This was Unorna’s determination.  Beatrice should commit this crime against Heaven, and then die with the whole weight of it upon her soul, and thus should her soul itself be tormented for ever and ever to ages of ages.

Considering what she believed, it is no wonder that she should have shuddered at the tremendous thought.  And yet, in the distortion of her reasoning, the sin would be upon Beatrice who did the act, and not upon herself who commanded it.  There was no diminution of her own faith in the sacredness of the place and the holiness of the consecrated object—­had she been one whit less sure of that, her vengeance would have been vain and her whole scheme meaningless.

She came back out of the darkness and set the wooden steps in their place before the altar at Beatrice’s feet.  Then, as though to save herself from all participation in the guilt of the sacrilege which was to follow, she withdrew outside the Communion rail, and closed the gate behind her.

Beatrice, obedient to her smallest command, and powerless to move or act without her suggestion, stood still as she had been placed, with her back to the church and her face to the altar.  Above her head the richly wrought door of the tabernacle caught what little light there was and reflected it from its own uneven surface.

Unorna paused a moment, looked at the shadowy figure, and then glanced behind her into the body of the church, not out of any ghostly fear, but to assure herself that she was alone with her victim.  She saw that all was quite ready, and then she calmly knelt down just upon one side of the gate and rested her folded hands upon the marble railing.  A moment of intense stillness followed.  Again the thought of Keyork Arabian flashed across her mind.  Had there been any reality, she vaguely wondered, in that compact made with him?  What was she doing now?  But the crime was to be Beatrice’s, not hers.  Her heart beat fast for a moment, and then she grew very calm again.

The clock in the church tower chimed the first quarter past one.  She was able to count the strokes and was glad to find that she had lost no time.  As soon as the long, singing echo of the bells had died away, she spoke, not loudly, but clearly and distinctly.

“Beatrice Varanger, go forward and mount the steps I have placed for you.”

The dark figure moved obediently, and Unorna heard the slight sound of Beatrice’s foot upon the wood.  The shadowy form rose higher and higher in the gloom, and stood upon the altar itself.

“Now do as I command you.  Open wide the door of the tabernacle.”

Unorna watched the black form intently.  It seemed to stretch out its hand as though searching for something, and then the arm fell again to the side.

“Do as I command you,” Unorna repeated with the angry and dominant intonation that always came into her voice when she was not obeyed.

Again the hand was raised for a moment, groped in the darkness and sank down into the shadow.