But when she arrived at the house she saw nothing
of Nagendra, neither in the path, nor on the roof, nor at the window.
Kunda thought, "He has not risen yet, it is not time; I will sit
down." She sat waiting amid the darkness under the trees; a fruit or a
twig might be heard, in the silence, loosening itself with a slight
cracking sound and falling to the earth. The birds in the boughs shook
their wings overhead, and occasionally the sound of the watchmen
knocking at the doors and giving their warning cry was to be heard. At
length the cool wind blew, forerunner of the dawn, and the _papiya_ (a
bird) filled the air with its musical voice. Presently the cuckoo
uttered his cry, and at length all the birds uniting raised a chorus
of song. Then Kunda's hope was extinguished; she could no longer sit
under the trees, for the dawn had come and she might be seen by any
one. She rose to return. One hope had been strong in her mind. There
was a flower-garden attached to the inner apartments, where sometimes
Nagendra took the air. He might be walking there now; Kunda could not
go away without seeing if it were so. But the garden was walled in,
and unless the inner door was open there was no entrance.
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