“Which deem ye the fairest, white men?” he asked.

“The first,” said I unthinkingly.  Next second I regretted it, for I remembered that Infadoos had told us that the fairest woman must be offered up as a sacrifice.

“Then is my mind as your minds, and my eyes as your eyes.  She is the fairest! and a sorry thing it is for her, for she must die!”

“Ay, must die!” piped out Gagool, casting a glance of her quick eyes in the direction of the poor girl, who, as yet ignorant of the awful fate in store for her, was standing some ten yards off in front of a company of maidens, engaged in nervously picking a flower from her wreath to pieces, petal by petal.

“Why, O king?” said I, restraining my indignation with difficulty; “the girl has danced well, and pleased us; she is fair too; it would be hard to reward her with death.”

Twala laughed as he answered—­

“It is our custom, and the figures who sit in stone yonder,” and he pointed towards the three distant peaks, “must have their due.  Did I fail to put the fairest girl to death to-day, misfortune would fall upon me and my house.  Thus runs the prophecy of my people:  ’If the king offer not a sacrifice of a fair girl, on the day of the dance of maidens, to the Old Ones who sit and watch on the mountains, then shall he fall, and his house.’  Look ye, white men, my brother who reigned before me offered not the sacrifice, because of the tears of the woman, and he fell, and his house, and I reign in his stead.  It is finished; she must die!” Then turning to the guards—­“Bring her hither; Scragga, make sharp thy spear.”

Two of the men stepped forward, and as they advanced, the girl, for the first time realising her impending fate, screamed aloud and turned to fly.  But the strong hands caught her fast, and brought her, struggling and weeping, before us.

“What is thy name, girl?” piped Gagool.  “What! wilt thou not answer?  Shall the king’s son do his work at once?”

At this hint, Scragga, looking more evil than ever, advanced a step and lifted his great spear, and at that moment I saw Good’s hand creep to his revolver.  The poor girl caught the faint glint of steel through her tears, and it sobered her anguish.  She ceased struggling, and clasping her hands convulsively, stood shuddering from head to foot.

“See,” cried Scragga in high glee, “she shrinks from the sight of my little plaything even before she has tasted it,” and he tapped the broad blade of his spear.

“If ever I get the chance you shall pay for that, you young hound!” I heard Good mutter beneath his breath.

“Now that thou art quiet, give us thy name, my dear.  Come, speak out, and fear not,” said Gagool in mockery.

“Oh, mother,” answered the girl, in trembling accents, “my name is Foulata, of the house of Suko.  Oh, mother, why must I die?  I have done no wrong!”

“Be comforted,” went on the old woman in her hateful tone of mockery.  “Thou must die, indeed, as a sacrifice to the Old Ones who sit yonder,” and she pointed to the peaks; “but it is better to sleep in the night than to toil in the daytime; it is better to die than to live, and thou shalt die by the royal hand of the king’s own son.”