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 Vajrasen quickly raised his head, and broke out: ‘What caprice is this of yours, woman, to bring me in from the street to mock me with your cruel curiosity?’

‘Mock you!’ cried Shyama; ‘I could gladly take your chains upon my limbs in exchange for my jewels.’

Then turning to the officer, she said: ‘Take all the money I have, and set him free.’

He bowed, and said: ‘It cannot be. A victim we must have to stay the king’s wrath.’

‘I ask only two days’ respite for the prisoner,’ urged Shyama. The officer smiled, and consented.

On the end of his second night in prison, Vajrasen said his prayers, and sat waiting for his last moment, when suddenly the door opened, and the woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, and at her signal the guard unchained the prisoner.

‘You have come to me with that lamp, merciful woman,’ said he, ‘like the dawn with her morning star after a night of delirious fever.’

‘Merciful indeed,’ Shyama cried, and broke out in wild laughter, till tears came with a burst, and she sobbed, and said: ‘There is no stone brick in this prison-tower harder than this woman’s heart.’