“And to whom,” said Esmo, interposing for the first time, “have you thus betrayed us?”

“I know not,” was the reply.

“Explain,” said the Chief immediately to the left of the Throne, who, if there were a difference in the expression of the calm sad faces, seemed to entertain more of compassion and less of disgust and repulsion towards the offender than any other.

“Those with whom I spoke,” replied the culprit, in the same strange tone, “were not known to me, but gave token of authority next to that of the Campta.  They told me that the existence of the Order had long been known, that many of its members were clearly indicated by their household practices, that their destruction was determined; that I was known as a member of the Order, and might choose between perishing first of their victims and receiving reward such as I should name myself for the information I could give.”

“What have you told?” asked another of the Chiefs.

“I have not named one of the symbols.  I have not betrayed the Shrine or the passwords.  I have told that the Zinta is.  I have told the meaning of the Serpent, the Circle, and the Star, though I have not named them.”

“And,” said he on the left of the Throne, “naming the hope that is more than all hope, recalling the power that is above all power, could you dare to renounce the one and draw on your own head the justice of the other?  What reward could induce a child of the Light to turn back into darkness?  What authority could protect the traitor from the fate he imprecated and accepted when he first knelt before the Throne?” “The hope was distant and the light was dim,” the offender answered.  “I was threatened and I was tempted.  I knew that death, speedy and painless, was the penalty of treason to the Order, that a death of prolonged torture might be the vengeance of the power that menaced me.  I hoped little in the far and dim future of the Serpent’s promise, and I hoped and feared much in the life on this side of death.”

“Do you know,” asked the last inquirer again, “no name, and nothing that can enable us to trace those with whom you spoke or those who employed them?”

“Only this,” was the answer, “that one of them has an especial hatred to one Initiate present,” pointing to myself; “and seeks his life, not only as a child of the Star, not only as husband of the daughter of Clavelta, but for a reason that is not known to me.”

“And,” asked another Chief, “do you know what instrument that enemy seeks to use?”

“One who has over her intended victim such influence as few of her sex ever have over their lords; one of whom his love will learn no distrust, against whom his heart has no guard and his manhood no wisdom.”

A shiver of horror passed over the forms of the Chiefs and of many who sat near them, incomprehensible to me till a sudden light was afforded by the indignant interruption of Kevima, who sat not far from myself.