“Behold, O Parvati! who steppeth lightly upon the mountains!  Behold! has he chosen my raiment, therefore shalt thou be pleased!  Yea! and even shall there be blood upon it!” [1]

And swinging her arm she struck it again and again against the rocks until the flesh was torn and the blood streamed, causing the man to move hurriedly with intent to waken the girl he loved, even at the risk of her reason and his ultimate happiness.  But he stopped.

Leonie was standing still with uplifted arms, dripping blood upon her face whilst her sweet, clear voice rose sonorously in the Vega hymn known as the Love Spell.

Jan Cuxson had studied Hindustani in preparation for his travels in India, but he frowned as he listened, for he did not understand one syllable.

And then his eyes opened wide in astonishment as he caught the meaning of a word here and there, and “Sanskrit!” he muttered in amazement.

Pulling a piece of pale green seaweed from the rock, she twined it and whispered, “This plant is honey born; with honey we dig thee; forth from honey art thou engendered; do thou make us possessed of honey.

“At the tip of my tongue, honey; at the root of my tongue, honeyedness; mayest thou be altogether in my power, mayest thou come unto my intent.

“Honeyed is my in-stepping, honeyed my forthgoing, with my voice I speak what is honeyed, may I be of honey aspect.

“Than honey am I sweeter, than the honey plant more honeyed; of me, verily shalt thou be fond, as of a honeyed branch.

“About thee with an encompassing sugar-cane have I gone, in order to absence of mutual hatred; that thou mayest be one loving me, that thou mayest be one not going away from me!”

Leonie swayed slightly as the words passed faintly and yet more faintly, like a moan, from her lips; her eyes were closing slowly, very slowly; and she slipped to her knees, her bleeding arms held out towards the man before whom she knelt, as the breeze blew her glistening hair this way and that, exposing for a second, then hiding the glories of the exquisite white figure from the eyes which could not help but see.

Drooping lower and lower she stretched herself, face downwards, upon the sand, closed her eyes as the moon sank suddenly behind a dense mass of clouds, and peacefully went to sleep.

[1]In one of the rites concerning the worship of Kali, women’s garments are thrown in a heap, from which men choose indiscriminately.  The garment he chooses gives the man a right to the woman who owns it.

CHAPTER XXI

  “And wilt thou leave me thus
  That hath given thee my heart?—­Say nay!  Say nay!”—­Sir T. Wyatt.

What in heaven’s name was he to do now?

Touch her he would not; let her know that he had seen her in all her unhidden beauty he could not; yet the gurgling and rustling and whispering between the water and the stones told him that the tide was racing in, and that what he intended to do he must do right quickly.