Despite this warning, Evarne could hardly suppress a little cry as she, in her turn, entered alone into the inner sanctuary of the tiny temple. Its walls were completely decorated with richly coloured representations of weird deities and worshipping mortals. There was no window, but the rays of the sinking sun filtered in through a small opening in the roof. The chamber was dim and gloomy, but the one square beam of light was arranged to fall with concentrated force upon a solitary upstanding statue in polished black basalt. It depicted a slender woman's form, surmounted by a cat's head. So perfect was it in every detail, so realistic, so full of quiet animation, that for a moment Evarne had believed herself to be in the presence of something living and dreadful. Almost immediately, of course, she realised her mistake, and knew it for what it was--a representation of the ancient Egyptian goddess Sekhet. Already that day the girl had stood in the middle of an open field--once the site of a great temple, of which the ruins lay all about--and gazed around the extensive circle of large, gleaming, black marble statues of Sekhet that now alone remained to hint at the departed grandeur of this vanished temple. Evarne's brown eyes had grown graver, and all-unconsciously she had sighed deeply as she stood amidst those numerous Sekhets seated beneath the clear blue sky. They had struck strange awe to her heart, these symbolic counterfeits of the goddess who presided over the most powerful--the most eternal--forces in heaven and earth, Sekhet--goddess both of Love and of Cruelty! Ah, they were a subtle people, those ancient Egyptians, skilful in reading the heart of humanity, fearless of the truth, defiant in stripping the gloss from life! The light laughter and exclamations of her companions had jarred upon Evarne's ear. She felt weighed down with an unreasoning reverence. These solemn figures in the great ruined hall of the temple had seemed instinct with a supernatural power. Battered by the passing of much time, discredited for centuries as representing a great divinity--objects but of curiosity and wonder to this age--they had yet appealed to her as invested with the calm complacency of conscious power. Serenely they sat, confidently awaiting at least the individual recognition and homage of mankind. Strangely did they convey the idea that theirs was the triumphant knowledge that, for so long as human hearts can pulsate, for so long, too, Sekhet--the personification of Love and Lust, and the suffering both bring--shall find her throne, her shrine, her arena.