The night of the AmÁwas, or that which immediately precedes the new moon, is necessarily the darkest of every month, and for several days previous to it the sky had been overcast, as it frequently is at the season we write of, though without rain. The ceremonies in the temple would be protracted till, according to the astronomical calculations, the old moon had passed away and the new one begun, which was some time after midnight. The concourse in the town was perhaps greater than usual. Several of the Mahratta chiefs were still there, each with a complement of followers; and others who lived within a day's journey, were arriving one by one, to attend the last series of recitations which would be given until the next full moon. It was understood, also, that this was the last night on which Moro Trimmul would officiate; and his picturesque style of declamation was more attractive than the measured and monotonous manner of the elder Pundits.

By the afternoon, therefore, the main bazar of Tooljapoor had become a very lively scene. The number of people already in the town was increased hourly by the arrival of visitors from the populous villages round about, and even from Darasew, Thair, Baimlee, and others within a day's ride; and as evening drew in, the passes leading to the town from below, and the roads, too, from the level country above, still showed parties,—some on horses, some on ponies, on foot, or on oxen,—pressing forward to be in time for the opening ceremonies, which would commence as the lamps were lighted.

Sweetmeat-sellers—parched rice—and chenna friers, were driving a brisk trade in the bazars, and their booths were crowded with customers receiving their several quantities hot and hot, as they could be prepared. The night would be far advanced ere the whole of the ceremonies were concluded, and, once seated, no one could move. Many a careful dame, therefore, had tied up a bundle of sweet cakes before she left home and carried them on her arm;—others, with less foresight perhaps, were making provision for the night at the stalls we have mentioned:—while flower-sellers were threading garlands of jessamine and mÔtea blossoms, and, indeed, of many wild flowers, from fields and hedges, in lack of other materials. Sellers of PÂn leaves, tobacco and betel-nut—incense-sticks and pastiles—and oil for the lights of the shrine—were all as busy as a throng of eager purchasers could make them.

Among this crowd, the Shastree, with Anunda, Radha, and Tara, were making their way to the temple before the assembly should render the courts impassable. With the Shastree, who was walking before the women, was Moro Trimmul, who had dined at his house, and who was now on his way with him to the recitation. Chimna, two days before, had reported to Radha that her brother was about to leave. He had, the man said, purchased a palankeen and hired a set of bearers for it, and others had been sent on the road to Sattara, so as to form relays for a night's journey: and, except himself, and one or two who were to be mounted, the other servants were to follow. Indeed, intimation of his intended departure had been made that day privately to the Shastree and to his sister by Moro himself.

He was afraid of staying, he said. Afzool Khan had arrived at Nuldroog; the force there was about to march to Sholapoor, and thence westward. If he preceded it, he could travel unnoticed, otherwise it would be impossible to move at all in its rear, or to pass it without making a considerable and inconvenient detour. As danger threatened the Maharaja, he must be present to share it; and he would return as soon as the storm, which was about to burst, had blown over.

It was no more than all had expected and some had hoped for. So long as her brother's presence was a source of no actual uneasiness to Radha, she was thankful to see him, although she feared a renewal of his threats to her as regarded Tara; but since her last interview with him, she had been possessed with a dread which beset her night and day, either that he would do something desperate, as regarded Tara, or that, in revenge for her not having assisted his licentious purpose, he would put his threat, as regarded herself,—whatever it might be,—in execution.

His proposed departure was, therefore, a positive relief, and, in making the communication to her, Moro Trimmul had carefully acted his part. He deplored the recent scene and his own violence. "Tara's love," he said, "was hopeless as it was criminal; and he thanked his sister for having saved his honour in regard to that misplaced affection. Girls who married could not always keep their relatives with them: better indeed it were so, and in her case particularly; for no doubt he had enemies, and were he denounced to Afzool Khan, he should have some difficulty in escaping."

Could any one have doubted all this, or suspected that any sinister motive lay below it? Impossible! It was the literal truth in most respects, and open to no breath of suspicion.

To Anunda, and especially to Tara, the event was one of positive rejoicing. The good matron had, as we have seen, no objection to Moro Trimmul until Tara's suspicion had been aroused; and, secure in the effect of her own precautions, she had become utterly indifferent whether he remained or not. But with Tara it was otherwise; his presence was the only check on her enjoyment of daily life. Were he gone for good, her services, her household love, would be freed from the incubus which had deadened her existence while he remained, and she would be saved from any apprehension for the future. On all these considerations, therefore, the female members of the Shastree's family descended to the temple that night, with joyful and thankful hearts.

We know, however, partly what Moro Trimmul had determined upon, and how he had proposed to execute it. So far as she was concerned, the girl Gunga had never faltered in her plan. The only stipulation she made with Moro Trimmul was, that she should accompany him,—an arrangement to which he was very unwilling to consent. On this point, however, he found her utterly unrelenting. When she saw his desire to be rid of her, she declared that she would not only retire from the affair altogether, but would denounce him to the Shastree and to every Brahmun in Tooljapoor. She defied his threats; and he knew, by previous experience, that no words could turn her from any purpose which she had in view, and without her co-operation the execution of the plan was quite impossible. What she proposed to do he knew not, she would not tell him; but he had provided a stout horse for her which, with his servants and the litter, were to wait in the ravine below the temple. He did not fear pursuit. The Shastree kept no horse. He could not obtain the services of any horsemen from the authorities at night. Who would care for the ravings of a Brahmun, whose daughter, a priestess of the temple, had eloped, as it would be considered, with her lover? True, Anunda might revenge herself on Radha,—but to that, the Shastree, for his own honour, would hardly consent.

So they descended the steps into the lower court of the temple together; and while Tara, her mother, and the Shastree entered the vestibule to make their salutation to the goddess, Moro Trimmul excused himself on pretence of bringing his books, and went round to the back of the shrine, where, near the wishing-stone,[12] he found Gunga and several of the priestesses sitting idly on the basement, basking, as it were, in the evening sun then setting. We have said it had been a gloomy day, even now the heavens were overcast: but towards the horizon the clouds were open, and a bright gleam of red light had broken through them and fell upon the temple and sides of the glen in striking brilliancy; while the rich dresses of the girls, and their heavy gold and silver ornaments, glistened and sparkled in the glowing colour.

Gunga had apparently been giving some description of her new gold anklets; for, as Moro Trimmul turned the corner, she had slid down from her seat, and was moving her feet as to produce a faint clashing sound.

"One need not even put on the bells with these," she cried to her friends, "listen how well they will sound to the music, and I shall dance to-night as the processions move round."

As she spoke, the girl swayed round several times, half circling one way, then another, tossing her arms in the air in time with the steps in which she was moving her feet. There was something in the lithe grace of her figure which struck Moro Trimmul as a new charm, and he stopped to watch it for a few moments ere he was noticed. Perhaps the thought she was not observed, perhaps the certainty that she should that night triumph over her rival, had excited Gunga more than usual; for she had thrown into her movements a spirit and beauty,—a majesty of motion,—as it might be called, which was inexpressibly attractive.

"If thou dance like that to-night," cried one of the girls, "thou wilt win back that lover of thine, Gunga. If he were mine I should not quarrel with him. Ah!" she screamed, "there he is: what if he has heard me!" and, sliding hastily from their seats, she, with the rest of her companions, fled round the corner of the building.

Gunga did not move, but covered her face with the end of her garment.

"If I had known——" she said.

"Thou wouldst not have danced so well," he returned, interrupting her. "By Krishna! girl, not even the GopÎs of Muttra danced more lovingly before him than thou didst then in those few turns. Dance like that to-night, and I shall not be able to resist thee."

"It would be a pity to turn thee from Tara now," she said, with scorn, "so I shall not dance at all. Art thou ready?"

"Yes; I have taken leave of them, and prepared everything," he replied. "Chimna will bring the horses and litter into the ravine, and wait near the steps for us. Thou hast the key?"

"Look," she cried, crossing to the door, which was only a few steps distant, and partly opening it, "it is already open, and the key is here in my bodice. We can lock it outside, and throw the key into the bushes. When I beckon to thee, come, for I will entice her here; but if thy heart then fail thee, Moro Pundit, beware——"

He had need in truth to do so; but there was no occasion for threats, they did but provoke him. "Enough," he said, "we must not be seen together here. I will not fail thee."