Only in the middle it was barred by the big old gun; by the "Teacher of Religion," as its legend boasted, and by the man who claimed to be its mouthpiece. For jogi Gorakh-nâth, recognising his adversary, recognising the danger of his influence, had slipped from his post above, and now stood before the gun, full in the path, defending it with frenzied wavings of his chaplet of skulls.

"Listen not, brothers!" he yelled; "Jai Kali Ma! Blood! blood! Without blood is no remission of sins!"

And now a new curiosity, a new interest, came to that crowd of mere men. What would happen? What would these two, mere men like themselves, do? Which was backed by Divine authority? Both claimed that authority, evidently. It held its breath, partly from the desire for a sign from God; partly, alas, because of the desire which humanity always has for a sign of the best man! Let the two try which was the better. So it waited, ready to approve either, till those two, the Eastern and the Western sacerdotalisms, met, face to face, within two yards of each other, in the centre of the courtyard, on the platform before the "teacher of religion."

Then, not till then, Pidar Narayan ceased his chant, shifted the pyx to his left hand, and with his right drew the rapier hidden till then by his long robes.

"Aha! A-ha-a," sighed the crowd approvingly. There would be a bodily as well as a spiritual fight, for jogi-jee's chaplet of skulls swirled dangerously for both attack and defence; since a swinging blow from it would kill, and its circling sweep keep him beyond sword-point reach.

Which would be the better man? the better weapon?

But Pidar Narayan did not attack. He only stood, the pyx in one hand, the sword in another-alternatives, as it were--and called in a loud voice, “Let me pass, jogi Gorakh-nâth! Let me pass, I say; for I carry my GOD."

Over the whole courtyard, waking now from shadow to light under the coming day, the claim echoed sharply; and the arrogance of it, the strength, the certainty of it, sank deep into the souls of those who heard it-souls seeking a guide, seeking for righteousness.

There was not a sound, not a movement; only a vast, breathless expectancy, and Pidar Narayan's fine old face set like the nether millstone. Everything that had ever been in him-love, passion, faith, worldly wisdom, sympathy-the grit of the whole man-rose up, and claimed the crowd.

"Let me pass!" he cried again, in absolute command; and this time the rapier, twisting like a snake, caught the chaplet of skulls in its upward swirl, a dexterous unexpected turn of the old fencer's wrist followed, sending it flying from the jogi's hand. The next instant the rope on which they were strung was severed by the strain, by the rapier's edge, and the skulls were clattering, bounding like balls-like useless toys-upon the stone platform.

"A-ha! a-ha!" came from the crowd; but the sigh was but half content, and men looked at each other wonderingly. Since, no matter which priest was the better man, these were Mai Kali's drinking-cups. The jogi, however, had fallen back a step, and Pidar Narayan was in his place by the old gun. Pidar Narayan and his strange God were now the teachers of religion. What had they to say?

The crowd had not to wait long; for Father Ninian's voice, with that nameless ring in it which makes the orator and makes the audience, was already in its ears. "Listen! listen to me, for I carry in this cup the Blood of Sacrifice. The Victim required by your God and mine, by all Gods, is here. We are free, brothers! you and I. The Eternal Womanhood hath had her toll, in full. The

Lift up your eyes unto the hills and my God, to find yours."

Great Mother is appeased. There is no fear. from whence cometh your help, and follow me, He pointed with his sword-as he paused a second for breath, for strength— to the mountains; to those far peaks which, now that the storm had ended, the earth-atoms returned to earth, had begun to show spectral in the dawn. To show shadowy, yet clear, with never a wreath of mist or a wandering cloud to hide the hollow whither the feet of millions had journeyed seeking righteousness, and journeyed in vain.

Faint and far they showed against the faint far sky; but as Father Ninian pointed to them, a ray of light from the still unseen sun below the visible horizon of this world, a ray of light seeking perhaps another world among the stars, found the heights of the holy hills in its path, and dyed their snowdrifts red— blood-red!

At the sight a roar rose from the crowd.

"Jai Kali Ma! She gives a sign! The sacrifice is there! She is appeased. He speaks the truth-let us follow him and his God!"

66

"And mine," " And mine," assented some; while others forgot all save pilgrimage in the shout—“ Râm Râm Sita Râm—Hârô Hân! Hân Hâra!”

So, on that babel of sounds, Pidar Narayan's voice rose steadily as, preceded by that ambling figure-strangest of all acolytes--he walked on, chanting the 121st Psalm :

"Levavi oculos meos in montes; unde veniet auxilium mihi."

The words were in an unknown tongue, the rhythm strange; but the spirit, the idea, were familiar. It was the song of some one seeking the "Cradle of the Gods"; as they were.

"He carries his God, and that means all," said an old man, pushing his way to follow. "The other had none-how could he lead the way?"

"That is true!" assented many, following suit.

And some, shrugging their shoulders, said, "He is mad.

brain. But he goes the way our fathers went. second dawn. Why should we? Râm, Râm Sita

God has touched his

They lingered not beyond the
Râm.”

So, swiftly, the footfalls gathered in strength behind the little procession, and none dared to stop it. Not even the Mahomedan sentry at the fort gate, to whom some of the agitators ran in their disappointment. He only laughed contemptuously; though his gravity returned somewhat at his recognition of old Akbar Khân.

"Lo! that is a new walking for him!" he muttered in an awed voice. "Truly, folk are right when they say there is magic in these idolaters. Who would have deemed him pilgrim? Well let him go-he and his mummery. We soldiers can do without priests, and Hindoos!"

when his

He twirled his moustache fiercely, and wondered comrades would return victorious from the jail and give the word for plunder. That was all he cared for.

"Aye," assented an angry voice joining the group, we can do without the fools. There be plenty of wise men left."

"Plenty," put in another; "but their mood is different. See how they wander!" It was true. The crowd had broken into groups; and from these, pilgrims singly, or in smaller groups, were drifting after the lessening sound of that chanting voice. Not so much from any belief in Pidar Narayan, nor even because of his lead over, but because it was the old way-the way worn by the feet of their fathers, and their fathers' fathers.

So jogi Gorakh-nâth, who, now the coast was clear, had sprung aloft on the old gun, once more attempting to regain his empire, failed egregiously. The crowd passed him by, till a big countryman with a lumbering jest asked him if he was sure he had picked up the right skull to put on his own shoulders. Then it laughed uproariously.

"Best come on to the Pool of Immortality," suggested a conspirator, consolingly, as he hurried past. "Tis no use here. The fools have followed after strange Gods and men. But at the Pool there are tens of thousands to one here; and they are weary waiting. Besides, 'tis nearer the jail. Between the two success will lie." "Yea," added another, "that was the first plan, the soldiers and their fort

spoilt it. But the Pool and the jail remain."

Jogi Gorakh-nâth with a scowl gathered up his skulls in a bundle and followed hastily. He would at least be out of hearing of that chanting voice.

It had reached the last verse of its Psalm now, and faltered a little over the

words,

"Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum: ex hoc nunc et usque in sæculum."

But the chorus of footsteps behind filled up the pauses.

ON the jail or the Pool of Immortality lay the hopes of those whom Pidar Narayan had so far discomfited by his arrogant claim to stand between heaven and earth; in other words, to be in personal relations with the Great Awarder of jails and immortalities, forgivenesses and punishments.

But the stars in their courses, hidden though they had been by the stormdarkness, had used that very darkness to the due maintenance of law and order as they wheeled serenely to meet the coming dawn.

When Lance, for instance-his heart torn in twain by his desire to follow Erda's fate at all costs, and his knowledge that, if he was to do the best for others, he must leave her to face it alone-had struck down stream on Am-ma's strange craft, his sole intention had been to rouse the police camp and secure what help he could for the jail.

But the darkness set him another task. For, after drifting past the spit whence he had meant to cut across by land to the bridge of boats, and so, creeping past the city, find the camp beyond it, he had lost himself absolutely in the maze of sandbanks and shallow channels which, when the river was low as it was now, lay like a network between the deep stream of the Hâra and the deep stream of the Hâri. Lost himself so utterly, that, realising his own bewilderment, he had called himself a fool for having lost himself.

A curious discouragement came to him. Yet it made him more dogged and persistent, even while the hopelessness of finding his way grew every second. Surely, thought he, he could not be such a fool as to fail.

Sometimes a sudden belief that he really had had some faint indication of his bearings would make him put all his young strength into the paddle; until once more a soft, yielding, yet irresistible impact came to tell him that he had failed again, and that he was on another sandbank, and another, and another. The dull concussion of them seemed to pass into his brain; he found himself fumbling

on almost aimlessly despite his doggedness, his mind busy the while with imagining the things which might be happening in the dark around him.

For all he knew, close by. . . .

There lay the sting! It was suffocating to be set, as it were, in the solid darkness like . . . he thought of a fly in amber, the birds he had limed in his boyhood, finally of a death mask. This was more like it-he felt as the corpse must feel, clogged, hampered, helpless.

In such conditions, minutes seem hours; and Lance, in reality, had not been drifting about for the half of one, before the certainty that his mission must inevitably be useless unless he could fulfil it more expeditiously, made him. resolve on trying conclusions with the river at first hand. He was a good

swimmer. As he told himself this, the first pulse of gratitude he had ever felt for the big bully who had chucked him, a small boy in his first term at Harrow, into "Ducker" to take his chance, came to him; for those few minutes of despairing effort had taught him more than mere swimming-they had taught him to trust himself in water.

More, at any rate, than in a beastly contrivance made of beds and footballs, with no stem, no stern, and a devilish habit of spinning in every eddy like

a tee-to-tum.

The mere condemnation of Am-ma's craft, being a prelude to better things, raised his spirits. He flung off his clothes, and, knowing he could not hope to keep his revolver dry, improvised a waistcloth out of the silk sash he wore instead of a waistcoat, in which to stick the hunting-knife that was his only other weapon. As he did so, he thought of the deer the knife had killed; as men think idly, irrelevantly, of such trivialities when their attention is really concentrated on something that is, as yet, outside experience. And Lance, as he slipped into the water, knew himself prepared to swim or wade, but knew nothing else.

So, doggedly as before, and infinitely quicker, he went on through the darkness; sometimes feeling himself in the cool water, sometimes finding his feet on warm sand, sometimes parting a way, he knew not where, through the low tamarisk and high grass marking an island. If he could have guessed which island, or even

known which way his face was set, these light swishing touches might have been guides; but he knew nothing.

Until, after a time, a faint far glow, a mere suspicion of something not outer darkness, showed on his left. Even so, he could not guess whether that meant the jail side or the city side of the rivers. If the former, could the jail have been fired by those devils?

The thought made him set his teeth, and, dry sand being beneath his feet, run on recklessly towards the glow.

Only for a yard or two, however; then he pulled up short, amazed to find that it was not far, but near; that it came from the ground, from a leaping fire of tamarisk branches within a stone's throw of him. A step or two more, in fact, showed him a cooking-pot, the remains of some food, a familiar fishing-net, and a chrysalis-looking figure wrapped in a blanket, and half-buried in the sand. One of the fisher folk, by all that was lucky! If any one could help, they could.

It was only a slender stem of tiger grass which snapped under his feet, but the noise was sufficient. The sleeper sprang to his, like a wild animal, the blanket falling from him, one lithe arm making for the long spear stuck in the sand beside him.

Gu-gu!—the missing Gu-gu!

Lance had him back in his sand bed before hand and spear met.

There was