The whole world seemed bound in a great terrible silence as the two men stood staring at each other in the soft silver light of the moon; then the old man smiled gently, with the cunning of all time in his eyes, and creeping close to his pupil spoke in the merest whisper; tempting, as have always tempted, those who desire to gain their own ends, and who justify all means as long as that end is gained.

“Thou lovest her, my son.  The infidel white woman, the sacrifice long dedicated to thy god.  And why not, for thou are marked even with the mark which shows between the breasts like lotus buds.  But thinkest thou, O son of princes, O descendant of the great, that thou art fit to mate with her.  She is white, a daughter of the all-conquering race; thou—­thou art black—­a pariah—­a dog—­thou wouldst be whipped from her presence, thou high-born son of India.”

The old man never moved his eyes from the young face, and neither the one nor the other saw the great striped terrified beast which slunk past them and disappeared into the shadows, seeking protection in its terror.

“But why shouldst thou let this woman, whom thou lovest, go?  Why not make sacrifice of love as well as life to the great one?  Behold is she soft and white and all-pleasing!  Why, therefore, should she not come unto thy intent neath the eyes of the Sweet One, while I make offerings in the shadows towards thy well doing; so that the Black One will be twice pleased.”

Of all the horrible temptations in that place of horror!  And where in the name of all the gods did the native, unshackled by convention or code, find the strength to resist?

For while the priest whispered the young face was swept by a flood of conflicting emotions—­which passed—­leaving it as pure, as soul-stirring as the Taj Mahal at dawn.

“No!  O Holy One!  I will not—­I love her—­I love her—­I will not!”

The words were firm and the young mouth like steel, and the eyes looked steadily back into those of the priest as the latter rushed upon him in mighty, inhuman wrath.

“And I say that thou shalt, thou begotten son of evil.  I say that thou shalt encompass this woman with thy might, and then offer her in sacrifice to Kali, the Goddess of Death.  I say that thou shalt.”

It was a case of will pitted against will, for the old man knew that the younger would not dare raise hand against him for fear of everlasting damnation.

And Madhu Krishnaghar girded himself for the battle by putting his love for the white woman in the forefront of his mind.

And as they fought, desperately, with one last terrific pull which caused the hide to cut down to the wrist bone, Jan Cuxson wrenched the ring he had loosened from the wall, and stood swaying, sick with pain.  Sweat poured down his face and bare chest, and blood flowed from his wrists while his burst finger-tips fumbled clumsily with the deep embedded thongs.