ght at our very feet.

Two girls came to see us to-day; sisters, but tuned to different keys.
One was ordinary enough, a bright girl with plenty of jewels and a
merry, contented face. The other was finer grained; you looked at her as
you would look at the covers of a book, wondering what was inside. Both
were married; neither had children. This was the only sorrow the younger
had ever had, and it did not seem to weigh heavily.

The elder looked as if she had forgotten how to smile. Sometimes, when
the other laughed, her eyes would light for a moment, but the shadow in
them deepened almost before the light had come; great soft brown eyes,
full of the dumb look that animals have when they are suffering.

I knew her story, and understood. She was betrothed as a baby of four to
a lad considerably older; a lovable boy, they say he was, generous and
frank. The two of course belonged to the same Caste, the Vellalar, and
were thoroughly well brought up.

In South India no ceremony of importance is considered complete without
the presence of "the Servants of the gods." These are girls and women
belonging to the temple (that is, belonging to the priests of the
temple), who, as they are never married, "except to the god who never
dies," can never become widows. Hence the auspiciousness of their
presence at betrothals, marriages, feasts of all sorts, and even
funerals.

But this set of Vellalars had as a clan risen above the popular
superstition, and the demoralising presence of these women was not
allowed to profane either the betrothal or marriage of any child of the
family. So the boy and girl grew up as unsullied as Hindus ever are.
They knew of what happened in other homes, but their clan was a large
one, and they found their society in it, and did not come across others
much.

Shortly before his marriage the boy went to worship in the great temple
near the sea. He had heard of its sanctity all his life, and as a little
lad had often gone with his parents on pilgrimage there, but now he went
to worship. He took his offering and went. He went again and again. All
that he saw there was religion, all that he did was religious. Could
there be harm in it?

He was married; his little bride went with him trustfully. She knew more
of him than most Indian brides know of their husbands. She had heard he
was loving, and she thought he would be kind to her.

A year or two passed, and the child's face had a look in it which even