Siva, the abiding place of Brahm, the Creator of all that is."

Barlow felt himself reel at this sudden confirmation of his fears--the
blow. The cry "_Kurban_" that he had heard on the bridge was a
reality--a human sacrifice.

"God!" he cried in a voice of anguish, "it can't be. Young and
beautiful and good, to die--it's wrong. I forbid such a cruel, wanton
sacrifice of a sweet life."

The Swami, taking a step toward the door, swept his long thin arm with
a gesture that embraced the thousands beyond.

"Captain Sahib," he said solemnly, "if thou wert to raise thy voice in
anger against this holy, soul-redeeming observance thou wouldst be torn
to pieces; not even I could stop them if insult were offered to Omkar.
And, besides, the Englay Raj would call thee accursed for breeding hate
in the hearts of the Hindus through the sacrilege of an insult to the
High Priest of the Temple of Omkar. This is the territory of the
Mahrattas, and the English have no authority here."

Barlow knew that he was helpless. Even if there were jurisdiction of
the British, one against thousands of religious fanatics would avail
nothing.

The priest saw the torture in the man's face, and continued: "The woman
has told me much. Her heart is so with thee that it is already dead.
Thou canst not take her to thy people, for the living hell is even
worse than the hell beyond. If thou lovest the woman glory in her
release from pain of spirit, from the degradation of being