This figure that Evarne now stood before was not seated. Somewhat over life-size it stood, stiffly erect, one foot advanced, the symbol of Life held in its grasp. It was raised above the sand of the floor on a low pedestal. Evarne stood motionless, gazing upwards. The battered figures in the open had been impressive, but this one--uninjured, and with the artificial advantage of its surroundings--was more than that! It was terrible, awe-inspiring, with its inhuman head, the menacing feline features bearing so clearly the impress of unpitying and vindictive cruelty, malignant spite, merciless joy in the inflicting and witnessing of the direst agonies that can rack tortured brain or flesh or spirit. Evarne had been the last to enter, and as she rejoined her companions outside, the party commenced to retrace its steps. Unperceived, she left them and returned to the temple. She had something to say to Sekhet. Alone she stood, facing the goddess--the lifeless marble into which the hand of an artist, long since pulseless, had wrought this unhallowed expression with such marvellous realism that it was difficult to remember that no knowledge, no power, no fearsome intelligence, lay behind those gleaming eyes, that low animal brow. Evarne stood motionless, gazing intently up at the brutal face, trying to forget her own individuality and all that was modern. It had been a little prayer that was in her heart as she hastened back, but now she shook her head slowly as the conception of the innate and unalterable cruelty of Sekhet impressed itself with yet greater force upon her mind. This was a goddess who surely had ever been more inclined to fulfil curses than to answer prayers. As she commenced her half-whispered appeal she recalled some of the titles under which this cat-headed image had been invoked--doubtless many a time and oft--in the dim and distant past. "Oh, Queen of the Goddesses! Oh, Crusher of Hearts! If you can hear me and still wield power, let just tribulation fall on all those who set forth to steal a love that is not free for them--a love to which they have no right--a love that is another's! May success but open the gates of sorrow; may that which they desired and schemed to gain crush the heart, even in its triumph, down to the very dust! Deal out stern justice, untempered by all mercy, to the false, the scornful, the treacherous, the hypocritical, to those who are unscrupulous and base in thy service, and who cast aside all honour when in pursuit of that which thou dost offer!" Then she stood silent awhile, still gazing with fixed eyes at the impassive countenance before her, monstrous, yet so strangely human. She had not originally designed to send forth such a plea into the universe, but it had arisen spontaneously from the depth of her soul, and she would not have recalled one word.