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Pupil. [Meditating with wonder.] How great is the power of Dushmanta!—The monarch and his charioteer had no sooner entered the grove than we continued our holy rites without interruption.—What words can describe him?—By his bravely aiming a shaft, by the mere sound of his bow-string, by the simple murmur of his vibrating bow, he disperses our calamities.—Now then I deliver to the priests this bundle of fresh Cusa grass to be scattered round the place of sacrifice.—[Looking behind the scenes.]—Ah! Priyamvadá, for whom are you carrying that ointment of Usíra root, and those leaves of water lilies?—[Listening attentively.]—What say you?—That Sacontalá is extremely disordered by the sun's heat, and that you have procured for her a cooling medicine! Let her, my Priyamvadá, be diligently attended; for she is the darling of our venerable father Canna.—I will administer, by the hand of Gautamí, some healing water consecrated in the ceremony, called Vaitána.

[He goes out.

Dushm. I well know the power of her devo-