“Kherla,” she said calmly, “death has been doing much unsightly work among us. The conquerors will not find their garland of victory a beautiful wreath. The foul steams of decaying mortality will hang upon and blight it. My child, we must go to another change. Are you prepared to quit a base world for a brighter? Agni[32] must be our guide to the mutation which awaits us when these poor bodies shall have become ashes.” “My mother, I am ready to perform the conditions of my destiny. I desire not to exist longer than I can live in the freedom to which I was born; and, rather than become the captive of the Moslem, I am willing to encounter the flames which shall give me a release from those bonds the foe are preparing to cast upon us.” The mother embraced her child. The younger girl had overheard this conversation, and her heart palpitated. She had hitherto found life an acceptable and sweet possession. She, therefore, felt no desire to embrace the faggot, and have her spirit dismissed from her body on wings of flame. She was full of youth and health, highly susceptible of enjoyment, with a fine flow of animal spirits; and to her, therefore, death was at once a terror and an evil. She was summoned into the presence of her parent, who said with a calm but stern voice, “Girl, you must prepare for your last hour. The summons of Yama has reached us, and we have no choice. When he calls, obedience is our duty, and the performance of our duty cannot but be a blessing. We must perish, my child.” The poor girl shuddered but did not utter a word, knowing how ill the stern temper of her only surviving parent could brook resistance. She bent acquiescently, but the tear started into her eye as she turned from the bold mother to conceal her emotions. Having dismissed her children, the heroic matron began to prepare her mind for the approaching sacrifice.