Upagupta, the disciple of Buddha, lay asleep in the dust by thr city wall of Mathura. Lamps were all out, doors were all shut, ans stars were all hidden by the murky sky of August. Whose feet were those tinkling with anklets, touching his breast of a sudden? He woke up startled, and the light from a woman's lamp fell on his forgiving eyes. It was Vasavadatta the dancing girl, starred with jewels, Clouded with a pale blue mantle, drunk with the wine of her youth. She lowered her lamp and saw the young face, austerely beautiful. 'Forgive me, young ascetic,' said the woman, 'Graciously come to my house. The dusty earth is not a fit bed for you.' The young ascetic answered, 'Woman, go on your way; When the time is ripe I will come to you.' Suddenly the black night showed its teeth in a flash of lightning. The storm growled from the corner of the sky, and the woman trembled in fear. A year had not yet passed. It was eveing of a day in April, in the Spring. The b
