"I know not," she returned, "except that I am a fool."
"Go," he continued, "they will be wanting thee in the temple."
"I am not going," she replied; "another will take my work. I will not leave thee now."
"Gunga," he resumed, after a moody silence, "is there peace between us?"
"Such peace as thou wilt have," she replied.
"And if I love thee again?"
"Pah!" she cried; "love!—it is a thing to spit upon now. Can love go from one to another, and return as it went? Can a garland of Champa flowers be worn all night, and keep their freshness and fragrance till the morning? Do not men fling them away as refuse?"
"Then, why come to me, girl? why follow me?"
"Thy heart tells thee already," she said, fixing her eyes full on him, "we have one thing only in common now. That girl—I told thee so at the Pâp-nâs that day, and I tell thee so again—when I trample that charm of hers under my feet, and her throat with it, I shall be content, and thou art safe. Yes, Moro Trimmul, but for hope of revenge on her, I would have killed thee when thy love went to her. But thou art a coward; I know it; thou wilt do nothing."
"Thou wilt not say so if I carry her off and put her to shame."