He crushed her in fierce despair against his heart as the ground moved gently under his feet, and prayed aloud to his God to bring the riven walls down upon them there in the moonlight, that in merciful death the awful fate of his beloved might be lifted from her.

The only answer to the desperate prayer was silence and shadows enveloping them like a mantle, and he lifted his stern face to the radiance of the moon, with the light of battle in the grey eyes.

“I will find a way out, dear heart,” he cried, as he turned her face gently against his shoulder.  “There is a way and I will find it.”  And he strode as hastily as the masses of fallen stone would allow him towards the door and the short path which would lead him to the water’s edge and safety.

As he skirted the half of the fallen altar which lay across the body of the priest, he paused for a moment and looked down upon the man who had won even in death.

As he looked the fingers of the out-flung hands twitched, and a violent shiver shook the old frame.  Slowly, very slowly the gnarled old arms were gathered in under the breast as inch by inch the Hindu priest raised himself from the floor.  The lower limbs were hidden, crushed under the fallen stone, and the old head hung down between the shoulders, the grey hair tangled in a wreath of jasmin flower.

He lifted his face, and the dim old eyes looked wistfully up into the grey ones staring down at him out of the shadows.

“Thou hast conquered, sahib, thou hast conquered in love,” he whispered.  “And she is safe, for behold my—­my power—­has gone—­from her.  I—­even I—­have not obeyed, and my god—­has destroyed me!”

Lifting his voice he cried aloud and died.

And as he died Leonie turned her face from the shelter of her lover’s shoulder and closed her eyes, and opening them again laughed sweetly as she looked up into his face.

“You, Jan, you!  Why—­whatever has happened, and—­why—­wherever are we?” And he looked down into the sweet face and laughed aloud, an exultant, ringing laugh which was caught and echoed and re-echoed from the dome until the place seemed filled with the sound of happiness.

“There has been a bit of an earthquake, dear, and you got hit on the head by a piece of falling brick.  See, sweetheart,” and he swept the masses of hair together and twisted it between her head and his coat, “turn your face this way until I have you safely out of here, it’s nice and soft, and shut your eyes, darling——­”

“Yes! but,” said Leonie, as she turned her face as bidden and closed her eyes with a sigh of great content, “but—­but how did we escape?”

“You were saved, dear!”

“Saved!—­from what?  By whom?”

She tried to turn her head, but he held it pressed close against his heart.

“From death—­dear heart!”

“And by whom—­tell me—­Jan—­by whom?”