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 The Brahmin raised his face; the Prince saw it was Abhiramswami.

Wonder, curiosity and joy struggled in the Prince's bosom for mastery. He humbly saluted the Brahmin, and eagerly said,

"What shall I say to you, Sir, as to how much I have tried to see you? Pray, Sir, why here?"

Abhiramswami wiped his eyes, and said,

"For the present, I am living here."

The Prince had scarcely heard the Swami out, when he began to pile question upon question.

"Why have you wished to see me? Why, again, do you weep, Sir?"

"The reason why I have called you is also the reason of these tears. Tilottama is on her death-bed."

Slowly—gently—softly, sat down the warrior upon the ground. Then,

The first sight at the temple—the vow in presence of Saileshwara—the true love tears at their first meeting with each other, in the chamber,—the incidents of that black night—the face of Tilottama in her swoon—her suffering in the den of the Yavan—his own heartless behavior in the prison—and finally her imminent death in this exile; the memory of all, all these at once dashed against the Prince's mind with the fury of a storm; the former fire blazed out with a tenfold fury, and spread itself into his vitals.

He sat mute for a long while; Abhiramswami went on,

"The day on which Bimala avenged her widowhood by slaying the Yavan, I fled with my daughter and grand-child; and roved