safeguard against evil; and that it may cause her to worship the Sahib
as a god, even as Bootea does."

The simplicity, the genuine nobleness of this tribute of renunciation,
hazed Barlow's eyes with a mist--almost tears; she was a strange
combine of dramatic power and gentle sweetness.

"Now, come, Sahib," she said, "if you insist. It will not bring misery
to Bootea but to you."

Barlow strode along beside the girl steeped in ominous misgivings.
Perhaps his presence at the temple would avert whatever it was, that,
like evil genii seemed to poison the air.

There was a moving throng of pilgrims that poured along in a joyous
turbulent stream toward the bridge. No shadow of the dread god, Omkar,
gloomed their spirits; they chatted and laughed. Of those who would
make devotions the men were stripped to the waist, their limbs draped
in spotless white. And the women, on their way to have their sins
forgiven, were taking final license--the _purdah_ of the veil was
almost forgotten, for this was permitted in the presence of the god.
Even their beautifully formed bodies and limbs, the skin fresh
anointed, gleaming like copper in the sunlight, showed entrancingly,
voluptuously, with a new-born liberty.

Once, half way of the bridge, a man's voice rang out commandingly,
calling backward, admonishing some one to hurry, crying, "It is the
_kurban_!"

Barlow started; the _kurban_ meant a human sacrifice. He looked at