Tortured, his soul sought relief in the fanaticism of his religion which flared in his eyes; consumed with love, he called her back as she turned to do the bidding of a stronger will than her own.

“Come!”

She stopped and turned, gave a vacant little laugh, and crept into his arms when he held them out, and closed them about her without touching her.

“Ah!” he whispered, “now that thou comest to me unknowingly I will have none of thee.  I love thee, love thee, love thee!  Go to thy death that my task may be well finished, and that everlasting torment may be fastened upon the soul of him who stole thee from me!  Go, beloved of my soul, rose of the morning, delight of my heart!  Ah, my love, my love, go to thy death——!”

And he opened wide his arms and pointed up the path, and Leonie went where he pointed; and never once looked back at the man standing with his arms stretched out towards her, whilst monkeys chattered, and parrots screamed, and the jungle teemed with flying, frightened shapes.

CHAPTER XLVIII

“A whirlpool of uncertainty, a prison of punishment, a basket of illusion, the open throat of hell.”—­The Spring Sataka.

A brick and some plaster clattered about Jan Cuxson’s feet as he crossed the temple chamber and stood looking out at the jungle, and the animals of all sizes and shapes which were hurtling through the undergrowth.  For a minute he stood twirling the rusty knife blade between his fingers, then hid it carefully behind a block of broken masonry.

“Better so,” he muttered, “not much good as a weapon of defence, but better than nothing; might put the old man on the track if he happened to find it on me when he comes to tie me up.  My God! to think of it; I, strong and healthy and sane, at the mercy of that old priest, actually under his will—­hypnotised, forced to do exactly what he tells me.  Please heavens the ghee will hold the plaster together round the ring, and oh!  I can’t stand much more of this suspense.”

He had come to the end of his endurance.

Day had followed night, and night had followed day monotonously, without a change in the heartbreaking dreariness of their round.

During the day he had watched the jungle over the outer wall for hours, rewarded by an occasional glimpse of deer; once by a striped yellow shade which had slunk between the trees, causing him to yearn for his rifle; at night he had lain gazing at the stars, comfortable enough upon a thick bed of leaves, untroubled by the mosquito which, as he had learned, does not thrive in the Sunderbunds Jungle; and day and night over the wall, or up at the stars, he strove to look into the future and found a dreary blank.

But upon this night he turned with a smile and a question on his lips when the priest suddenly emerged from behind the heap of stones and hurried across the flags towards him.