Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded,
Or this designing woman speak untruly,
I know not. Tell me, must I rather be
The base disowner of my wedded wife,
Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?
PRIEST [after deliberation].—You must take an intermediate course.
KING.—What course, revered sir? Tell me at once.
PRIEST.—I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to send her back as soon as possible to her father.
KING.—I bow to the decision of my spiritual adviser.
PRIEST.—Daughter, follow me.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!
[Exit Śakoontalá weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his recollection.
A VOICE [behind the scenes].—A miracle! a miracle!
KING [listening].—What has happened now?