into the room after her and drew the massive bar. The very sound of the tread of his feet told Matangini that it was her dreaded husband.
Rajmohan said nothing, but by feeling in the dark he brought out a tinder box and with flint and steel struck a light and placed it on its accustomed seat. Still he spoke not but sat on the taktapos or bedstead eying his wife with a savage glance. Matangini read her fate in his looks and stood, not pale and trembling but firmly and proudly, with all the dignity and courage which had that very evening awed into silence the fury of her brutal oppressor. The howling of the wind and the clatter of the rain without, and the angry growl in the clouds above were the only sounds that disturbed the appalling silence.
At length Rajmohan spoke. "Accursed woman," he said in a bitter tone which had in it nothing of the unusual savage impetuosity of his temper, “did you not go to your paramour?" Matangini did not answer. "Speak,” he said in a low voice of fearful imperiousness, stamping his foot on the ground.
"I shall not answer to questions which I ought not to be asked," replied the half guilty and half innocent woman.
"Wretch," exclaimed Rajmohan, gnashing his teeth and growing furious; but again assuming a forced calmness, he added, "Did you or did you not go to Madhav Ghose's home this night?"
"Yes, I did," she said, suddenly excited beyond herself by the sound of the name, "I did
