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_Neer Je Haun._ "Light of my soul, whose voice is sweeter than the murmur of the Ganges, whose name is incense to my nostrils, whose eyes are brighter than the fire-flies by night--my highest ambition is to be thy slave, my greatest hope to guard thee from harm, to bask in the radiance of thine eyes. For thee I would sacrifice all other earthly happiness. When I pray thee to share my humble fortunes, turn not away thy proud head; parch not my soul with scorn, though well I should deserve such a fate for my temerity."
Now turning to Bud, we asked her to decide what answer the lover should receive; should he be accepted or rejected?
"Oh, accepted, of course!" eagerly exclaimed Bud, her bright eyes kindling with sympathy for the ardent Hindoo.
"It is well!" we replied, and wrote down the maiden's answer.
"I will trust my life in thy hands from this day till death."
"Is that right?" we asked.
She said it was, though perhaps a little cold.
We then drew from our breast pocket one sheet of the ma.n.u.script she had not yet seen. It was the t.i.tle of the play:
THE WORs.h.i.+P OF BUD.
Bud colored--looked at us in an embarra.s.sed way, and then with much hesitation was about to speak, when we stretched out our hand and said:
"You will not make us alter what we have written?"
She gave no answer, but from the pressure of her hand we knew we need doubt no more.
Now this heathen idolator would not change places with the greatest Christian monarch in Europe.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
THE END.
