I am sinful; I cannot rule my own heart."
Surja Mukhi could endure no more. With clasped hands, she entreated
bitterly--
"Tell me no more; keep it to yourself. Every word you say pierces my
breast like a dart. What was written in my destiny has befallen me. I
wish to hear no more; it is not fit for me to hear."
"Not so, Surja Mukhi," replied Nagendra; "you must listen. Let me
speak what I have long striven to say. I will leave this house; I will
not die, but I will go elsewhere. Home and family no longer give me
happiness. I have no pleasure with you. I am not fit to be your
husband. I will trouble you no longer. I will find Kunda Nandini, and
will go with her to another place. Do you remain mistress of this
house. Regard yourself as a widow--since your husband is so base, are
you not a widow? But, base as I am, I will not deceive you. Now I go:
if I am able to forget Kunda, I will come again; if not, this is my
last hour with you."
What could Surja Mukhi say to these heart-piercing words? For some
moments she stood like a statue, gazing on the ground. Then she cast
herself down, hid her face, and wept.
As the murderous tiger gazes at the dying agonies of his prey,
Nagendra stood calmly looking on.
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