They had been for some time on the way, the coolies trapesing behind to the tune of some monotonous chant; and the moon was beginning to fling handsful of silver out of her heavenly mint when Leonie, overcome by a most unromantic craving for tea, gave the order to halt.

“How much farther is it?” she asked, as she busied herself with a spirit lamp and a tin of evaporated milk.

Her bearer looked up at the moon.

“Another half-hour, mem-sahib, and we reach the outer walls of the temple—­ah! allow me——­”

Leonie had dropped a teaspoon and was bending to pick it up, but instead, straightening herself with the kind of snap an over-strung violin string gives when it breaks, took one step forward and fixed her eyes on her servant’s face.

“Of course,” she said, speaking half to herself, “of course—­no wonder I thought I knew you—­I saw you in London once—­and it was you I saw on the station—­and your voice——­” she clasped her hands together and took a step quickly backwards—­“you were the guide in the tiger hunt, you—­you have been following me—­you are dogging me—­hunting me down—­why—­tell me why?  What harm have I done you?—­tell me?”

Her eyes, which were shining strangely in the quickly falling night, swept the man before her from head to foot, and she instinctively threw out her hands and took another step backwards as she realised at last his extraordinary beauty.

“Why is the mem-sahib afraid?  What has her servant done to cause trouble to her soul?  He meant but to lighten her load, and make smooth her path.”

Leonie, with the desire common among women to hide the tell-tale expression of their faces by the movement of their hands, knelt and began fiddling among the tea things.

“Sit down,” she said abruptly, pointing to-the ground on the other side of the earthy tea-table, “and tell me everything.”

“Nay, mem-sahib!  A humble native may not sit in the presence of a white woman.”

Leonie lifted her head.

“Sit down,” she said simply.

And there in the heart of the jungle, by the side of the fire that had been lighted to scare off any animal, they sat, those two splendid specimens of two splendid races divided by custom and colour, while he told her the strange story of the night on which they had both been dedicated to the Goddess of Destruction, and the happenings thereafter.

“Do you mean to tell me that you willed me to come to you in the museum that day in London?”

He looked straight into her perplexed eyes as he answered slowly: 

“I felt that if I could draw you through the ebb and flow and the floods of London traffic, I could do as I would with you on the plains of India.  I did not know you—­then!”

“And the priest has made me come to the temple—­against my will?”

“Even so.”

“And what is to happen to me there to-night?”