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 Bimala resumed her journey; but the sight of the well-furnished steed filled her with apprehensions. For a long while she remained silent. After walking a mile, Gajapati again pulled at her.

"What?" asked Bimala.

Gajapati held up some object to her.

"This is a soldier's turban," said she, and was again plunged in thought.

"The turban," said she to herself, "belonged to the same person that the steed belonged to? No, not so. The turban is a foot-soldier's."

Now the moon arose. Bimala was still more lost in thought. After a long while, Gajapati mustered courage and asked her, "Fair one, why do you speak no more?"

"Do you see any marks on the road?"

Gajapati looked attentively at the way.

"Yes, I see the hoof-marks of many horses."

Bimala. "That's like a sensible man! Do you understand anything from it?"

Diggaja. "No."

Bimala. "Yonder a dead horse, there a soldier's turban, here the hoof-marks of so many horses;—can't you understand anything from all these? But to whom am I speaking!"

Diggaja. "What's the matter, I pray?"

Bimala. "Just now many soldiers have passed this way."

"Let us then walk a little slow" said Gajapati with fear, "to allow them time to get far ahead of us."

"Numskull!" exclaimed Bimala, laughing. "What do you speak of their getting ahead of us? Don't you see the direction