hould be lifted and driven down, deep, even to the hilt. And
the white man hastened as best he could, reeling at every step, with
blood streaming from his wrists and spattering upon the stones beneath
the leering eyes of the gods. Not one of the three heeded the low
moaning of the wind as it swept past the temple and through the trees,
to die away into a great, uncanny, unnatural silence, unbroken by sound
of beast or bird.

Fate feeling for her shears, and peevish through want of sleep maybe,
or mayhap irritated by their obstreperous behaviour, jerked the strings
which bound those marionettes called humans to her palsied old fingers.

The old priest, misjudging the pull given to his string, in what he
mistook to be his triumph, _laughed_.

It is better to laugh last indeed, but oft-times it is best not to
laugh at all, for who can foresee the particle of dust which may enter
your indecently and injudiciously wide open mouth to choke you in your
ill-timed mirth.

Only for an instant did he triumph above his enemy, but for just that
instant he loosened his will power; and Madhu Krishnaghar, sensing the
relief, and whipped by the laugh to one final desperate effort of his
failing powers, raised his hand and flung the knife far back to fall
with a clatter in some distant corner.

It was done.

Youth had mocked at experience, life at death, love at opposition, as
it has done since the beginning of time, and will do, let us hope,
until the end.

For as the knife hurtled into the shadows, Madhu bent swiftly and
lifted Leonie into his arms, holding her in this his last moment of
heaven upon earth, tenderly and firmly, as he glared defiance over her
head at the priest.

And he, understanding at last that he had failed, cast himself at the
feet of his god who, in her fury, stamped with both her blood-stained
feet.

CHAPTER L

"Greater love hath no man."--_The Bible_.

There was a shout from the doorway leading to the secret places of the
temple as Cuxson, covered with blood and dust, half-crazed with horror,
paused for a moment as he took in the awful picture before him.

Leonie, with her hair almost sweeping the ground, lay half clothed and
seemingly dead in the arms of a native, whose face was a picture of
triumphant love for all to see; and a wild-eyed priest beat his breast
before the horrible image of the terrible, all powerful Goddess of
Destruction.

He sprang forward with another shout, whic