She smiles radiantly. She suspects nothing. She is more beautiful than before. Her dress is of the richest Mandalay silks. She wears big nadoungs of rubies in her ears.
Presently meng beng arranges a set of ivory chessmen on a low table between them. The sun sinks slowly. The sound of approaching wheels is heard.
Enter (C.) u. rai gyan thoo, preceded by two servants. meng beng looks
up in surprise—in alarm. He rises, etc., and goes forward. u. rai gyan thoo presents a letter written on palm leaves. meng beng does not open it.
The curtains at the opening of the tent are, Oriental fashion, dropped. The music ceases.
meng beng and the grand vizier converse apart. The Minister explains that the Princess of Ceylon’s ship and its great convoy have already been sighted. The Court and city wait in eager expectancy. The King has worshipped long enough at the Pagoda of Golden Flowers—his subjects and his bride call to him. u. rai gyan thoo has come to take him to them.
meng beng is terribly distressed.
“You can return one day,” the Vizier
tells him. “The Pagoda will remain. I also, once, in years long dead, Lord of the Sea and Moon, worshipped at a Pagoda.”
meng beng seeks mah phru to explain that he goes on urgent affairs, that he will come back to her and to his sons, perhaps before the waning of the new moon. Their parting is sad with the pensive sadness of look and gesture peculiar to Eastern people.