as far as the other is concerned, I have an idea."

The king had left his throne and approached the outer edge of the
alcove, until he stood almost directly under the oval plate of gold
representing Pachacamac or the unknown god.

To this he knelt and made a succession of weird, uncouth gestures that
suggested a lunatic or a traveling hypnotist. Evidently the good
Pachacamac approved whatever suggestions the royal priest communicated,
for he rose to his feet with a solemn grin and strutted majestically to
the rear, facing the frame of quipos.

It was evident that he no longer had faith in Desiree's interpretation
of the divine will of the great Pachacamac. It is a royal privilege to
be able to judge your own enemies.

The hand of the Child of the Sun passed slowly up and down the frame of
quipos, betraying a commendable reluctance. It touched the yellow cord
and passed on; grasped the white and dropped it.

"The old hypocrite!" exclaimed Harry in disgust. "Does he imagine he
is playing with us?"

Then there was an imperceptible movement, rather felt than seen,
throughout the vast assemblage, and Desiree sank back on her throne of
gold with a shudder as the king severed with the knife the black cord
of death and laid it on the ground at her feet.

I looked at Harry; his face became slightly pale, but his eyes met mine
firmly, speaking of a fortitude unconquerable. Then we again riveted
our gaze on the alcove opposite.

An attendant approached from the rear and stood before the golden
throne, while the king motioned to Desiree to take up the black cord.
For a moment she did not understand him, then she drew back, shaking
her head firmly.

The king did not wait to argue the matter, but stooped himself and
picked up the cord and handed it to the attendant, who received it with
a great show of respect and retired to the rear, where a commotion was
created by its appearance.

The judgment was passed, but what was to be the nature of the
execution? That uncertainty and the weirdness of the scene gave to the
thing an air of unreality that shut out the tragic and admitted only
the grotesque.

I have many times in my life felt nearer to death than when I stood on
the top of that lofty column, surrounded by the thousands of squatting
dwarfs, whose black bodies reflected dully the mounting light from the
flaming urns.

I cannot say what we expected, for we knew not what to expect. Many
conjectures entered my