"Yes, she is here," returned the Pundit hesitatingly, and turning away his head in a vain attempt to repress his tears. "She—she—is a widow, is she not?" he asked.
Then the truth flashed upon the wretched father with fearful rapidity. That crowd of people; that hideous pile of logs: the preparations and rejoicing were for her death—for Tara's, and after all he was too late to save her! O, if he had only hurried on,—if he had only left home sooner! But thought now had no definite form. It was a confused and conflicting chaos, utterly uncontrollable. "Where have ye put her?" he asked, in a low husky voice, as, with a sickening pressure at his heart, his features assumed the haggard expression of weary age.
"Friend," said the Pundit, passing his arm around him and trying to raise him up, "come and see. Such poor honour as we can do to her on earth while she is with us, we have already done and will continue. Come and see. Arise! If thou art a true Brahmun, hear this, like a god on earth as thou art, and believe it for her eternal glory. How few are chosen for this sacrifice! true jewels only are they—pure gold, to be purified in the fire!"
"In the fire," he echoed dreamily—rising, and supporting himself against a pillar in the room with a hopeless gesture of despair—"in the fire!—I tell thee, Vishnu Pundit," he added presently, "it cannot be: who has wrought this cruelty upon her? Who has done it? Of her own act and will it could not have been; but if the council have dared to—to——"
"She thought you dead—you, her mother, and your new wife," replied the Pundit, interrupting him. "She was suffering hopeless persecution and insult, and in the temple at Pertâbgurh she stood before the Mother's image, and declared herself sutee before the Brahmuns. Could we recall the words? I was present. Had it been my own daughter I had been thankful. O Shastree! it was her glory!"
Vyas Shastree could not reply. "Let me see her and hear it from her own lips," was all he could utter at all intelligibly.
"Certainly, if thou wilt," replied the Pundit; "she is ready to go even now, but the hour is not come. And yet, Vyas Shastree, beware; would it not be better she believed you all dead, and so died happily looking for you, than, seeing you alive, be shaken in her determination? Will not the love of life come out of this, and rise defiant to all convictions? Alas! alas! my friend, it is not for me to come between your love and her mother's and that poor child; but beware! she cannot retract now and live, otherwise than in dishonour and infamy; and hereafter you will cry in agony to the goddess Mother, she had better have died—and will be guilty of sin in having shaken her faith if she live. Did you refuse when she was called before?——"
The Shastree groaned, and his breath came as it were in broken gasps. He was trembling violently. "I—I—must see her," he said. "Let her decide;" and, unable to stand, he again sat down.
"Drink some water, Vyas Shastree; it will refresh you," said the Pundit, bringing a vessel full from the end of the apartment.
"No, no, friend," he replied, putting it away, "I will not eat or drink till this is past, if it is to be. Let us go. I am no less a Brahmun than thyself. If the Mother whom she serves has spoken to her, it is well—she will go to her. My child! O my child!" cried the miserable man in his agony. "O Mother, what hath she done for this to come to her—she, so pure, to need the sacrifice of fire! O Toolja Máta, was it needed? Come, Shastree, I am ready now," he continued, after a pause. "Do not delay."