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It is needless to say that Jagat Singha could not sleep a wink that night. His bed was full of scorpions; his heart burnt in anguish and pain. That Tilottama whose death would before have rendered his existence insupportable—that the same Tilottama still lived,—this was the only thing which he regretted.

How so? That Titottama still lived! That tender flower, that angelical sweetness, that soft splendour, that frame which rises before Jagat Singha'a vision whichever way he turns his gaze, shall the jaws of the grave close over such a frame! This earth—this spacious earth, shall it not contain a vestige of that frame? O heavy thought! O insupportable hour! Jagat Singha's  eyes

Anon the thought of the hellish Katlu Khan's pleasure chamber flashes upon his imagination; he sees that tender frame on the lap of the villain, and again his heart barns like a volcano,

That Tilottama whose image has been enshrined in his heart of hearts—that Tilottama is now an inmate of the Pathan's—aye,—that very Tilottama is now the concubine of Katlu Khan!