ollowed by the blessed darkness of
separation."

And now in the deep darkness we stood clasped in one another's arms;
while around us, from the horrible circle of hags, there arose
another chant as harsh and discordant as the previous one, but which,
nevertheless, like that, served at least to keep us together a little
longer. For this reason it sounded sweeter than the sweetest music;
and therefore, when at last the hideous noise ended, I felt a pang of
grief, for I knew that I must now give up Almah forever.

I was right. The ceremony was over. We had to part, and we parted with
tears of despair. I was led away, and as I went I heard Almah's sobs.
I broke away, and tried to return for one more embrace; but in the
darkness I could not find her, and could only hear her sobs at a
greater distance, which showed that she too was being led away. I
called after her,

"Farewell, Almah!"

Her reply came back broken with sobs.

"Farewell forever, Atam-or!"

I was once more led away, and again traversed the dark passages, and
again came back to my den, which now seemed dark with the blackness
of despair.

On my return I was formally and solemnly congratulated by all the
paupers. I should not have received their congratulations had I not
expected that there would be something more. I expected that something
would be said about the result of this act of separation; for Almah
had believed that it would be the means of saving my life, and I
believed that it would be the means of saving her life, and for this
reason each of us had performed our part; although, of course, the joy
of meeting with one another would of itself have been sufficient, and
more than sufficient, to make that ceremony an object of desire. I
thought, therefore, that some statement might now be made to the
effect that by means of this ceremony my status among the Kosekin
would be changed, and that both I and Almah, being no longer
lovers, would be no longer fit for the sacrifice. To my intense
disappointment, however, nothing whatever was said that had the
remotest reference to this.

On the following jom I determined to ask the Chief Pauper himself
directly; and accordingly, after a brief preamble, I put the question
point-blank:

"Will our ceremony of separation make any difference as to our
sacrifice?"

"What?" he asked, with a puzzled expression.

I repeated the question.

"I don't understand," said he, still looking puzzled.

Upon this I