“Beautiful woman, the priestess!  And so young.”

“She is barely seventeen.  The Priestess of the Sun Lily must be in the flower of her age, and the early dawn of her womanhood.  Every year by the popular voice she is chosen from all the maidens of the country for her intelligence, beauty, and goodness.  For a year before the ceremony she lives in the temple with her maidens, and never leaves the sacred island, or has any visitors from the outer world.  During this period she undergoes a preparation and purification for the fulfilment of her holy office—­the culling of the flower.  It consists mainly in the study of our sacred writings, the eating of a certain food, and bathing in the waters of a holy fountain, which issues from the rock in a sacred grotto of the island.  When the ceremony of cutting the lily is over, and the holy month has expired, that is to say in ten days from now, she will leave the temple and return to her family.  Another girl will take her place—­the priestess appointed for the coming year—­in fact, the maiden who gave her the sickle.”

I had listened to this conversation with breathless interest, but without daring to take part in it.

“Will she ever marry?” enquired Gazen.

I waited for the answer with a beating heart.

“Oh, yes,” replied Otare, “why not?  She will marry if she finds a lover whom she can love.  There are many who admire Alumion.”

“What of yourself?” asked the professor, smiling pointedly.  “You seem to know a good deal about her.”

“I am her brother.”

Nothing more was said, for at this moment the barge was seen coming from behind the temple, after having made a round of the spectators, and presently drew up at the marble stairs.  Again the doors swung open, and the maidens reappeared to welcome their mistress with a song of joy.  I saw her ascend the steps bearing the lily in her hand, then turn and wave an adieu to the multitude, who responded by a parting hymn as the great purple valves closed together and rapt her from my sight.

CHAPTER X.

ALUMION.

Alumion—­Alumion—­I could think of nothing but Alumion.  Her very name was music in my ears, and her image in my heart was a perpetual banquet of delight I had never known such felicity before.  My inclination for Miss Carmichael and every other transient affection or interest I may have felt was altogether of a lower strain—­with one exception, a boyish admiration for a school girl who died a mere child.  The ethereal flame of this new passion seemed to purify all that was earthly, and exalt all that was celestial in my nature.  This beautiful land, so green and smiling under a sky of serene azure and snowy wreaths, became as the highest heaven to me, and I wandered about in a dream of ecstacy like one of the blessed gods inebriated with nectar.