bhuma," "Bhou, Bhou," those ever-changing epithets, full of love, of colour, of joy, were used no more. That Kâlo, "Kâla," "Kâlachand," "Kelesona," "Kâlomanik," "Kâlindi," Kâliye"—no more of these caressing names; that playful, mischievous calling was no longer heard, that teasing speech had ceased. The very mode of their speech was changed. Formerly, there was no lack of matter for talk, now it had to be hunted for. That talk which was half words, half meeting of eyes and lips, had ceased. No more that talk with words half uttered, half left unsaid, but readily understood, that needed no response, save only simplest sounds. Formerly, when Gobind Lâl and Bhramar were together, it required much calling to induce Gobind Lâl to respond, while Bhramar did not respond at all. Now, they had not to be called, but one or other would get up with the remark, "How hot it is!" or, "Who is that calling?" and would depart. A cloud had come over the full moon, an eclipse had obscured the autumnal moon.
Who had mixed dross with the refined
