The sound of the woodman's axe ceased, and presently we heard some one approaching through the jungle.
"'Twere better that he should know from me that you and I had had speech together, than that he should learn it from the Terai, for our men are very terrible when they are wrought upon by jealousy." Then, after a pause, she went on, "Don't speak to me in English in his presence. He won't like it."
She rose and half veiled her face with her chudder, as a splendid young Padhan bearing an immense load of wood entered the glade. He threw down his burden as soon as he perceived me, and, snatching up his axe, advanced menacingly towards me. He was a bronze Apollo, with the air of freedom that is native to mountaineers and woodsy folks.
"The sahib intended no harm, Kali Dass," began the woman; "and he hath given me tidings of his death."
"What of it? He was but a quail."
"But now canst thou become a Christian, and—marry me."
"Marry one who was twice a widow? Nana Debi forbid! I must admonish thee when we return to our hut. Come."
Fearing that any further interest in the case on my part would but increase the severity of her punishment, I turned down the jungle path.
Just before leaving the glade I looked back; the woman had one knee on the ground, and with outstretched arms she was balancing the load of wood that Kali Dass was putting on her head.