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 bending down her face, surveyed the place to the very base of the castle; but with her former success. The shifting green foliage was bathed in the soft moonlight; at intervals, as the breeze swayed the leaves, they wore a glistening red. Beneath the wood reigned  deep, palpable darkness; here and there the moonlight escaping through openings in the foliage glinted over certain spots. On the still breast of the Amodara was reflected the moon with the star-crested welkin. At a distance, on the other bank rose the heaven-kissing appearances of the stately buildings. Here and there the form of a sentinel was visible on their roofs. This was all that she could see. She was about to return in disappointment, when she felt as if some one had touched her back with a finger. She started and turned round—an armed individual unknown to her was standing before her. She was struck motionless as a statue.

"You mustn't cry," said the armed person. "Do so—and your tender frame I shall hurl down to the bottom of the castle."

The man who thus suddenly stupified Bimala was dressed like a Pathan soldier. From the completeness of his costly dress, it might easily be inferred that the person held some important post. His age did not exceed thirty and he was eminently handsome. A diamond graced the turban on his lofty forehead. Were Bimala not then utterly confounded, she could perceive that the individual before her could almost challenge a comparison with Jagat Singha himself. His body was not so large, nor was he so broad-chested; but he had the same heroic and graceful mein, and boasted of a softer person. In his precious belt was a Damascus dagger in a sheath studded with corals. He held the naked sword in his hand, but had no other weapon.