“LAST night”—I am quoting the Moon’s own words—“last night I was gliding¹ through the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored in the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the thick intertwining boughs² of the bananas, arching beneath me like the tortoise’s shell. Forth³ from the thicket⁴ tripped a Hindoo maid, light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision, and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of Hindostan: I could read on her delicate brow the thought that had brought her hither. The thorny⁵ creeping plants tore her sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. The deer that had come down to the river to quench⁶ her thirst, sprang by with a startled bound, for in her hand the maiden⁷ bore a lighted lamp. I could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them for a screen before the dancing flame. She came down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. The flame flickered⁸ to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp burned on, and the girl’s black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind their long silken lashes⁹, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity¹⁰. She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she could keep it in sight, her betrothed¹¹ was still alive; but if the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. Near her in the grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded¹² it not—she thought only of Bramah and of her betrothed. ‘He lives!’ she shouted joyfully¹³, ‘he lives!’ And from the mountains the echo came back upon her, ‘he lives!’”