Again the same confession, forced evidently by some overwhelming power
from one who would, if he could, have denied or remained silent.

"And to whom," said Esmo, interposing for the first time, "have you
thus betrayed us?"

"I know not," was the reply.

"Explain," said the Chief immediately to the left of the Throne, who,
if there were a difference in the expression of the calm sad faces,
seemed to entertain more of compassion and less of disgust and
repulsion towards the offender than any other.

"Those with whom I spoke," replied the culprit, in the same strange
tone, "were not known to me, but gave token of authority next to that
of the Campta. They told me that the existence of the Order had long
been known, that many of its members were clearly indicated by their
household practices, that their destruction was determined; that I was
known as a member of the Order, and might choose between perishing
first of their victims and receiving reward such as I should name
myself for the information I could give."

"What have you told?" asked another of the Chiefs.

"I have not named one of the symbols. I have not betrayed the Shrine
or the passwords. I have told that the Zinta _is_. I have told the
meaning of the Serpent, the Circle, and the Star, though I have not
named them."

"And," said he on the left of the Throne, "naming the hope that is
more than all hope, recalling the power that is above all power, could
you dare to renounce the one and draw on your own head the justice of
the other? What reward could induce a child of the Light to turn back
into darkness? What authority could protect the traitor from the fate
he imprecated and accepted when he first knelt before the Throne?"
"The hope was distant and the light was dim," the offender answered.
"I was threatened and I was tempted. I knew that death, speedy and
painless, was the penalty of treason to the Order, that a death of
prolonged torture might be the vengeance of the power that menaced me.
I hoped little in the far and dim future of the Serpent's promise, and
I hoped and feared much in the life on this side of death."

"Do you know," asked the last inquirer again, "no name, and nothing
that can enable us to trace those with whom you spoke or those who
employed them?"

"Only this," was the answer, "that one of them has an especial hatred
to one Initiate present," pointing to myself; "and seeks his life, not
only as a child of the Star, not only a