“No,” I replied, my dignity returning to me.  “I do not wish to worship any goddess, especially when she isn’t a goddess.  It was not a part of the bargain.”

“Quite so,” she said, nodding, “but who knows what you will be worshipping before an hour is over?  Oh! forgive me for laughing at you, but I can’t help it.  You are so evidently frightened.”

“Who wouldn’t be frightened?” I answered, looking with gloomy apprehension at the sandal-wood box which had appeared upon a case full of scarabs.  “Look here, Lady Ragnall,” I added, “why can’t you leave all this unholy business alone and let us spend a pleasant evening talking, now that those Smith people have gone?  I have lots of stories about my African adventures which would interest you.”

“Because I want to hear my own African adventures, and perhaps yours too, which I am sure will interest me a great deal more,” she exclaimed earnestly.  “You think it is all foolishness, but it is not.  Those Kendah priestesses told me much when I seemed to be out of my mind.  For a long time I did not remember what they said, but of late years, especially since George and I began to excavate that temple, plenty has come back to me bit by bit, fragments, you know, that make me desire to learn the rest as I never desired anything else on earth.  And the worst of it has always been that from the beginning I have known—­and know—­that this can only happen with you and through you, why I cannot say, or have forgotten.  That’s what sent me nearly wild with joy when I heard that you were not only alive, but in this country.  You won’t disappoint me, will you?  There is nothing I can offer you which would have any value for you, so I can only beg you not to disappoint me—­well, because I am your friend.”

I turned away my head, hesitating, and when I looked up again I saw that her beautiful eyes were full of tears.  Naturally that settled the matter, so I only said,

“Let us get on with the affair.  What am I to do?  Stop a bit.  I may as well provide against eventualities,” and going to a table I took a sheet of notepaper and wrote: 

“Lady Ragnall and I, Allan Quatermain, are about to make an experiment with an herb which we discovered some years ago in Africa.  If by any chance this should result in accident to either or both of us, the Coroner is requested to understand that it is not a case of murder or of suicide, but merely of unfortunate scientific research.”

This I dated, adding the hour, 9.47 P.M., and signed, requesting her to do the same.

She obeyed with a smile, saying it was strange that one who had lived a life of such constant danger as myself, should be so afraid to die.

“Look here, young lady,” I replied with irritation, “doesn’t it occur to you that I may be afraid lest you should die—­and I be hanged for it,” I added by an afterthought.

“Oh!  I see,” she answered, “that is really very nice of you.  But, of course, you would think like that; it is your nature.”