“Yes,” I replied.  “Nature, not merit.”

She went to a cupboard which formed the bottom of one of the mahogany museum cases, and extracted from it first of all a bowl of ancient appearance made of some black stone with projecting knobs for handles that were carved with the heads of women wearing ceremonial wigs; and next a low tripod of ebony or some other black wood.  I looked at these articles and recognized them.  They had stood in front of the sanctuary in the temple in Kendah Land, and over them I had once seen this very woman dressed as she was to-night, bend her head in the magic smoke before she had uttered the prophecy of the passing of the Kendah god.

“So you brought these away too,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied with solemnity, “that they might be ready at the appointed hour when we needed them.”

Then she spoke no more for a while, but busied herself with certain rather eerie preparations.  First she set the tripod and its bowl in an open space which I was glad to note was at some distance from the fire, since if either of us fell into that who would there be to take us off before cremation ensued?  Then she drew up a curved settee with a back and arms, a comfortable-looking article having a seat that sloped backwards like those in clubs, and motioned to me to sit down.  This I did with much the same sensations that are evoked by taking one’s place upon an operation-table.

Next she brought that accursed Taduki box, I mean the inner silver one, the contents of which I heartily wished I had thrown upon the fire, and set it down, open, near the tripod.  Lastly she lifted some glowing embers of wood from the grate with tongs, and dropped them into the stone bowl.

“I think that’s all.  Now for the great adventure,” she said in a voice that was at once rapt and dreamy.

“What am I to do?” I asked feebly.

“That is quite simple,” she replied, as she sat herself down beside me well within reach of the Taduki box, the brazier being between us with its tripod stand pressed against the edge of the couch, and in its curve, so that we were really upon each side of it.  “When the smoke begins to rise thickly you have only to bend your head a little forward, with your shoulders still resting against the settee, and inhale until you find your senses leaving you, though I don’t know that this is necessary for the stuff is subtle.  Then throw your head back, go to sleep and dream.”

“What am I to dream about?” I inquired in a vacuous way, for my senses were leaving me already.

“You will dream, I think, of past events in which both of us played a part, at least I hope so.  I dreamt of them before in Kendah Land, but then I was not myself, and for the most part they are forgotten.  Moreover, I learned that we can only see them all when we are together.  Now speak no more.”