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T the hour when this strange turn of fortune overtook the hero of our tale, for such we believe the reader thinks Madhav, Mathur Ghose was resting, or, to be more accurate, endeavouring to rest in Tara's chamber. Tara was seated on the couch close by his reclining form, with a little delicate straw punkha in her hand, with which she patiently and affectionately endeavoured to lull to sleep the disturbed spirit of her husband. Her efforts however did not seem successful, for though Mathur was silent and his eyes closed, an occasional sigh which now and then escaped him, betrayed an anxiety of mind proceeding from some cause unknown to Tara. She at length broke silence and spoke.

"You do not sleep," said she.

"No I cannot; this you see is not my hour to sleep."

"Then why come to sleep at all? I fear to speak, but will you forgive me if I am bold?"

"What have you to say?"

"You are unhappy; may one who sincerely loves you learn the cause?"

Mathur gave a start. Then checking himself