came to Hemlata, and which she seldom cared to disclose. Her memory travelled again and again to the wayward and impulsive youth who had been a companion of her childhood, and had parted from her on the threshold of her womanhood. The burning face, the glowing eyes, the abrupt talk of Noren came back to her, and the woman read in them a meaning which the girl had scarcely understood. She recalled, too, with a sigh, the misfortunes which had befallen that high-born youth, the calm courage with which he had faced them, the determination with which he had conquered them. And the memory of his last parting with her near the garden temple of Birnagar, the tears which glistened in his eyes, and the words which fell from his lips, recurred to her oftener perhaps than she would have dared to own to her confiding husband.

Hemlata was not an unfaithful wife even in her thoughts. If Noren had lived happily at Birnagar she would have welcomed him often to Debipur, seated him by her husband, and loved to listen to them as in days of yore. But the misfortunes of a disinherited youth and the uncertainties of a soldier's fate threw a romance over his life which stirred to its depths her soft and sympathetic soul. The unknown dangers of the exile in distant wars had a strange and dangerous fascination for her, and with the thoughts of his present dangers came softer recollections of past days and past scenes.

"Tell me, my sweet sister Saibalini, hast heard anything more from Rajmahal?"

"News was brought to my brother, sister Hemlata, that the Badshah's troops have gone to the south to fight the Afghans again. Our dear Noren has gone