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 it—am I a beggar for rice?" whispered Shaibalini into Pratap's ears.

Pratap washed his hand readily.

"Now quit this place in all haste. Know it that the small boat, you will find after that yonder bend of the river, is meant for you," again whispered Shaibalini to Pratap.

"You go first or you will not be safe," said Pratap in a very low whispering voice.

"Away—be gone forthwith," urged Shaibalini with all the emphasis she could command. "You won't be able to escape if you are handcuffed again. Jump into the water at once. Don't delay. Be guided by me for a day at least. I shall jump into the water like a mad woman, and you will follow me, as if, to my rescue."

Shaibalini then rose up. She burst into a shrill unnatural laughter, and cried out, "I shall not eat rice." Immediately after this, she began to weep, and said, as she came out of the boat, "I have been fed with a Mahomedan's rice—I have lost my caste—Mother Ganges, give me shelter in your sacred bosom." Shaibalini then threw herself into the river.

Pratap came out of the boat instantly, as if,