an the
desecration of the tabernacle and the wilful defilement and destruction
of the Sacred Host.

This was Unorna's determination. Beatrice should commit this crime
against Heaven, and then die with the whole weight of it upon her soul,
and thus should her soul itself be tormented for ever and ever to ages
of ages.

Considering what she believed, it is no wonder that she should have
shuddered at the tremendous thought. And yet, in the distortion of her
reasoning, the sin would be upon Beatrice who did the act, and not upon
herself who commanded it. There was no diminution of her own faith
in the sacredness of the place and the holiness of the consecrated
object--had she been one whit less sure of that, her vengeance would
have been vain and her whole scheme meaningless.

She came back out of the darkness and set the wooden steps in their
place before the altar at Beatrice's feet. Then, as though to save
herself from all participation in the guilt of the sacrilege which was
to follow, she withdrew outside the Communion rail, and closed the gate
behind her.

Beatrice, obedient to her smallest command, and powerless to move or
act without her suggestion, stood still as she had been placed, with her
back to the church and her face to the altar. Above her head the richly
wrought door of the tabernacle caught what little light there was and
reflected it from its own uneven surface.

Unorna paused a moment, looked at the shadowy figure, and then glanced
behind her into the body of the church, not out of any ghostly fear, but
to assure herself that she was alone with her victim. She saw that all
was quite ready, and then she calmly knelt down just upon one side of
the gate and rested her folded hands upon the marble railing. A moment
of intense stillness followed. Again the thought of Keyork Arabian
flashed across her mind. Had there been any reality, she vaguely
wondered, in that compact made with him? What was she doing now? But the
crime was to be Beatrice's, not hers. Her heart beat fast for a moment,
and then she grew very calm again.

The clock in the church tower chimed the first quarter past one. She
was able to count the strokes and was glad to find that she had lost no
time. As soon as the long, singing echo of the bells had died away, she
spoke, not loudly, but clearly and distinctly.

"Beatrice Varanger, go forward and mount the steps I have placed for
you."

The dark figure moved obediently, and Unorna