"Dost thou know her?" asked the Brahmun priest of Gunga, when he heard her speak to Tara, and observed the effect of her address.
"Know her?—Yes, Maharaj," returned Gunga, "she is a Moorlee of the temple at Tooljapoor, and I am another,—that's why I know her."
"It is curious," said the man, musing. "There, raise her up till my wife comes; we have had charge of her given to us, and she is to watch here to see if the Mother comes to her to prove herself what she says she is. Did she ever prophesy?"
"The Mother came to her once," replied Gunga, "when she was made a Moorlee; but I never saw her come afterwards. If she would be a true priestess, she perhaps would come; but she is only half a one at heart, and that's why trouble follows her."
"What trouble?" asked the priest.
"O, her father and mother are dead, killed in the fight at Tooljapoor, and she is here, among strangers, with no one to help her; is not that trouble enough, Maharaj?" replied the girl. "And she is so beautiful, too; they say she is a witch, and steals men's hearts, and throws them away; but I don't know that she is—she is only beautiful—look at her."
"Ah, that's the worst I have heard yet," said the man, musing.
"Yes, but she is pure, quite pure, sir," returned Gunga earnestly, "not like me and the rest of us; and we envied her, and I hated her; but I don't hate her now, and when she wakes I will tell her so. Tara, Tara! wake! She is not dead, sir, is she?" continued the girl dreamily, pushing away Tara's hair from her face, and looking into her eyes: "she does not answer me. O, speak to her!"
"No, she is alive," replied the Brahmun, feeling her hand and forehead. "Wait, I will bring some water."