Part 6 (2/2)

_a.n.u.suya_. My dear, we hermit people cannot neglect to entertain a distinguished guest, and go wandering about.

(SHAKUNTALA _starts to walk away without answering_.)

_King_ (_aside_). She is going! (_He starts up as if to detain her, then checks his desires_.) A thought is as vivid as an act, to a lover.

Though nurture, conquering nature, holds Me back, it seems As had I started and returned In waking dreams.

_Priyamvada_ (_approaching_ SHAKUNTALA). You dear, peevish girl! You mustn't go.

_Shakuntala_ (_turns with a frown_). Why not?

_Priyamvada_. You owe me the watering of two trees. You can go when you have paid your debt. (_She forces her to come back_.)

_King_. It is plain that she is already wearied by watering the trees.

See!

Her shoulders droop; her palms are reddened yet; Quick breaths are struggling in her bosom fair; The blossom o'er her ear hangs limply wet; One hand restrains the loose, dishevelled hair.

I therefore remit her debt. (_He gives the two friends a ring. They take it, read the name engraved on it, and look at each other_.)

_King_. Make no mistake. This is a present--from the king.

_Priyamvada_. Then, sir, you ought not to part with it. Your word is enough to remit the debt.

_a.n.u.suya_. Well, Shakuntala, you are set free by this kind gentleman--or rather, by the king himself. Where are you going now?

_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). I would never leave him if I could help myself.

_Priyamvada_. Why don't you go now?

_Shakuntala_. I am not _your_ servant any longer. I will go when I like.

_King_ (_looking at_ SHAKUNTALA. _To himself_). Does she feel toward me as I do toward her? At least, there is ground for hope.

Although she does not speak to me, She listens while I speak; Her eyes turn not to see my face, But nothing else they seek.

_A voice behind the scenes_. Hermits! Hermits! Prepare to defend the creatures in our pious grove. King Dushyanta is hunting in the neighbourhood.

The dust his horses' hoofs have raised, Red as the evening sky, Falls like a locust-swarm on boughs Where hanging garments dry.

_King_ (_aside_). Alas! My soldiers are disturbing the pious grove in their search for me. _The voice behind the scenes_. Hermits!

Hermits! Here is an elephant who is terrifying old men, women, and children.

One tusk is splintered by a cruel blow Against a blocking tree; his gait is slow, For countless fettering vines impede and cling; He puts the deer to flight; some evil thing He seems, that comes our peaceful life to mar, Fleeing in terror from the royal car.

(_The girls listen and rise anxiously_.)

_King_. I have offended sadly against the hermits. I must go back.

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