themselves. Possibly it was not the Sukh Mandir. Olesen had spoken of
ruin. I could see none. At least it was shelter from the chill which is
always present at these heights when the sun sets,--and it was beautiful
as a house not made with hands. There was a sense of awe but no fear as
I went slowly up the great steps and into the gloom beyond and so gained
the hall.

The moon went with me and from a carven arch filled with marble tracery
rained radiance that revealed and hid. Pillars stood about me, wonderful
with horses ramping forward as in the Siva Temple at Vellore. They
appeared to spring from the pillars into the gloom urged by invisible
riders, the effect barbarously rich and strange--motion arrested, struck
dumb in a violent gesture, and behind them impenetrable darkness. I
could not see the end of this hall--for the moon did not reach it, but
looking up I beheld the walls fretted in great panels into the utmost
splendour of sculpture, encircling the stories of the Gods amid a
twining and under-weaving of leaves and flowers. It was more like a
temple than a dwelling. Siva, as Nataraja the Cosmic Dancer, the Rhythm
of the Universe, danced before me, flinging out his arms in the passion
of creation. Kama, the Indian Eros, bore his bow strung with honey-sweet
black bees that typify the heart's desire. Krishna the Beloved smiled
above the herd-maidens adoring at his feet. Ganesha the Elephant-Headed,
sat in massive calm, wreathing his wise trunk about him. And many more.
But all these so far as I could see tended to one centre panel larger
than any, representing two life-size figures of a dim beauty. At first
I could scarcely distinguish one from the other in the upward-reflected
light, and then, even as I stood, the moving moon revealed the two as
if floating in vapor. At once I recognized the subject--I had seen it
already in the ruined temple of Ranipur, though the details differed.
Parvati, the Divine Daughter of the Himalaya, the Emanation of the
mighty mountains, seated upon a throne, listening to a girl who played
on a Pan pipe before her. The goddess sat, her chin leaned upon her
hand, her shoulders slightly inclined in a pose of gentle sweetness,
looking down upon the girl at her feet, absorbed in the music of the
hills and lonely places. A band of jewels, richly wrought, clasped the
veil on her brows, and below the bare bosom a glorious girdle clothed
her with loops and strings and tassels of jewels that