rilege she had in mind. But she was
undeniably lovely; yes, more adorably beautiful than ever with her
present thrill of excitement; and when the stair was brought, and she
walked down from the mammoth's back to the ground, those near fell
to their knees and gave her worship, out of sheer fascination for her
beauty and charm.

Ylga, the fan-girl, alone of all that vast multitude round the Sun
temple contained herself with her formal paces and duties. She looked
pained and troubled. It was plain to see, even from the distance where
I stood, that she carried a heavy heart under the jewels of her robe.
It was fitting, too, that this should be so. Though she had been long
enough divorced from his care and fostered by the Empress, Ylga was
a daughter of Zaemon, and he was the chiefest of our Lord the Sun's
ministers here on earth. She could not forget her upbringing now at
this supreme moment when the highest of the old Gods was to be formally
defied. And perhaps also (having a kindness for Phorenice) she was not a
little dreadful of the consequences.

But the Empress had no eye for one sad look amongst all that sea of
glowing faces. Boldly and proudly she strode out into the circle, as
though she had been the duly appointed priest for the sacrifice. And
after her came a knot of men, dressed as priests, and bearing the
victim. Some of these were creatures of her own, and it was easy to
forgive mere ignorant laymen, won over by the glamour of Phorenice's
presence. But some, to their shame, were men born in the Priests' Clan,
and brought up in the groves and colleges of the Sacred Mountain, and
for their apostasy there could be no palliation.

The wood had already been stacked on the altar-stone in the due form
required by the ancient symbolism, and the Empress stood aside whilst
those who followed did what was needful. As they opened out, I saw that
the victim was one of the small, cloven-hoofed horses that roam the
plains--a most acceptable sacrifice. They bound its feet with metal
gyves, and put it on the pyre, where, for a while, it lay neighing. Then
they stepped aside, and left it living. Here was an innovation.

The false priests went back to the farther side of the circle, and
Phorenice stood alone before the altar. She lifted up her voice, sweet,
tuneful, and carrying, and though the din of the siege still came from
over the city, no ear there lost a word of what was spoken.

She raised her glance aloft, and all