"O, Azil, Giver of Life, must this be forced upon me? O Ga, Mother of Azil--thou virgin woman, whom Zitu ordained the one to give an angel life, that he might speak to men of Zitu himself and teach them how to live, do thou intercede for me! Thou knowest woman guards the sacred flame, which is life itself; so that it burns clear and never ceasing. Must that flame in me be fouled? Ga the Mother, Azil the Son--Azil the Angel--hear ye my prayer!" She ceased and knelt on, silent, with hands clasped and lovely head bowed down. And once more it seemed to Croft that his senses went spinning, eddying, whirling around. Azil the Giver of Life. Ga the mother of Azil the Son. A Virgin and a Child. And Zitu the father--God. She prayed to them. This was the Palosian religion, at least, in part. Strange analogy to the earth-creed Croft found it--to the creed in which he had been raised. Zitu was the one creative source here as elsewhere, no matter by what name called--the source to which the projected atoms of its thought looked back, to whom they lifted their voices in praise or prayer. What did it matter whether on earth or Palos, life was then the same, and the source was one place as another, all-embracing, universal, always the same? And Azil the Angel of Life was what? A Messianic spirit, surely, which had come to speak to the human atoms and tell them of the source. What else? And Ga--the medium, through which spirit was translated into matter--the eternal woman, through whom Life came to the incarnated man. And to these, this maid--this other woman who had pledged herself as a sacrifice for her nation, prayed. Alone here before the pedestal shrine of Azil, Son of Zitu, she knelt and asked that the cup she had promised to drink might be divinely removed from her lips since all human hope of such a removal seemed to have died in so far as she could know. Should that prayer go unheeded or unheard? Could the pure cry of a clean spirit fail to reach the listening ears of the source? No! Croft's spirit cried the word to his soul. No, no! A thousand times no! Somehow, some way, he knew not how that prayer must be heard and answered. He tore himself free from the spell of the kneeling figure, and with no definite purpose in his going save to remove himself from a privacy he felt he must no longer intrude, went blindly out of the room. CHAPTER VII KYPHALLOS AND KALAMITA Yet once outside the mountain villa, Croft knew where he wanted to go. It was back to Himyra--back to the palace of Lakkon itself--to be alone with his thoughts. To that point, therefore, he once more willed himself.