“Ganga shall be mine!” reiterated alternately the older and the younger priests. What! then those whose passions were cooled with age would sacrifice her as a burnt-offering to the manes of the departed; the others would cast her into that pit of infamy which the priestesses shared in the temple. Dreadful alternative! Yet could Ganga hesitate? Ah! but would they leave it to her choice? It was but too evident that the stronger party would rule, and thus her fate would be decided. In agony, the young girl invoked the assistance of the Gods—above all, of the Ganges goddess, Sivah; the Ganges, in whose purifying stream she had at infancy been cleansed from sin—could she now but seek an innocent death in its waves! But hush! there is a sudden silence. They have decided, and the rapid footsteps come to announce her fate. Shuddering, the poor child is dragged before the assembled multitude. It needs but one glance to see that both parties are baffled; and that, after all, the choice will be left with herself. She looks round on the eager crowd, thirsting for her life or for her honor, and her heart grows faint within her. “Ganga,” rose the solemn voice of the oldest priest. “Ganga, choose between serving the Gods here, and joining them above.” Proudly the glorious eye of the virgin beat down the lecherous looks of the priests, as she calmly replied— “I choose the pyre.” “To-morrow then prepare the sacrifice.” “Ay, to-morrow,” thought the victim, “my body will smoulder into ashes.” She raised her tearful eyes, and met the anguished look of Demetros. She saw no more, until—she awoke bound and in darkness.