ace. Then under the image of the Great
Dreamer who taught that Love is Illusion, that Affection is Error, that
Desire but binds closer to the revolving Wheel they kissed fondly,
passionately, like two faithful lovers met again after a lifetime of
parting. And the grotesque Devil-Gods around glared fiercely at them.
But the Lord Buddha looked mildly down, on his sculptured face the
ineffable calm of _Nirvana_, the peace of freedom from all Desire
attained at last. But, heedless of gods or devils, the man strained the
woman to his heart and rained kisses on her lips, her eyes, her hair.

There was little time for dalliance. Danger encompassed them. Wargrave
produced from the bundle that he carried a mask and a costume with a
pair of high, felt-soled boots, which effectively disguised Muriel. Then
they joined Tashi; and the three passed out into the vestibule only just
in time, for here they found a group of lamas and peasants from a
distant part of the country stopping for a moment to look at the great
pictured Cycle of Existence painted on the wall before they entered the
temple. The vestibule opened on to a courtyard lined with the cells of
the monks of the monastery and, as this led to the great quadrangle in
which the Miracle Play was being performed, a stream of mummers, lamas
and laymen was passing through it, mostly going to the spectacle,
although a few were coming away from it. With Muriel clinging closely to
him Wargrave followed Tashi as he pushed his way through the crowd,
exchanging jokes and careless banter as he went.

The rabbit-warren of steep lanes, flights of steps and bridges over
ravines through the town built on the precipitous slopes of the hill was
almost deserted, for most of the inhabitants had flocked to the Devil
Dance. So, unmolested and unnoticed, they reached the caravanserai in
which the two men had lodged for several days before the festival. Here
they hurriedly changed their costumes. When they emerged from it Muriel,
her hair cropped almost to the scalp and her face stained a yellowish
tint, was garbed as a boy-novice of a lamasery in the priestly dress,
with a great rosary round her neck. In one hand she held a begging-bowl
while with the other she guided the feeble steps of the aged lama whose
disciple she was supposed to be. Behind them limped a lame lay-brother
of their monastery.

In this disguise the fugitives met with no hindrance as they quitted the
town for the open country, h