he anger of your strange
gods for the love in your noble heart.

"Ha!" said the old man as he swung round in fury; then he smiled and
opened wide his arms. "Thou! O my son! _thou_! Thou wouldst offer
the great sacrifice thyself to our most gentle mother. And art thou
not in the right? Thine has been the task and the toil, therefore is
it meet that thou shouldst have the reward."

He laid his hands upon the shoulders of the youth, who straightway
gripped the veined old wrists and raised the withered arms high up
above their heads, while their eyes met in a sudden-born, subconscious
enmity, and the knife lay glittering along the wrinkled brown skin.

Only for an instant, and Madhu let go his hold, and turning, stood
looking down upon the jewel above the woman's heart. As he looked, the
thing, catching the reflections of the lights, shone strangely bright
upon the snow-white skin, and the lust of blood swept him from head to
foot.

He longed to drive the dagger through the breast above the shining
jewel; he craved to see the whiteness of the skin stained with red, to
throw himself upon the still form and shut the dead mouth with kisses.

He was mad with passion, intoxicated with the heavy perfumed air, drunk
with the atmosphere of his surroundings, and his slim body shook as he
ran the needle-point of the dagger into his own breast.

He closed his eyes in the ecstasy of that pain which is twin to the
ecstasy of desire fulfilled, and in their closing woke suddenly to the
purity of his strange love. He turned with a snarl and hit up the old
man's hand as it almost touched the nape of his neck, and stretching
wide his arms made a shield of his body between Leonie and the intent
he read in the priest's eyes, just as a brick fell and split to pieces
at their feet.

"Linger not, my son," said the old priest fiercely. "Behold! the rites
have been performed, the chants sung, and the offerings made. Drive
the knife home, and give drink to thy mother of that which she loves.
Hasten! for she is angry at thy slowness, and the very earth trembles
at her wrath."

But Madhu Krishnaghar looked straight back into the fierce, suspicious
old eyes, and moved quickly towards the priest who, taken by surprise,
retreated hurriedly.

"Father!" came the words in the musical, steady voice. "O servant of
the Black One, I cannot, nay, I will not, for I love yon white woman
with a love passing all understanding. Nay, hearken! A