“The Great High Priest of the Serpent,” continued Miss Crokerly. “I can scarcely credit it, though. He is barely seventy-two. And he can have no reason for it either. It’s an office never vacated till death. Dotage doesn’t count.” “Maybe he is more conscientious than most,” said Rosalie, rousing herself from her own line of thought to take an interest in the conversation. “I don’t know, I’m sure. There have been whispers of it for the last three years. I think he has enemies.” “I suppose all men in prominent positions have.” “Yes; but there are enemies and enemies. Now my opinion of the Great High Priest is that he has hidden enemies, or perhaps he chances to be merely unfortunate.” “What do you mean?” asked Rosalie, beginning to be interested in the conversation. “Well, it began with a scandal. A rumour got about that he had admitted a woman to see the Serpent, and some said such conduct was nothing short of blasphemous. But that was either hushed up or contradicted. Contradicted, I think, and then hushed up.” “Would it be such a terrible thing for a woman to see the Serpent?” Miss Crokerly smiled. “Well, there’s a great deal of superstition and ignorance mixed up with our religion, as all simple and right-minded people can see. But it grows in suitable soil, so it’s strong and holds well together.” “And did it not please the people that a woman had seen the Serpent?” “Naturally not, after thousands of years of prejudice. Some of the best—by that I mean the _narrowest_—women I know withdrew their support (they were extremely wealthy) from the temple for some months during the scandal. They said they felt the brightness of the Serpent had been sullied.” “Absurd!” said Rosalie; and the blood began to course a little quicker through her veins from indignation. “Well,” said Miss Crokerly slowly, “one can’t judge quickly. Of course you know the Great High Priest is not allowed to have a wife. She is separated from him the day he takes up office, and if he did admit a woman from idle curiosity to see the Serpent—well, judged from one point, it was very serious.” “Maybe,” said Rosalie, whose tongue was itching to say much more. “But do you think there was any truth in it?” “Well, yes. A woman’s handkerchief with a red rose embroidered in the corner was found upon the altar.” “Never!” said Rosalie, with such a visible jump and accents so sharp that Miss Crokerly looked up, and the frog’s eyes grew wide with warning. “It was so, indeed. My brother had it on good authority. One of the Golden Priests went in that evening to offer the prayer at the New Moon. He found it there. And then this hushed-up scandal followed.” Again Rosalie was silent, why, she could scarcely tell. She recognised the handkerchief, which in after events she had never missed. It was her aunt’s birthday gift, with a little silk-embroidered rose in the corner instead of a name. “But why did the Golden Priest remark upon it?” asked Rosalie.