For lack of speech she must be separated from one who had suddenly grown more helpless than herself, one whom she could not bear to part with, one who had grown accustomed to her great defect, and had never labelled on the door those words: “Home for the Blind—the Deaf—the Dumb—Incurables.” “Once I get inside there I am dumb for ever,” she cried to herself, as she stumbled up the darkening aisle. “Oh, I cannot go—I cannot! I want to live like other people. To be free—free—free!” And so she knelt down beside the altar railings, and buried her face in her hands against its golden bars. “Oh, Serpent, let me speak! Give me a tongue like other people have. I cannot go to that asylum—I cannot really. I cannot live without my aunt. We are all in all to each other. What good am I if I remain a speechless log? I might as well be dead.” No answer. Darkness and silence. That was all. The impenetrable hardness of it sank to Rosalie’s heart. Suddenly she got up and looked round cautiously, with pale face and dark-rimmed eyes. There was no noise. Nothing moved in the empty building save herself. Silent and trembling, she took a step forward inside the railing, then another, and her hand touched the crimson curtain. Again she looked around, assured herself again that she was quite alone, silently drew back the heavy fold and stepped within. The lights upon the altar, burning by day and night, changed the dull gloom to brightness. Her wandering, awe-struck gaze fell full upon the Serpent, its head and jewelled eyes all shining underneath the slowly swinging lights. Here, then, was the hidden God that all things worshipped. This was the God who punished some, rewarded others, and wore the creeds of ages on its three-pronged tail. Her eyes were dazzled by the brilliancy, but the Serpent’s wisdom gleaming from those curious eyes attracted her. “Give me what I want! Give me what I want!” she whispered, and stretched out her white arms till her hands had clasped behind the Serpent’s head. Then she leant forward and pressed her lips against the cruel, hardened, lifeless fangs, and whispered yet again: “Give me what I want—just so that I may serve you!” As silently she unclasped her fingers, rising to her feet. She passed down the three steps leading from the altar, and became aware, with beating heart and sudden tumultuous fear, that she had been watched. For, stepping from the side way, came a stranger, stopping her progress outward to the other side of the veil. “What is it that you want?” he said. In his eyes there shone the priceless worth of wisdom’s jewels, giving them in their brilliant expression something of the same impenetrable light the Serpent’s had.