“Wood to start the sacred fires!” he commanded.

The villagers flew to obey his orders.  He was indeed a holy man.  Not in the memory of the oldest had a miracle such as this happened.  Upon their return with wood and embers the holy man built the fire, handing a lighted torch to Kathlyn and signifying for her to touch the tinder.  The spirit in Kathlyn told her that these people meant her no immediate harm, so she stepped out of the sarcophagus and applied the torch.  The moment the flames began to crackle the villagers prostrated themselves again and the holy man besmeared his bony chest with more ashes.

A second holy man appeared upon the scene, wanting in breath.  His jaw dropped and his eyes started to leave their sockets.  Knowing his ilk so thoroughly well, he flung himself down before the brazier and beat his forehead upon the ground; not in any chastened spirit, but because he had overslept that morning.  This glory might have been his!  Ai, ai!

Later the two conferred.  During the day they should guard the priestess, because, having taken human form, she might some day tire of this particular temple.  At night she would be well guarded by the lion.

Several awestricken women came forward with bowls of cooked rice and fruits and a new copper drinking vessel.  These they reverently placed at Kathlyn’s feet.

Gradually the spirit which had comforted Kathlyn withdrew, and at length Kathlyn became keenly alive.  It entered her mind clearly that these poor foolish people really believed her a celestial being, and so long as they laid no hand upon her she was not alarmed.  She had recently passed through too many terrors to be disturbed by a bit of kindness, even if stirred into being by a religious fanaticism.

Kathlyn ate.

By pairs the villagers departed, and soon none remained save her self-appointed guardians, the two holy men.  Kathlyn felt a desire to explore this wonderful temple.  She discovered what must have been the inner shrine.  The chamber was filled with idols; here and there a bit of gold leaf, centuries old, glistened upon the bronze, the clay, the wood.  The caste mark on the largest idol’s head was a polished ruby, overlooked doubtless during the loot.  She swept the dust from the jewel with the tip of her finger, and the dull fire sent a shiver of delight over her.  She was still a woman.

As she wandered farther in her foot touched something and she looked down.  It was a bone; in fact, the floor was strewn with bones.  She quickly discerned, much to her relief, that none of these bones was human.  This was, or had been, the den of the lion.  There was an acrid unpleasant odor, so she hurried back to the brazier.  Vaguely she comprehended that she must keep the fire replenished from time to time in order to pacify the two holy men.  At night it would fend off any approach of the lion.

Where was Bruce?  Would he ever find her?  That philosophy which she had inherited from her father, that quiet acceptance of the inevitable, was the one thing which carried her through her trials sanely.  An ordinary woman would have died from mere exhaustion.